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AISHA DAY SPECIAL
Mrs. Prenderghast's Estate
If the very finest of art you want to see,
Then stop at an estate shrouded in mystery.
It's the house of the late Mrs. Prenderghast,
Her ghostly spirit there is rumoured to last.
The mansion is huge, sitting on a large estate,
But the house's resident can be quite irate.
This ghost Aisha collected the best of art in her life,
If she catches you stealing it, you'll be in strife.
Her only dream is to be able to rest in peace,
But the attempted theft of her art must cease.
One day this Aisha hopes to sleep forever more,
But until then her estate she will continue to explore.
Oh, friendly Aisha storyteller,
Please tell us a tale.
Weave from your magic tome
A story without fail.
Tell us of the sea foam,
Waves breaking upon a beach.
So golden and so pale,
From the water's eager reach.
Tell us of the cloudy skies,
Touched by fragile wings.
Where a shining city floats,
Held aloft by faerie blessings.
Tell us of the darkling world,
Of a citadel and shadows.
Where Lord Darigan reigns supreme,
Away from Meridell's arrows.
Tell us of the winter wonderland,
And perhaps a sea of sand and dune.
Tell us what you know, O Storyteller,
We are enraptured by your tune.
Why twitch your Aisha ears, my friend?
Is the story now complete?
Why smile at me so, my friend,
And close the book to the sheet?
I have finished the story, you say?
I have woven the tale?
The Aisha laughs with delight,
Her shifting curls so pale.
I beg and plead, so she opens the book,
A smile dancing upon her lips.
My mouth is shut but my eyes do shine,
As the sail is loosed once more.
Deep within the Sacred Grove
Stands a purple Aisha in orange robes.
Do not be fooled by modest dress --
This is the adept Aisha Enchantress.
This High Lady of the Forest
Rules her domain with iron fist,
Controlling all who would fain enter,
Refusing some, detaining others.
What powers does the Lady derive
From soil, root, tree trunk, and sky?
This mistress of the woodland spells
Learned her alchemy in Meridell.
Sent to the Grove to be its Keeper,
Bold are they who attempt to seek her,
For their company does she disdain --
Her four ears are to the forest trained.
With rapt attention listens she
To changes in the rustling leaves;
Breezes, shadows, wind, and rain
Are the voices of her domain.
Quickly responding to their needs,
The Enchantress sustains the plants and trees;
Using her spells and potions for good,
The Enchantress protects the life-giving woods.
Musicbox Aisha Dancer
Musicbox Dancer, the one with the silken hair
Brushed back from her brow, free without a care;
The music plays on, the piano never stops,
Elegant extension, pas-de-bourree hops.
Musicbox Dancer, sweet little Neopet dear,
She dances without any kind of fear.
With a bow, for the audience wants more,
Around she goes on the musicbox floor.
Musicbox Dancer, Aisha so dainty fair,
Her kind of dancing is always so rare.
Never stopping, she needs no rest,
The dance is all she has; at it she is best.
Dress spinning out, eyes sparkling gold,
The Aisha's dance will never get old.
Open the lid, and up she goes with a twirl,
Spinning her skirts in a glassy whirl.
A delicate curtsy, in her dance will bring,
The Neggs and fresh grass shoots of Spring.
For how can anyone resist how bright she looks,
Up you get, you must dance; put away your books.
Musicbox Dancer, dance for us again.
Aisha Thieves are always waiting on
Guises and veils supplied by night.
Midnight cloaks and masks that are
Rather obvious in intense daylight.
Aisha Thieves are surreptitious, they
Are invisible dancing through a crowd.
With a jump! a twist! a flick of their paws,
Your valuables gone before you look down.
Aisha Thieves are sly and soundless,
Nimble paws silent as they brush the ground.
Quick on their feet running into the night,
So the culprit is never found.
Aisha Thieves are known to be greedy,
Only taking the rare and sublime.
Paint brushes, codestones, and Dubloons,
In choosing they take their time.
Aisha Thieves are running the streets,
So Neopians, beware!
Check your locks, keep your belongings close,
Unless you have a spare.
The Alien Aishas Abstained from the Feast
Fishbowls on heads, they came to install
the Alien Aisha Vending Machine.
We hadn't seen anything like it before,
Some had fur of yellow, some of green.
When their job was done and tools put away,
They began to set up for lunch.
The table was laid out plentifully;
Goblets overflowed with Clamade punch.
Their six ears pointed up toward
the sky from whence they came,
And as we watched with mouths agape,
one Aisha opened his mouth to proclaim:
"The Gourmet Gross Food Buffet is open!
Come join us in our feast!"
We did, and quickly discovered that
their Anchovy Loaf had far too much yeast.
Their steak was hairy, their chocolate fishy,
and their plates were so unclean,
But who were we to criticise
Such sophisticated alien cuisine?
It seemed like it would be impolite
To turn down Buttered Watermelon.
We thought that it would be enough
To make one feel like a felon
To refuse the plates heaped with
Carawool and blue fishpops,
When the poor darling Aishas had
Pulled out all the stops,
And didn't eat a bite themselves!
But every time we finished the dishes,
They bought up more from their spaceship
(Somewhat against our wishes).
Tittering, they watched us eat
until we'd clearly had enough,
And as they left I thought I heard said,
"I can't believe they ate that stuff!"
Rising up from the cold, wet earth,
The zombie Aisha groans,
As she sits down by the hearth,
You hear her creaking bones.
Warming herself by a fire,
Planning her next meal,
A flicker in her lifeless eyes, something like desire,
The sight of her rotting body, surreal.
Before she joined the living dead,
She was an Aisha smart and able,
Now she and her zombie friends strike feel of dread,
Among pets who don't want to be dinner on a table!
Creeping through Neopia under the cover of night,
Searching for some brains to feast upon,
Giving many Neopians a fright,
Whilst seeking out that delicacy to munch on.
Complaints of a Little Sister
Whenever someone speaks of games,
There is one name, I'll bet.
That of my brother, he's 'the best',
And won't let me forget!
It's not that he has higher scores
That drives me up the wall.
It's that he doesn't think of me
As just as good at all!
He wasn't just the only one
King Roothless locked away.
Yet when he tells the story, see,
That part just goes astray.
And when locked up when he went mad,
And cried and whined out loud.
It wasn't HIM who took the heat,
And stayed all calm and proud.
Abigail, gaming queen,
One day the world shall know
That Aristotle can be beat,
(Just sit and wait there, bro!)
I'll make your gaming look last week,
You'll cry when I get through!
They'll know that you are not the best
Or only Avinroo!
Chocolate Aisha Delight
Delicious and delightful the chocolate Aisha may be,
a luscious rich brown coat for everyone to see.
Made up of white, milk, and dark, a variety of all,
Some like to call him a tempting chocolate fall.
Sprinkled with hundreds and thousands on his ears,
Whenever sad, he cries chocolate chip tears.
Ice cream for a tail, with a cherry on top,
He would be the most expensive in a chocolate shop.
Do not take a scoop, bite, nibble, or slice,
The chocolate Aisha comes at a valuable price.
In the summer sun, he will never melt on your plate,
Do not worry, he will never go out of date.
A heart made of toffee, with caramel inside,
Beautifully decorated, he has a lot of pride.
Always smiling, running on a sugar rush,
Forever looking clean, forever plush.
He may not be the most convenient pet,
A mind full of chocolate, he sometime forgets.
But he will always be there, if you ever need,
The Chocolate Aisha Delight -- a friend indeed.
Left Out-Tale of Annie the Aisha
Annie was a small Aisha who was left out,
but all she did was sit around and pout.
Then came that one day of the year,
that make all the Aisha pets cheer.
Annie didn't believe this day was any different,
so for the party, she wanted to stay absent.
Then one small Aisha saw her alone,
and went to talk to her with a happy tone.
Annie grumbled and turned away,
But that didn't stop the Aisha from having her say.
The small Aisha told Annie to celebrate,
and even mentioned they would have a cake.
What was so special about today,
was certainly what Annie was about to say.
Then Annie saw the happiness in her eyes,
and felt her spirits starting to rise.
The day went perfect, better than before,
and Annie began to see that better was more.
From that day on, she made some true friends,
and she can't wait to party again.
The Story of the Storyteller
Master tale weaver,
Her voice calls everyone to attention,
They gather 'round to hear
Of heroes, villains with shady intentions,
Monsters whose names incite fear.
This Aisha doesn't need a book
To captivate her audience
Waiting with expectant looks
For her to share her talents.
Everyone hangs on to her every word
And gasp as she gets to the climax.
Ah, there is a lesson to be learned!
There is nothing her story lacks.
The Storyteller smiles, only too glad
To sate their thirst for breathtaking plots,
Upbeat comedies, heartbreakers sad,
Mysteries requiring one to connect the dots.
With her tales she traverses Neopia,
Going on adventures without leaving her chair.
Terror Mountain, Faerieland, Maraqua,
Name it, she has a story set there!
Her characters come alive as she speaks,
A myriad of beings, each unique in their own way.
As they interact, cry, laugh, venture, and seek,
'Tis always interesting to hear what they say.
The Aisha Storyteller,
Getting better and better,
Your tales sired.
Depicting scenes that have since passed,
Portraits of pets with eyes like glass,
Through time these works of art will last,
Guarded by Mrs. Prenderghast.
She scouts her mansion night and day,
Scaring those pesky thieves away,
"Begone, and never come back!" she'll say,
If they return, those pets, they'll pay.
A painting of Fyora's throne,
Kanrik and his heart of stone,
Meridell, when it was overthrown,
Ghost Lupe and his ghastly moan.
A painting of her uncle hangs on the wall,
A story of his warrior days and his mighty fall,
A portrait of her younger self at the end of the hall,
With shining eyes the Aisha does recall.
Oh! How she misses the friendships of her past,
The games she played and fun times that last,
But now her heart is cold and vast,
A sadness to which none all contrast.
So she spends her days walking through her estate,
With eyes of gloom and heart of hate,
To those who dare sneak at times of late,
Stealing her portraits and laughing at her cruel fate.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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