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GNORBU DAY SPECIAL
I Can See A Rainbow Gnorbu!
Vibrant and vivid, the Gnorbu shines bright,
Eye-catching and prismatic, what a beautiful sight.
Colours such as red, orange, blue, green, yellow,
Passersby remark, "What a charming-hued fellow!"
A kaleidoscope, an array of lustrous colour,
Compared to the rainbow Gnorbu, there is no other.
A shining rainbow, reaching from land to land,
If you haven't seen radiance, you can't understand.
Spot him you shall, he is not hard to miss,
Flawed the rainbow Gnorbu is not, never amiss.
A luminous shining star alive on the ground,
If you see him once, you'll become spellbound.
A picturesque pet, an intense image,
a heart full of gold, his mind full of courage.
Forever spreading his message of peace
That throughout Neopia, friendship will increase.
He does not settle in one place for long,
Reaching out to all, singing his heartfelt song.
Walking on forever more, seeking for you,
"Hey look, I can see a rainbow Gnorbu!"
Ode to the Humble Gnorbu
An ode to you, oh humble one,
Whom many overlook.
Rare to find you traded 'round,
Or mentioned in a book.
It seems that some are loath to cheer,
Or celebrate your day.
But listen to my Gnorbu rhyme,
To such rude folk, I say.
Think of captain brave and bold,
Of Tuan on angry seas.
He alone could tame the waves,
The winds could he appease.
Cyodrake's Gaze, Tuan at helm,
A hero bold and true.
But not the only Gnorbu star,
To hail from Shenkuu!
The sister of Lunara, fair,
A Gnorbu maiden, yes.
But whether she'll just act the part,
Is anybody's guess!
She'll scale mountains, rope in hand,
And dance on ledges high.
No peak too out of reach or far,
For warrior to try.
For those who seek to trace the stars
That light the shadowed sky,
One Gnorbu wise must be sought out,
To tell you how and why.
Lunar charts he reads with ease,
Dark Kreludor, he'll track.
A prize if you can learn his ways,
To keep you coming back.
And without Scrap, the Gnorbu lad,
An island hidden stays.
The Gnorbu searched for island shores,
And earned bold Roxton's praise.
I've listed here just scattered few,
With tales bold and tall.
So it seems our Gnorbu aren't
So humble after all!
Shapeshifter of Shenkuu's Sky
Night descends upon Shenkuu.
It paints the bright red roofs with grey,
And tangles and shrouds the sloping path
Where weary travellers often stray.
But what is this?
This creamy ray
That gently nudges
The darkness away?
The glorious Shenkuu moon.
A bearded Gnorbu gazes skyward
With shaky steps and wistful stare,
Propped against his wooden staff,
Marvelling at the moonlight fair.
"If only I knew,"
He said with a sigh,
"All the secrets and wonders
Of this globe in our sky!"
The lantern of Shenkuu's sky.
It changes, it wavers,
It slips through all phases.
Oh, how puzzling it is,
With the questions it raises!
Waxing and waning,
Full and new,
Its form insubstantial
As a ghost Hissi's rue.
The shapeshifter of Shenkuu.
The Princess's Triumph
Slip and climb and clamber,
Up the mountain's slope.
Past the forests of timber,
Up a strengthened rope.
The littlest princess ascends,
Her warrior's will is great.
The Gnorbu's arm extends,
To balance with her weight.
To become a warrior,
The mountain she must master.
There must be no failure,
Courage she needs to muster.
The Gnorbu's delicate fingers
Wrap around the grappling hook.
In one swift twirl she fires,
And the metal strikes a nook.
Again and again the grappler screams,
As it flies into the air.
Past the rocks and past the streams,
What a perilous affair!
The little princess scales a face,
Her hands are numb with cold.
Yet she moves with grace,
Following the trials of old.
At last the rock changes to snow,
Slippery ice and freezing gale.
The die is cast, a mighty throw,
The hook is held like a beaten nail.
The Gnorbu struggles with the rope,
Good purchase the elements deny.
As she strains, past the slope,
Her success is nigh!
There at last, the peak is breached,
The littlest princess is a warrior now.
Her victory, her goal is reached,
A cry of triumph echoes through Shenkuu.
My Coat So Fine Is Sheared Away
I watch as my coat so fine
shooting stars that rain
toward the ground,
a sea of blue and yellow.
My tears shed as you fall
and cold air berates me
from every side. I am bare.
What will now keep me warm
In this frigid month of Sleeping?
There is now no midnight blanket,
no soft cotton fleece
to surround and comfort
while I shiver myself to sleep.
I feel so alone.
It seems I wait forever
for my coat so fine to grow,
for my stars to twinkle once again,
and shine through the dark and cold,
But I must be patient.
I will march around
with my brothers,
an army of sheared Gnorbu,
and we will wait.
But now I watch
as my coat so fine
My Gnorbu plushie is soft and squishy;
Made of fabric stuffed with cotton,
And two big button eyes.
My Gnorbu Battle Greaves are solid,
Made of metal built to last,
And specially crafted just for Gnorbu.
My Gnorbu Salad is quite divine,
All fancy types of lettuce,
With carrots on the side.
My Gnorbu Burger is hearty good,
The seedy bun in a charming shape,
The insides all kept in line.
My Gnorbu Juice is in a cup,
A cup shaped like a Gnorbu head,
And a straw between the ears.
My Gnorbu Pudding is creamy and sweet,
I'd eat it every day if I could,
That yummy, yummy Gnorbu pudding.
All these Gnorbu apparatus,
They're quite distinctive, set apart,
But the one thing they all have in common:
They all look like me.
When You Shear a Gnorbu
Much is said of Gnorbu wool
At the minting of each year,
For no sooner is the year begun
When Gnorbu must be sheared.
There are those who do protest,
Who wish to know the reasons,
Why Gnorbu -- each and every one --
Must be shorn when air turns freezing.
As for me, I do not see
The point of conspiracy theories,
Although I do have a few
More practical natured queries.
Such as: When you shear a chocolate Gnorbu,
Do you get sprinkles or whipped cream?
Will magma wool start fires?
Or does it simply hiss and steam?
Will robot casings break the clippers?
Will electric Gnorbu short them out?
Does newly clipped cloud wool
Evaporate in skyward spouts?
Is there actually a paying market
For the coats of Tyrannians and mutants?
Is it even possible to clean wool
Of such dirt and dust and sputum?
Yes, I muse on these conundrums --
I really could go on and on --
But the air is getting chilly
And I reach for my balls of yarn.
I knit myself a Gnorbu wool vest,
Cardigan, mittens, scarf, and hat,
Serenely oblivious to the sacrifice
Of the shivering Gnorbu pack.
Oh Wiser Gnorbu?
If we thought the hottest city
Was just enough to stand,
After an extreme flying lesson,
Stare in awe, another cave so grand.
Greeted by a flaming Gnorbu,
Igneot was his name.
Welcome to the deeper parts;
Feel free to explore -- we're tame!
Something about this humble Gnorbu
Takes me back afar,
To the distant mountains, the high top lands:
The Wise Gnorbu: Lunar's star.
How can I not compare these two figures,
Such distinctive lines of ancestry.
Yet, they seem to be so different
No evidence of historic tapestry.
There must be some sort of strong connection
That brings them both together.
Or maybe it is just one basic thing:
To prove that Gnorbu are better.
Clever, astute, thoughtful, and knowing,
The qualities of their kind.
They've been modest all this time;
Wiser Gnorbu: Wiser find.
Terror Mountain Twist
One day the winds were blowing hard,
and the two Gnorbu were about to starve.
The pathway up the mountain was rough,
and the ice made it even more tough.
The trek wasn't easy, they can tell you that,
in fact they were missing four gloves and a hat.
The nights weren't any better,
nothing could keep them warm, not even a sweater.
The fire they would try to ignite,
would usually turn into solid ice.
The winds that would blow were very rash,
and would blow away their food stash.
As soon as they were to the summit,
they felt as though they would plummet.
Then one sign of luck showed,
the sun came out, melting the snow.
They eventually reached their destination,
after climbing the rough formation.
I guess it proves that when the going gets tough,
snow, ice, and determined Gnorbu are enough.
The Rite of Passage: Shearing
I watched alarmed,
As my darling Gnorbu was taken from me --
"Why, he won't be harmed," they said.
My heart beat, however,
Despite their words of reassurance --
My Gnorbu was very young,
Only a year old.
"Please, please, please,"
My young pet had begged,
"Not the shearing!"
When asked why, he looked away
And began in a low toned voice --
"The elder Gnorbu, he said to me,
By the river near the bank,
That the day of shearing
Was quite revealing
And exposes who you are inside.
In all that fur, are you skinny and frail?
Or are you strong and lively?"
"Why, that's not so bad!" I chided,
But my Gnorbu lowered his head --
I would hear no more, sent him to be sheared
Watching him being led away amid heaps of wool --
I had doubts --
But even those were banished
When they sent my Gnorbu back to me.
I suppose that he looked the same, sort of,
Only with half his poof and half his swagger.
And I saw what the real problem was:
Why, upon his cheeks, flames of red abounded!
View from the Temple
In Shenkuu, an old
Wise Gnorbu sits and gazes
As Kreludor rises.
With a careful hand
He makes precise note of where
The moon wanders.
The moon keeps shifting
Unaware of its watcher,
Showing off its sides.
The Gnorbu pauses
As the sun begins to hide
Kreludor's flat face.
His work is done now
Until the gold moon once more
Flies in the sky.
So much depends on
And so much lives on a plain
Lump of space rock.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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