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ZAFARA DAY SPECIAL
Where branches claw at starless skies
At nighttime's darkest hour,
Past houses old and graveyards cold,
There lies a sombre tower.
The keeper of this lair is
The one they call a witch.
Within she dwells and mixes spells,
And says she'll make you rich.
Her green visage, seen always through
A haze of cauldron steam,
Betrays the lies within her eyes;
Things are not as they seem.
For though she may seek out your help,
Her soul's full of deceit.
That which she hoards, and then rewards,
Is food unfit to eat.
Stinking fare of cryptic roots --
Such prizes are not craved.
But do expect that she'll select
A present so depraved.
Then leave her hunched over her spell,
Within her bleak stone room.
For should you press, show your distress,
You may face certain doom.
The Helpful Zafara
Do you want some help?
Well, you've come to the right place!
I know everything from A to Z,
From Neopia to outer space!
Do you want to know about Kreludor,
Or how to play a game?
Did you want to learn about Shenkuu,
Or how to deal with a flame?
I'm Sarah the helpful Zafara,
I know everything there is to know!
I can help you with the Battledome;
I'll show you where to go!
All you need to give me
Is a single written word.
Once you give me that one thing,
I'll find the answer; I'm a proud nerd!
Zina the Desert Scarab
It is a bright and early morn.
The Grarrl calls out his wares,
The carpets have yet to adorn
Sakhmet's palatial stairs.
Fruits of all sorts fill the stall,
Overflowing past the brim,
Tcheas, Puntecs, large and small,
To Suti Fruits so sweet and slim.
But soft, what's this; something's amiss,
In an eye's quick blink, a fruit is gone!
Not one glance notices this,
And soon two boxes are breached upon.
Who made this marvellous, daring heist?
Are the Desert Scarabs to blame?
Our curiosity's indeed sufficed,
By a Zafara's tail, as quick as flame.
Zina the Zafara, a notorious thief,
With a scarab tattooed on her roan coat,
Explorer of ruins, a merchant's grief,
This sneaky Scarab seems to float.
Another box is gone in seconds;
The Desert Scarabs will eat well tonight!
Such are just some of Zina's errands,
Even in the accusing sunlight.
She is a thief extraordinaire,
Indeed a Zafara without compare!
The Traitorous Zafara
Allegiance, a discarded term,
And loyalty's for fools.
When it's she who sets the price,
She lives by her own rules.
Information up for grabs,
Her facts exact, precise.
Ill-gotten knowledge up for bid,
If one can meet her price.
Beneath the shroud of onyx night,
Her softest footfalls sound.
None shall know she walks these halls,
No trace is ever found.
The whisper of that trailing cloak,
A candle's single glow.
A word she wasn't meant to hear
Is all she needs to know.
Trust is for the poorest folk,
Who let her overhear.
Emotion plays no part in this,
Her conscience, thus, is clear.
It's all a business in her mind,
An art form, as a spy.
Nothing personal, you see,
It's your choice if you buy!
Before one even knows she's here,
She'll vanish in thin air.
With your secrets in her paw,
A threat is she, beware!
A double agent and a spy,
Which might seem quite unjust.
If she takes advantage, though,
It's your fault, if you trust.
The Zafara Rogue
She lurks within the Deep Catacombs,
This mistress of the art of swords.
She of renown in the Battledome,
The Zafara Rogue seeks her reward.
With an obscuring swirl of Enchanted Cape,
The oblivious walk right by her.
Flashing a blade she makes her escape
With the coins she has acquired.
If you should happen to cross her path,
She may invite you into battle.
But testing this Zafara's wrath
Can leave a body rattled.
Why does she stalk in grottos deep
When her skills are much more fearsome
Than those needed by a petty thief?
Could there be a hidden reason?
By turns lurking and revealing
Herself at the Art Gallery
Could this Zafara be appealing
For a portrait's immortality?
Could she be hoping for a story
In the illustrious Neopian Times?
Or does she dream of the lasting glory
Of the Poetry Gallery's rhymes?
Perhaps a coin struck with her profile
Is the best way to capture
The Zafara Rogue and her fighting style
And the fame she may be after.
To a Blue Zafara
She awakens as
Night comes to its end,
And the Lightmites in their swarm
Hesitate and stir,
A dizzying cloud of light
Hardly able to bear
A beauty as flamelike
As their own.
One long ear pricks:
Night-sounds begin to
Mellow into the notes
Of less sombre thoughts;
The mournful chorus of
Timid flocks of Whoot picks up, when
Just before dawn they bid
Their wild, sweet farewells
To the stars.
Blue as a mood,
Or a rain-washed sky,
She watches the dawn come,
An early riser, like most of her kind --
Sunlight is her life-blood,
And so she springs lightly over
To where the Faellie flies,
And with one leap,
Basks in the light
Of the inner skies.
Zafara Princess, your beauty fair
Enchants all mortals that come near.
There are none yet who can quite compare
To your charm and grace, your luscious hair,
Or your gossamer gown, blue as sky.
Oh, Zafara Princess, your beauty fair
Bedazzles us, sends us into despair.
You're the fairest in the land, no doubt;
There are none yet who can quite compare.
Why, such beauty has always been rare;
And rarer still, to agree upon.
But Zafara Princess, your beauty fair
Inspires poets from here and there
And bards from all around the world;
There are none yet who can quite compare
To this Zafara, oh, this royal heir!
Let her be known by all, far and wide.
Zafara Princess, your beauty fair
There are none yet who can quite compare!
Most Zafaras bounce around,
Laughing all day long.
Mine does not.
Instead she sits in silence, waiting
For the sun to go down, the moon to come out.
And she comes alive.
An elegant dive, straight into the sea.
A Zafara returns to her home.
Maraqua, whole again.
I smile, for she does not need to bounce --
She glides, swift through the ocean,
And the water comes alive once more.
By Chirigami and Most_lizard
So you think magic is the crux of it all,
But let me explain; I will no longer stall.
Potions and brews, witchcraft and spells
Are normal in this here story I'll tell.
I was sent back in time, through stars and space;
I feel like one who has been left out of place.
But I am the keeper of secrets so dear
That in turn you yell "magic" and run in fear.
But let me emphasise from the bottom of my heart
That the trickery you see is merely an art.
Peer through my windows and open my box,
See what lies beneath the enchanted locks.
And you just might see that what catches your eye
Is not evil, nor witchcraft, nor any great lie.
It's common ingredients, mixed with some thought,
Add a little bit of love all up in one pot.
And poof! There you see it! The potion is made!
No illusions, no hoaxes, and no, it won't fade!
I'm Kayla the potion master, best of my kind,
One day in the future, this knowledge you'll find.
Edna's Evil Concoctions
Hidden in the Haunted Woods, a witch does live,
Enter her shadowy tower, ingredients you must give.
Mummy Spaghetti, Beast Burger, and Deviled Steak,
Washed down with a pleasant Spooky Shake.
The steaming bubbling cauldron, all Neopets fear,
Frequent screams at midnight, the woods doth hear.
Her broomstick parked beneath the glowing moon,
Inside Edna mixes potions, stirring with her spoon.
With her green colour and witch's hat so black,
Spell books piled so high, yet skill Edna does lack.
Forever making concoctions, trying so hard,
Even fetching items from the nearby graveyard.
Her dream to be a supermodel, one day soon,
Other witches laugh and say "Not in a blue moon."
Her evil cackle echoes, spine-tingling it is,
Edna's potions going snap, pop, fizz!
But if you help her, find whatever she needs,
She'll reward you kindly for doing her evil deeds.
Sit down, relax, and see what she's chosen for you.
Many delightful concoctions, an appetising brew.
If You Give a Zafara Some Cymbals
Yesterday he went
to the Music Shop,
asked the fine Kyrii there
if he could help him find an instrument
that destroyed noise as well
as it created it.
He said with his spiked tail
wrapped around his feet,
"I want to join a marching band,
I want a voice that rises
above the drums,
but that can stay on the surface
I want something that I can play
with my eyes open."
So grinning, the Kyrii
handed this young lad two cold brass moons.
He took them in his hands
and left the shop with pride.
I heard him practice, dear reader.
I've heard him practice, both moons
clapped together trying to eclipse
the sound of the other.
I've heard him perform before
his Babaa, and now he can't find him.
And yet tomorrow is Zafara Day,
and he'll be in the parade
on a float flaunting his name,
his new song that creates crowds
as quickly as it disperses them,
and it'll be a grand day indeed.
The Help Zafara
In Neopia one day, you may find
That you've somehow lost your way.
You have a question; you need help,
But who should I ask, you say.
Who knows everything about the world?
Who has read every book?
Who has collected almost every item?
Who knows where to look?
Sarah the Zafara, that is she,
Brainiest in all Neopia.
Ask her a question, and she will know
What answer to give you, right here!
Friendly and smiling, yet very smart,
You just need to say the one word,
She'll help you out, make it clear,
And you'll remember what you've heard.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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