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Festival of Neggs
It is again the time of year,
For Neopians far and near
To search for Kari's long-lost treasures;
Her hidden gifts become our new endeavours.
There are no baskets with chocolate Cybunnies,
Rather wealthy collectors with spending money
Who buy new Neggs with all of their salary,
Just to display them in a colourful gallery.
The Festival of Neggs is about the collection
Of tasteful Neggs with gorgeous complexion;
Visit the festival and claim your prize,
Not doing so would be unwise.
Kari gathered all through seasons,
Eager to show for several reasons;
The spring brings warmth and time glee,
The celebrated day of the Negg Faerie.
And Comes Easter
The thaw comes slow
And hesitant under a silent landscape
Still blanketed by snow,
But the Easter Cybunny,
With ears long and footsteps soft,
Listens and hears now the notes
That make up the hush:
Old roots stretching out
Of winter slumber
To reach gurgling snow-melt
That bubbles dreamily
Deep in Neopia's core,
As the ground itself seems to shift,
Drowsy with ice, but quickening
To life, and drip by sweet drip,
Winter sings its slow farewell
To the places it has blessed
With its ice-white breath.
And the Cybunny's heart is full, for spring
And he hides his prismatic Neggs
In vale and copse, so that between
Green leaf and curling vine, they peek out
To Neopians young and old,
Like dew-awakened petals.
Easter Negg Hunt Blues
"I shouldn't have come," you say
to a fluffy pink Cybunny, your hands
gripping your basket handle,
slick with sweat.
Mr Fluffy looks positively scandalised.
You smile apologetically,
then peer gloomily into his basket,
heaped with such delicious Neggs
painted pastel, pink and green...
Ugh! Your own basket? Empty,
save for the plain orange Negg
you'd put in so you wouldn't
look so pathetic -- but
you feel pathetic anyway --
What's this? A shiny pink Negg
right near that clump of grass?
Nah, just a pile of dung. Maybe
a Negg Hunt in Meridell was a bad idea.
Your hair itches
and you're drenched in sweat --
You smile apologetically
to anyone that passes --
Lo! A flash of Cybunny tail.
The Easter Cybunny, perhaps? About time!
"Hey, I'd--" you begin, until
the Cybunny turns --
and you have to smile
to Mr Fluffy again.
The Festival of Neggs is here again,
So take a breath and count to ten.
The quest that you will undertake
Can only end in pain and ache.
It starts off simple, find some food,
To which the first clue did allude.
That Slymook sure will need a treat,
Something soft, and something sweet.
Now onto finding that slippery beast,
Notice how much your anger's increased.
You'll be hunting it so long,
It must seem like there's something wrong.
Quickly catch it; there it goes.
It's getting away; follow it close.
Slymooks sure are hard to get,
Even with your trusty net.
Catch it once and catch it twice,
Don't you miss, just be concise.
Three times lucky, no, not quite,
Impossible to grab, for one so bright.
Finally you swipe one firm,
In your arms you watch it squirm.
It just takes a rock that you ignore --
You trip and fall; it's gone once more.
Your undying anger lets out a cry,
Awaking a dark tree's watching eye.
If you can finish this puzzle now,
You'll find that Slymook on the prow.
But what the puzzle shows is odd,
Not of a Slymook so the tree you prod.
All this for nothing, you finally give in,
Back to the faerie with a defeated grin.
But what's this you see as you arrive?
That glowing Slymook well and alive.
Kari thanks you and gives you a pat,
And your very own Glowing Slymook Hat.
An Ode to Neggs (and the Faerie Who Keeps Them)
O Kari, your beauty
one cannot dismiss.
From your untamed green hair
to your pointed fae ears.
To your wings, to your feet,
to your lovely ensemble.
You flutter on by
and I cannot contain
myself when you're near,
for I know when you come
you've got Neggs to sell
and I must just have some.
O Neggs, all so pretty,
each one is unique.
But they're all so delicious,
I cannot choose one.
I eat and eat,
and I lap them all up.
Oh my, I feel sick;
oh, why didn't I stop
at five, or at twelve,
or at twenty or thirty,
or when I got sick
the first time at forty?
My face turns green,
and I start to salivate.
Oh please, let me live
and I promise from now on
I'll have self-control.
I promise, I swear it.
Can this be, is it passing?
Oh, thank the queen fae!
Now I can go on with my day,
perhaps win some prizes,
or... what's that?
Another Negg? OH BOY!!!
Total Poetry Pages : 1983
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