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Yet 100% Washable
Her silhouette, from a distance, is
no different from the rest -- backdropped
against the day's first hour, canine ears
stand pricked as if drawn attentive
by dawn-light; four sturdy paws which
mountain tempests can shake not.
Then you venture nearer, and you see
that the Lupe bears not a thick forest pelt,
nor the ardour of the blizzard peaks,
nor the clever camouflage of
umber and stalagmites.
She is pink, of young coral and
waterlily petals, and as you approach,
it strikes you that her coat
is not of fur at all --
Instead, you spot the
pockmarks and shadows rough:
the supple, nothing-soaks-better
element that is
And no matter how much
closer you tread, you'll not find
the gently moist core
that is her thoughts: the coax
of the water, the freedom of floating,
and the fragrance of
pearl-bubbles and spring.
Snowflakes flurry to the ground
Atop a wintry peak,
Filling in the slight indents
Of tiny cloven feet.
Quickly, softly does she move,
Her presence barely known.
None could prove her more than myth,
But for her gifts bestown.
Mesmerising swirls of mist,
Hold captive and entrance
Neopians who happen on
That Ixi's magic dance.
If fate allows your paths to cross,
Beware you don't delay,
For Tarla's gifts, though generous,
Oft are spirited away.
Items rare and wealth unknown
Are all within your reach,
But ask her if the mist she'll clear
And all her secrets teach.
Do Not Pull
If you like to travel in space,
You've been to the Virtupets Base.
But have you encountered
The lever that's mounted
And says "DO NOT PULL" on its face?
The first time I saw that, I sneered.
I said to the sign, "Listen here!
I'll pull you whenever
I wish to. The very idea!"
See, I know a bit about Sloth.
He's more than just sleazy and goth.
He's crafty and sneaky,
And shamelessly cheeky,
And cut from contrarian cloth.
I pulled it, but it disappoints.
A hand with mechanical joints,
Reached out of its socket
And into my pocket,
And grabbed ten times ten Neopoints!
That didn't stop me. I'm too wise.
That lever hides some kind of prize,
Or opens some room
Of unspeakable doom!
I pulled it with fire in my eyes.
Still nothing but theft by the hand,
But now I think I understand!
Sloth cannot fool me,
It is pull number three,
That reveals his nefarious plan.
A hundred more points stolen? Treason!
It can't be for raking NPs in.
Sloth doesn't need riches,
And they don't make switches
That say "DO NOT PULL" for no reason.
There's more to it, without a doubt.
That hand must be hiding a spout.
If I'm patient and clever
At pulling that lever,
I'll bet all my points will come out!
Or maybe it works a device
That turns Grundos to Miamice!
And once it's deployed,
I will wind up employed
As Sloth's number one minion. How nice!
So if I don't show up at school,
It means that my schedule is full.
I'm here at the Station
Beside my fixation:
The lever that says, "DO NOT PULL"!
Treasures from the Attic
A lonely ghost Aisha
Greets with an ecstatic grin;
She ushers you into the cramped attic:
"Please, good Neopian, come in!"
"I have so much stuff I don't need!"
She says, as she leads you in the room,
And as you look around in awe,
You know it will be your bank account's doom.
For in this tiny attic space,
Piles of interesting trinkets can be found:
Scattered all about on windowsills,
And covering entirely the dusty ground.
Mounds of snowballs and booklets of stamps,
Trading cards and exotic foods too,
So many nice items for discount prices:
You can't resist snagging a few.
You pick out a handsome antique lamp,
And a Draik egg -- lucky you!
But you remind yourself not to take so much,
So that other Neopians can get some too.
And with your arms laden with goodies,
You bid the ghost Aisha farewell,
Returning home with a skip in your step:
This day really has gone quite swell!
Behind the Mist
What lies behind the mist?
Take a peek,
Wonders may be revealed
As each piece is swept away.
What is contained within the box?
Take a look,
Perhaps an item rare as gems,
Maybe valueless trinkets.
What will you find inside the bag?
Take a chance,
Neopoints beyond counting
or naught but pennies.
What do I plan for the end of my journey?
Make a guess,
Something delightful, a special surprise,
Join me on my Mysterious Tour;
We'll venture beyond the veil.
The trip itself is half the fun
When we can go together.
Total Poetry Pages : 1959
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