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FYORA DAY SPECIAL
A Cake for a Faerie Queen
For days now I have toiled
to create the perfect cake;
a texture light as faerie clouds,
a taste as finely spun.
I'll measure everything just right
and sift and stir with care;
I'll weave a most delightful spell
of cake batter rising tall --
a scent far sweeter than perfume
and warmer than the sun;
a sight for hungry eyes,
a teaser to the tongue.
And a taste of utter sweetness,
lighter than a mallow
with a hint of spice
and everything nice;
every bite a moist mouthful
of bliss, scattered crumbs
and royal purple icing
garnished with radiant wings.
Humblest of Kacheeks I am,
with no riches to my name.
But I'll make my faerie queen a cake
divine in every way,
to honour and adore her on
this most decadent of days.
The Lady of the Western Skies
Casts down her knowing, lidded eyes.
A stern expression on her face,
She lifts her hand with fluid grace.
"For all that you have done," she sighs,
"For the evil you devise,
For all the chaos you have wrought,
For all the pain that you have brought,
I hereby banish you to stone,
And exile you to sea-bound home."
The Darkest Faerie shudders then;
The Queen's mouth opens once again.
She breathes the words of secret spell
As purple light begins to swell.
Upon the cloud, the cityscape
Grows dark as glowing orb takes shape,
Engulfing faerie's wicked form,
While in the distance, brewing storm
Draws closer to the fated place --
Dark head hangs low in bleak disgrace.
A thunderclap! -- and suddenly
A figure falls into the sea.
The frozen statue sinks from view
To darkest depths of ocean blue.
With the utmost
Power and precision,
Fyora's staff rules with a
Benevolent yet iron fist.
She carries the burden of
Being Faerie Queen
With dignity and grace, and
You won't see her put her
Celandra, Collector of Dirt
I am Celandra, royal maid,
Fyora's closest confidante.
I clean the castle and provide aid
For all Her Highness's needs and wants.
You may have heard of me before,
I found the Hidden Tower room,
While sweeping an unused corridor.
Its entrance appeared beneath my broom.
Now Fyora daily works the stand,
Selling artefacts in the tower invisible,
Raising funds for Faerieland
With items costly, rare, and powerful.
When this Lady of the Western Skies,
Our beloved Faerie Queen,
Grows weary from her enterprise,
It is I, Celandra, whom she seeks.
For I may be a lowly servant,
A maid dusting at cobwebs,
But I am also subtly observant
And collect your dirt within my head.
Did you not know this about Fyora?
That she enjoys gossipy tidbits?
If I were you I would not ignore a
Lowly maid who listens in.
Queen Fyora Quiguki
Once there was a Quiguki
Who adored Fyora fair,
Who loved her flowing dresses
And burnished amethyst hair.
As Fyora Day approached quickly,
The small Quiguki hatched a plan.
She said, "I need to make Fyora notice me,
With this scheme, I know that I can."
She saved up all her Neopoints
And went to the store to buy
Yards of violet, shimmering fabric
And for her hair, purple dye.
The Quiguki worked tirelessly for days.
She measured and cut and finally began to sew.
At last it was totally finished
And she added one last bow.
On Fyora Day, she arrived in Faerieland;
Her Fyora costume was incredibly pretty.
Suddenly, Fyora approached her!
The Quiguki tried to say something witty.
Luckily for the Quiguki, Fyora spoke first,
"Oh my goodness! Gracious me!
What a darling costume. I just adore it."
And she held up the Quiguki for all to see.
Fyora was even more beautiful in person.
She was so kind! The Quiguki beamed.
The Quiguki was admired by her hero.
This day was better than her dreams!
A pink sun sets in clouds aglow,
The final sale is rung,
Silence falls around her whilst
The last goodbyes are sung.
Gently does she close the door,
Deep breath escapes her lips,
With familiar ease, into her
Nightly ritual she slips.
Lovingly, with reverence,
Her fingers graze each shelf.
They hold arrays of memories
And pieces of herself.
Such trinkets rare and weapons great
Not lightly come upon,
She carefully inspects her stock
To see which ones have gone.
Good health be to the buyer of
The Scorchstone carved of jade.
The Amulet of Thilg
Has been sought to banish Thade.
Far off in the distance
She can hear a newborn cry,
Final patrons of the night,
A baby paint brush they did buy.
In peaceful, deep reflection,
Fyora clears her cluttered mind,
For in the dreams of others
Doth serenity she find.
Her wares have changed the fates of those
Who dared her threshold cross,
Though carries she their burden
As a mariner's albatross.
Her benevolent existence,
Righteous Queen of Faerieland,
Hath not its roots in peace,
But with a Skardsen Sword in hand.
Yet, history fades behind her,
All her wrongs since set to right,
And with healing heart renewed,
She closes shop up for the night.
CAKE! (Yet Still Fyora-Related)
icing and soft
that this is no everyday
desert -- not a typical
vanilla birthday treat nor
the origin of those "cake
slice fell on you" Random
Events. No, this is (quite literally)
"fit for royalty," and although it isn't
actually her birthday, no baker needs
prompt to build and ice a layered jewel like this.
Faerieland's Wonderful Queen
In times of both peace and trouble,
Queen Fyora reigns over Faerieland:
A stately figure in luscious purple robes,
And a bejewelled scepter in her hand.
She is a busy queen, no doubt,
Is her day ever really done?
From dawn 'til dusk she toils hard,
When does she have time to have fun?
First she must stock the Hidden Tower,
And make sure everything is in its place,
With sharpened swords sheathed in scabbards,
And every elusive book neat on the bookcase.
Next she heads to her towering castle,
To review new laws and check each guard post,
For the safety of the Faerieland citizens
Is what Fyora cares about the most.
And all the while she must answer the pleas
Of Neopians begging for a faerie quest or two,
"You must wait for them!" she says patiently,
"We are the ones who will come to you!"
So behold the wonderful Queen Fyora,
A queen more radiant than the sun,
For while graceful, kind, and generous,
She also works harder than anyone!
There is a land that the faeries sow
And where crops coloured rainbow grow,
Where the land is fine, with powdered white clouds
And with malicious dark faeries who cackle loud,
With spirits of the light, who sprinkle trust,
The mischievous fire faeries turn furniture aflame,
And while earth faeries can make trees merely dust,
Fyora is the queen the faeries entrust
Wise and old, yes, but with no signs of rust.
She paints her magic everywhere
From her home of clouds to Sloth's Kreludor lair
And diminishes cries of anguish and despair
With her winning, pink full smile
And perfectly robust lush pinky purple hair,
With her skin cream pale and fair.
Her powers not weak in the least
And for her, failure is rare,
Running a not-so-secret Hidden Tower,
High in the air.
Kindness almost bursts through her veins.
Wisdom, for Fyora, is not a pain,
Though patience is naught for the queen,
As she has waited for what feels like eternity
For some things to come, others to pass,
Always pondering, though:
How long will her reign last?
A Sonnet for Fyora
Protector of us all, great ruler of the sky,
Neopia without you would be a land bereft.
Not a deed goes done that escapes your eye,
Rewarding every kindness, making justice swift.
Your kindness and beauty is a priceless gift.
From your watchtower in the heights,
Day and night you work your shift
As protector; even when night wind bites
Or when day is blinding with its lights.
Divine Queen, Fyora, all hail
Kindness and strength in one so fair,
Even if her Tower never has a sale,
Would it even stand without her there?
Faeries of Darkness, of Light and Air,
Of Earth, Space, Water, and Fire
All are under her benevolent care.
You villains who'd rule the world entire,
I pity those who provoke Fyora's ire.
The Majestic Fyora
Oh, how the ageless Fyora stands
above the towers of Faerieland,
and her radiance glows,
as the gentle breeze blows.
She grasps her staff firmly,
as she commands calmly,
from her position of power,
on top of the gleaming tower.
Her kindness is perpetual,
treating all as equals,
her powers are boundless,
and her mind is sleepless.
The Hidden Tower that she possesses
reveals her life's greatest successes,
this sublime room of treasures,
cannot be paired with simple measures.
Despite Fyora's enduring work,
work that will make some go berserk,
she retains her regality,
and holds her sovereignty.
The Origin Of Magic
Unending, timeless: the magic of ages
Compare me to the moment 'tween sleep and wake,
The instant between now and infinity,
The moon, the sea;
And you will know a little of my ways.
I sing the song of time and memory,
I sing the lullaby of this world.
When night falls, I watch with unfaltering eyes
To keep shadows at bay, keep the darkness away;
I whisper dreams in the ears of the listening.
Behold the beauty of my lands:
City of my kindred, its gates are never closed.
Beauty is my gift to all, and healing for the weary,
My fountains shine with light and love
For those in need of renewal.
Stand by my side, and be remembered.
Take on my quests, and be rewarded.
I only ask for what I know you can find.
My blessings shall enhance you,
Make you ready, make you strong
And you will know the favor of the Queen.
Do you know me, have you seen me dance
In the light of pale dawn, in the fade of starlight?
I am timeless, I am unending,
Like the moon, like the sea.
I am the origin of magic: I am faerie. I am Fyora.
Hidden Tower and Its Keeper
In the clouds, unseen by the eye,
Oblivious to those who glide straight by,
Stands a structure, strong and tall,
A floating stone tower unable to fall.
Enveloped with a magic spell,
To keep the treasures secret as well.
Cloaked with invisibility, night and day,
A sanctuary to keep thieves at bay.
But inside is a store unlike any other,
Full of secrets -- in one form or another.
Brushes and weapons -- no need to be scared,
Though they have a price, so do be prepared.
The strangest fact of this magical place
Is the lady there with the beautiful face.
She guards the shop and watches the wares,
With her flowing gown and crown in her hair.
They say she is royalty, a proud Faerie Queen,
Yet she stands in this tower to service the scene.
Watching and serving, her tower so calm,
With her staff in hand to protect you from harm.
She lords over the faeries, their secret is secure,
In her glory and power, Fyora's magic so pure.
This supernatural palace, for faeries and friends,
A kingdom for wonders, hidden as it ascends.
To Fyora with Lurve
Elegant, graceful, powerful, smart,
nobody disobeys a queen with a heart,
her wings tell you 'I rule,'
her staff says 'Don't mess,'
her crown shouts 'I'm cool,'
'Best ever,' speaks her dress.
This is the queen of Faerieland,
this is the queen I follow,
the queendom she rules is exceptionally grand,
in her shadow I wallow.
I only wish, with all my heart,
that nobody discover,
how I worship her... so pretty... so smart...
Ahem, er, ah -- don't give away my cover --
I hope nobody finds out who I really am,
Or my adoration of my ma'am,
Oh, um, I believe I'm not the likeliest of fans,
...what I would give to hold her hands...
OH, ahem, er... now I shall tell you...
reveal my true self...
my name... my name is...
A flash of rose tints the breeze,
As the scent of violet drifts,
Birdsong floats out from the trees,
The Faerie Queen bestows her gifts,
Crystalline sprites dancing among the swifts,
She watches from the lofty tower roof,
Radiant in eternal youth.
And hung far above the diamond seas,
The aurora of her power shifts,
The darkness turns its back and flees,
From the wielder of the amethysts,
Who with her stately hand lifts,
The staff of justice, power, and truth
Radiant in eternal youth.
Total Poetry Pages : 2009
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