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FLOTSAM DAY SPECIAL
She ought to be swimming
with the others; she ought to be
mapping legacy in the
with stream-marks left by
wave dwellers gone already
But she's watching from the
admittedly quite keenly;
pale yellow as they all start out,
and her eyes, lucid
as the blue of soap-bubbles,
have yet to be shut against,
then opened against,
the stroke of the changing
as they all start out,
tiny Flotsam flippers just the
beginning of what will be
a skater of the seas.
She ought to be gliding
with the grace of her kind
in the briny called home --
-- and she will.
Something lurks beneath the sea,
A creature sinister and rank,
A hollowed, emaciated monster,
A Neopet quite sunken of face and lank.
The clothes that cling loosely to him
Are dirty, smelly, and torn;
His fins are scarred and blemished,
And his teeth are weak and worn.
The eyes of this disgusting beast,
Are milky-white -- almost blind,
Its entire form is hideous:
Not a creature of the normal kind.
But this wraith -- a zombie Flotsam, you say?
Can't be all that bad.
Though frightening and unattractive,
He looks a little sad.
So you extend toward the creature a caring hand,
Your breath held anxiously, prepared for your end;
The ghastly Flotsam smiles and splashes playfully:
A scary but rather nice new friend!
The Baby Flotsam
While other babies cry, he is mellow.
His skin is a soft, buttery yellow.
Dewy blue eyes that no one can hate;
They are as big and round as dinner plates.
While other babies play on the ground,
He is in the water, swimming around.
Because the sea is where he spends his days,
There are fewer babies with whom he can play.
While other babies sit, scoot, or crawl,
He can swim faster than them all.
Other babies must cross water on a boat,
For unlike a Flotsam, they cannot float.
While other babies are naughty and get into trouble,
He is content to play with ocean bubbles.
Baby Flotsams have not a single vice.
They are never naughty and always nice.
While other babies squall through the night,
He goes to sleep as soon as it is no longer light.
In a soft, green seaweed bed he lies,
And slowly he shuts his tired baby eyes.
The Flotsam Hunter
While other Flotsam search for gold
Within a sunken ship's dim hold,
The Flotsam Hunter hopes to find
A treasure of a different kind.
Armed with harpoons and hooks and nets,
He explores the ocean, east to west,
Seeking gilded scales, the eyes like jewels,
Of the Petpets he captures for the Rock Pool.
"Let Liandra and the Raider scratch out Dubloons
From within Old Maraqua's crumbled ruins.
Let them live on hope while I spread fear,"
Says the Flotsam Hunter with a sneer.
"Capturing Peos, Ghoti, and Kelpflakes
Is the claim that I do stake.
Gathering Walein, Pfish, and Hippalops
To sell to Mystery Island's Petpet Shop."
I shudder to think of each Petpet that
Is plucked from its home and habitat.
Each Meturf, Delfin, Orp, and Sproing,
Their freedom sold for mere Neocoins.
The Flotsam Hunter feels no shame
For profiting from this dark exchange.
I can only hope each Petpet finds
A new owner quickly, loving and kind.
Restless Flotsam upon the wind,
Like weathered wood upon the sea,
The cloak'd Flotsam darkly grins
At all that smites his fancy.
Glowing sheets of ghostly white,
Dragging softly through the earth,
Stirring not a Lightmite's spite,
Yet bringing forth a chilling dearth.
Cares and troubles, wants and wishes,
Mortal desires so pressingly stark,
Drawn through the graveyard ashes,
By a cloth so bright and so dark.
Hark; the wind now ends the midnight hour,
The screams of Crokabeks fill the sky,
The spirit Flotsam, with eyes so dour,
Fades from view with a gurgling sigh.
He may be gone, but his presence stays,
To stir the souls of fresher prey...
The Zombie Flotsam
Where sunlit glimmer reaches not
In depths of shadowed dark,
Where coral seems so pallid, faint,
Where sand is dull and stark.
The seaweed drifts in eerie form,
And there he makes his home.
For where the ocean meets the sand,
The zombie beast doth roam.
Tattered rags do trace his form
And shift in current's flow.
Fabric drifts to tidal whim,
It dances, haunting, slow.
Pallid gaze, twin vapid orbs,
From cracked glasses do peer.
Ever onward does he drift,
No aim, no hope, no fear.
None know how zombie came to swim,
The ocean, far below.
None know why smirk doth twist his face,
Or why bleak eyes do glow.
They only see him swimming forth,
No note to all around.
Flippers, tattered, barely move,
Eyes fixed on sand below.
Some claim he seeks what was misplaced,
Some say it's him that's lost.
None ever dare to ask him, though,
Too great would be the cost.
He merely shivers through the sea,
A fleeting form, then gone.
Seeking something now long lost,
He's swimming, ever on.
Piercing rays doth break the swells,
Illumine mossy lea,
Reflection glints off jewelled crown,
And dances on the sea.
Gossamer threads adorn her form,
A muse of royal grace,
A whisper in the water,
She doth pass without a trace.
Her peace she finds amidst the paths,
Through gardens she doth keep,
Of underwater treasures,
Sacred beauty of the deep.
Shimmering blades of seagrass drift,
To ancient rhythms sway,
Brilliant coral blooms
And gestures toward the light of day.
Polished stones of countless hue,
Worn smooth by sands of time,
Mosaics ageless and sublime.
An everchanging garden
Shifting at the ocean's whim,
It humbles her the same,
On every peaceful morning swim.
The Underwater Chef
I once lived in Maraqua as the Royal Chef;
Indeed, it was a delight to cook,
Until that fateful day did come,
When my home was destroyed and forsook.
A terrible disaster, horror indeed,
But at least, I did survive.
But what terrible measures I now need take
To keep myself alive!
On Mystery Island I soon was,
And there I soon was stuck.
Because of he called Mumbo Pango!
And because of my terrible luck.
The Coconut King, so huge is he,
And constantly hungry, he tells;
"Fetch me food!" he said to me,
"And some drink, as well."
In fear, I agreed and left his sight,
And instantly I began to bake.
But five minutes in, I heard a roar,
Of "I WANT CHOCOLATE CAKE!"
I shivered and murmured, "Oh, yes!"
But then realised with dismay
That I had no chocolate on my bench
And finding some would take all day.
And then I saw someone passing by,
A Neopet of well to-do;
An idea sprang to my mind!
So I asked, "Please help me, will you?"
I'm still trapped here on this island,
Food demands every five minutes
From Mumbo Pango the tyrannical king
Who then chomps it all up to bits.
I constantly ask for another's assistance
As I cannot leave to find
The ingredients I need to properly cook --
So I need your help! Do you mind?
They swim gracefully under the shimmering gold --
refracted rays hang heavily on the ocean's lips
parting only for the deep sighs of foam --
painting colours into the dark watery face.
Mischievous melodies ring in time with the waves.
the beauties rise up toward the musty air,
they leap into the world's strong exhaling winds,
beads of moisture cascade from their fins,
acting as chains, holding the beasts to the water.
For, it is certain that in this moment --
Horns pointed to the blue above them,
tails bringing up spray from the blue beneath --
though perhaps briefly, they achieve flight.
Over and over they break out from the waves --
those gallant walls built by the moon --
only wishing to stay suspended a little longer.
Will the ocean ever release these wild spirits,
and share them with his reflecting brother?
If I were the ocean, and the ocean were I --
Although this is but a dreamer's prophecy,
built from hope, imagination and fantasy --
I'd let the Pteri taste the salt of the water,
And let the Flotsam know the sky.
Eat My Bubbles
Swimming through the seas
Rather than dancing through trees,
Engulfed in a baking wave current,
Eyes darting in motion,
Through the ocean.
A battle cry he yells,
A foam of bubbles erupts,
And through the sea, the Ocean Division
Swim dramatically -- the water corrupt.
Stabbing through the current
With a long, sharp nose
Paired with furiously pointed teeth,
Edging his army to go on
In the ocean's perilous deep --
Pushing them forward, motivational cries
Disowned sweat, cascading down
To the land of fallen flies.
Approaching land now,
Dancing through the air
With a taunting gesture,
Plesio challenges, dares.
The enemy gasps --
The last of what they see
Is the Tyrannian Sea Division,
Merciless, unfaltering against the pleas.
Everything is black, into the void
The enemy's will is tossed --
A Ghost Flotsam's View
Not all can dance or dream or cheer, this day,
When Flotsam of the oceans join as one,
To drown their sorrows in laughter and play
From glorious dawn to dark setting sun.
I am as well a Flotsam of the sea,
Who drifts like wood in every restless tide.
But I cannot join my kind, fair and free.
My place in this festival is denied.
My form is no longer true, but hollow,
My skin is ghastly, pallid, and pale.
Red eyes show the woe in which I wallow,
The sea forever remains my jail.
Flotsam Day is one of brightness to most,
But only another day to a ghost.
The Flotsam Who Wanted to Fly
Our story begins
In the jewel-bright sea
Where a little blue Flotsam
Longed to be free.
She wanted to fly,
To roam, to explore!
She was bored with the sea
And began to want more.
The little blue Flotsam
Wished she had wings.
If she did, she'd be able
To do all sorts of things!
She would soar to the city
Nestled in clouds,
She would visit the moon,
Join tourist crowds!
But no, all she had
Were her waterbound fins.
The little blue Flotsam
Was filled with distress.
Over dreams of flight
She continued to obsess.
"If only, if only,"
She moaned to her friend,
"We could fly from the water,
And the sea transcend!"
Her friend looked amused
And said, "Follow me.
I'll show you something
That you ought to see."
So he led the way up,
Trailing bubbles in haste,
And they broke through the surface
With no time to waste.
And there, they saw Flotsams --
There were hundreds, it seemed!
And the little blue Flotsam
Smiled and beamed,
As the Flotsams around them
Cartwheeled and leapt
Out of the water,
Doing airborne pirouettes!
The little blue Flotsam joined in the fun,
Splashing under the warmth of the sun.
Loudly, she shouted: "Who needs wings?
I can fly and I only have fins!"
The Flotsam Raider
In the dark undercurrents of the Neopian sea
The Flotsam Raider glides at night.
Like a torpedo under the water,
He quickly swims out of sight.
The Raider has no time for pleasantries,
The bounty of the ocean depths awaits.
He plunders lost jewels, Dubloons, and weapons
From unlucky Neopians clueless to their fate.
Kiko Lake is no place for him
As it is far too sunny and much too sweet.
It is in the dangerous waters of Krawk Island
That you are more likely to meet.
His most favourite haunt is Old Maraqua;
There is so much unclaimed treasure left behind
From the ancient storm of years gone past
That was vicious and far from kind.
Forever searching is his task
To find the hidden jackpot of treasure,
So he can finally rest among the rich lucky ones
And be a Flotsam of endless leisure.
Safe flippers guard our dreams,
Keen Flotsam eyes alert,
Benneveldt watches the teams
Standing strong, firm in the dirt.
Island colours are a camouflage,
In the dense dust of the court,
But Lor acts as more than mere mirage,
He's a god of Yooyu sport.
So much of Mystery Island's hope
Rests with this keeper aquatic,
Helping us to cope,
When Shurtz and Volgoth are erratic.
So cheer on this brave pet,
The guardian of the goal,
For he has chosen toil and sweat,
Instead of swimming with his shoal.
The Underwater Chef
Stirring and sweating and baking and pouring,
Such is the life of this Chef.
He may need some help to complete all the food,
But rest assured what he makes is the best.
Slaving away over pots and pans,
All because the boss is hungry.
Constantly cooking and preparing new food
To fill Mumbo Pango's vast tummy.
When this poor Flotsam Chef can do no more
without another ingredient or two,
He may allow others into his kitchen
In order to request some help from you.
Now please understand that this stressful job
Takes a toll on our poor cooking genius.
He doesn't try to yell or make you mad;
His frustration simply comes out as meanness.
When his quests are completed,
His rewards are quite handsome,
So to you, Mr. Chef, we must say,
Even though we know you won't get the day off,
Here's hoping you have a great Flotsam Day!
The Undead Flotsam
I was walking the grounds of the Haunted Woods.
Dear friend, not a wise choice.
For the Woods are spooky, deep, and misty,
And no lamp guides my way.
The path winds side to side.
Noises in the night.
Shrieks, whispers, the wind shrills.
Walking along, all may seem normal.
When from the ground
Burst fins of deathly pallor.
Curling around the loosened soil...
A creature is hauled to the surface.
A zombie. The undead.
But this one is different.
Very much so.
Most zombies drool and moan,
Calling for feasts of brains.
This one, with rubbery limbs and wide, wide eyes...
Eyes that peer from rusted spectacles.
How rare! How unexpected!
The appetite is different, delicate palate.
The clothes may be tattered, skin patched, grey...
What this Flotsam seeks are not treats of brains...
But instead the knowledge inside.
Total Poetry Pages : 1971
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