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1,300TH POETRY CONTEST
We Heart Sloth
It's Sloth Appreciation Day once more,
The celebration of an evil that we adore.
Let us recall his dastardly plots of yore!
(Secretly we hope that there will be more.)
For how can one fail to appreciate
A villain whose villainy we eagerly await?
A darkness that leaves you quaking in fear,
Yet an ambition you can't help but revere.
For how can one disapprove at all
Of an intelligence so mad, it enthralls?
He has a doctorate in World Domination,
While dabbling in sock puppet creation.
For how can one not endeavour to admire
His glowing red eyes, like coals of fire?
Or a mouth that twists into a sinister sneer;
His trademark hair, gel-slicked, pomade-smeared?
And how can one attempt not to love
Sloth's evil grin, when push comes to shove?
The legendary mastermind of murky green --
Dressed in his iconic cloak of inky sheen.
Fret not that he will rise again someday --
Make no mistake, it could even be today!
For we loyal followers shall be rewarded,
(Or at least not immediately terminated!)
The Rite of Passage: Shearing
I watched alarmed,
As my darling Gnorbu was taken from me --
"Why, he won't be harmed," they said.
My heart beat, however,
Despite their words of reassurance --
My Gnorbu was very young,
Only a year old.
"Please, please, please,"
My young pet had begged,
"Not the shearing!"
When asked why, he looked away
And began in a low-toned voice --
"The elder Gnorbu, he said to me,
By the river near the bank,
That the day of shearing
Was quite revealing
And exposes who you are inside.
In all that fur, are you skinny and frail?
Or are you strong and lively?"
"Why, that's not so bad!" I chided,
But my Gnorbu lowered his head --
I would hear no more, sent him to be sheared,
Watching him being led away amid heaps of wool --
I had doubts --
But even those were banished
When they sent my Gnorbu back to me.
I suppose that he looked the same, sort of,
Only with half his poof and half his swagger.
And I saw what the real problem was:
Why, upon his cheeks, flames of red abounded!
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 Sumo Wrestlers
The great crowd roars,
They're anticipating a fight.
The sumo wrestlers bow,
They're willing to prove their might.
In one corner an orange Chia glows,
His large size a frightening sight.
In the opposite a red Tonu sneers,
His blue bottoms done up tight.
The two pace the dusty circle,
The crowd they do excite.
Clouds of dust hover,
Neither waits for an invite.
Kasuki Lu is the first to strike,
His moves perfect yet trite.
Tonunishiki is slower to move,
Aiming to send his opponent into the night.
The two grapple in the centre,
Making no mistakes, however slight.
They wrestle each other into the ground
With the honour of a knight.
The dust clouds grow bigger,
Making the two difficult to sight.
But wait, one shadow emerges,
Tonunishiki has won the fight!
The crowd cheer on the Tonu
As he stands before them at full height.
Kasuki Lu lies still on the ground,
His mood gone from confident to contrite.
Mr. Chuckles: The Other Evil Clown
A round, red nose and zany hair:
These things should induce laughter.
But should you meet this strange Kacheek,
You'll change your mind thereafter.
What dreadfulness has visited
This hostile little clown?
What has caused him to become
An outlaw of renown?
No longer does he wish to bring
Amused, carefree delight.
All he wants to see from you
Is frantic, frenzied fright.
His powers are diverse and strong,
Like shocking lightning bolts.
His fearful victims can't escape
These formidable volts.
And what's a clown who doesn't have
A myriad of pies?
Yet those that Mr. Chuckles throws
Contain a mean surprise:
If hit by one, you'll find yourself
Under his control,
A mindless minion only set
On helping with his goal.
What has made him so corrupt
Is simply beyond me.
But if I had to make a guess,
I suppose that it would be:
Whenever clowns are referenced,
Chias come to mind.
Perhaps this overlooked Kacheek
Began to feel maligned.
Mr. Chuckles, you can put
Your insecurities to rest.
You've managed to claim infamy,
And frankly, I'm impressed.
Within the Hall of Heroes
The light filters in from the roof, no longer
In darkness, dim --
Shielding his eyes, flailing his arms
The Yurble Janitor snorts in disgust.
'Useless plotters,' he thinks.
'One day they'll be all gone.
When they are, I'll quit my job,
Head to the famous lands
Of lush green and sandy beach,
Blustering wind, or parching heat,
Whether crazy islanders or pirate's cove,
They'll be the lands I'll learn to know.
'I'll sail the seas, swing through trees,
Uncover mysteries of the Krawk,
Then, I'll become a billionaire,
No longer just a janitor with a mop!
I'll visit the city, dining in finesse,
Kick up my feet, I'll deserve a rest,
Watch the new Janitor with respect --
Then laugh. Whatever did I ever earn or get?
'Oh, just think --
I'll be out of here one day...
'And when Altadorians see me gone,
They'll be shocked, dismayed.
I've got points for tickets,
Yes, I'll pay --
Anything to get away from here some day!
This dreadfully cursed place.'
With a crash, the Janitor jumps,
His bucket of water overturned, dumped.
Grumbling, brandishing his mop,
The Yurble swipes up filthy water,
Maraquan Foot Soldier
Peophin foot soldier, ready to fight,
Bedecked in armour maractite,
Sword in hoof, strength in heart,
Combat skills down to an art.
Defending the homeland with strength and speed,
These Peophin warriors are ready to lead.
The pirate forces tremble with fear,
If these dreaded swordsmen might be near.
Born and raised in Maraquan land,
And clearly eager to lend a hand,
Slicing swords they offensively yield,
But defensively ready to block and shield.
With Swordsmaster Talek they carefully trained,
Experience and knowledge was constantly gained,
Ready to heed the call to action,
And fight the invaders with satisfaction.
These defenders and their heroic deed
Of defending Maraqua from Scarblade's greed,
Will be immortalised in Maraquan lore,
And be remembered evermore.
The Monotonous Life of a Quiggle
It is slowing by the minute,
Lone wheel on the plateau,
Yet the time he waits seems infinite,
For it was spun so long ago,
By patient Quiggle, and oh,
How we do value his devotion,
To this disk of never-ending motion.
He leans against a rock,
Brow furrowed as a field,
Yet fearless we do flock,
For prizes he may yield,
Rare treasures long concealed,
Yet he finds no thrill in prizes,
Fortune hunters he despises.
But still we bring our sleeping bag,
Our pillow, and a brush,
Aware of how time loves to drag
Near the wheel that will not rush,
Oh, how boring thi... "Wait! hush!
I no longer hear the click!"
Quiggle gets up, strangely quick.
I shout, "Finally, it has finished!"
He slowly blinks, his boredom undiminished.
The Balance of a Royal Nimmo
Make a bow for his excellency!
Line up, line up!
For something royal this way comes.
Crane your neck, catch a glimpse!
Of both ruler and scribe,
Oh, scholar and political genius,
Of the balance between social presence
and intellectual studies!
Down the carpeted walkway,
Royal Nimmo walks.
So unlike other royals!
His head among the books
While also imperiously at court.
What be this creature ever so fine?
Royal Nimmo --
All whiskered lips and glinting eyes,
Crimson red, golden yellow,
Dressed in golden arm bands,
Crowned with spikes of solid gold.
He's got a towering presence!
Powerful jumper's legs.
A strategist's mind,
A warrior's body,
A King's fist.
Can any hope to match?
Underwater is a beautiful place,
while islands are hit with roaring waves.
Underneath the water we see a shadow,
much unlike the usual pet look.
Venture in closer and you will see,
a creature with a rather spiky shield.
But would this pet hurt you?
Why not ask the Maraquan Meerca?
It looks quite harmless at first,
though its defence can be quick to hurt.
You want to ask it if it was friendly,
but the thought of talking was still pending.
Finally, you decide to speak up,
as this had gone on long enough.
You ask it if it was a nice pet,
and he assures you he hasn't hurt anyone yet.
Soon you find you're in conversation,
with a pet who lives in an underwater place.
You see it's soon time to go,
but you don't want to miss more of this show.
The Maraquan Meerca was a very nice friend,
but the day was coming to an end.
The next day you will go back,
to see the dangerous Meerca who won't attack.
Total Poetry Pages : 1864
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