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You are on Page 1302
You are on Page 1300
Words of the Catacomb walls...
I traced my first verses here
just three hundred seventy-five
pages ago, and that day
a peanut-chasing Puppyblew found
life in its place, here among the
laureates' thoughts --
And since then I have gone on
as on as I could,
painting a mark on
what was paper before paper:
stone, stone in a cavern
and laid boldly in array, without
scroll nor binding when
elements grew fierce.
Rhymes, then shapes, then
verses free as this...
of a Flotsam's aspirations,
of poking holes in wheels,
of lights in the Woods where no
other lights blinked welcome;
I have shouted
bad poetry (is bad),
and I have seized the
only day I could to nudge
fun at Lost Desserts.
So what now?
Thirteen hundred, and
my own among it -- yet what a
small part it still was,
the obscurest of minor roles,
not only of 1300 but
what is to come.
So what now? Now... let
these walls hold a place in you
as they have done in me,
for as long as their breaths
are heard here,
1300 more will pass in
Side by side we stand,
We watch you make the first move,
Ready for the fight.
The treaty ends here,
You jump diagonally,
Starting with bold moves.
How should I respond?
Look both ways before crossing,
We meet face to face.
Your piece looks hungry;
It could use something to eat.
It gobbles up mine.
Set up for a double-jump,
Frozen still in fear,
Twenty-four hours to budge.
Move or lose; your choice.
The game has ended,
You can just call me Hagan,
You can just "king me!"
A Midnight Gamble
Failing rays of setting sun
Doth cast an eerie glow
Upon an evil hideaway,
A sinister chateau.
Tried by time, great edifice
In disrepair doth lay,
Forsaken, crumbled silhouette
Of ominous decay.
A diabolic Blumaroo
Now stirs within its keep,
Awoken from two hundred years
Of solitary sleep.
Shrouded in black satin cloak,
Sharp fangs that seek to bite,
Quite safe you'll be by light of day,
But terror reigns at night.
If you do call upon the Count
When midnight strikes the hour,
You'll find that deadly dice he rolls
Possess a secret power.
Present your bravest Neopet,
And dare to take a chance.
If fortune favours folly,
Then a level you'll advance.
Roll a tie with cunning Count
And double up the stakes.
In this round there's an avatar --
He gives but also takes.
But if, by chance, the Count does win,
A level you will lose,
And then I recommend you quickly
Flee from Count Von Roo's!
An Ode to the Escaped Pixel
One item holds a place in my mind.
It's cleverly crafted, well-designed.
Now its origins must I find;
Those of the poor Escaped Pixel.
Oh, Pixel, your history does me confound.
I have my theories, the wildest around:
Were you once a pet abandoned at the Pound?
Answer me this, poor Escaped Pixel.
Oh, Pixel, I now know that you are a toy.
This seems inane; to whom could you bring joy?
I think that this is just a suspicious ploy
To hide your story, poor Escaped Pixel.
Why is your tale one that you must hide?
You can trust me, so go on, confide!
It's not good to hold secrets inside,
So just tell me, poor Escaped Pixel!
You say that Neoquest is where you used to roam?
So why do you now walk on this foreign loam?
Surely you must desire to return home.
Sad must you be, poor Escaped Pixel.
Oh Pixel, this fate is a crime!
From my life you've taken time,
From my poem you've taken the rhyme!
I now beg you: please go to the brick well,
And wish to go home, my poor Escaped Pixel.
The Hundredth Gallery Showcase
Now and then there comes a time
when Neopian poets wax sublime,
juggling metre and playing with rhyme --
it's a hundredth gallery showcase.
Knights of old held sword and shield,
writers pen and paper wield;
before their onslaught, words will yield
in the hundredth gallery showcase.
Choosing their subjects with plenty of care,
the poets decide which feelings to share,
seemingly pulling the words from thin air
for the hundredth gallery showcase.
The poems are written, and now we begin
waiting to see if our work makes it in,
for if it is published we know we will win
a hundredth gallery showcase.
So give it a go, you wannabe bard;
writing is easy, but winning is hard --
will YOU be awarded the Alstaf card
in the hundredth gallery showcase?
Total Poetry Pages : 1885
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