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JETSAM DAY SPECIAL
Jetsam of Ice
Glacial, the distant sea,
Where sunlight strains to reach.
Icicles, not sandy grains,
Do stretch to form this beach.
Reflected realm of crystal sheen
Is where Jetsam doth roam.
For where the water turns to ice,
You'll find he makes his home.
For only ice cuts through the cold,
This creature's crystal fin.
Slides through water none will reach,
To where mountains begin.
His gaze like steel, the cobalt glow,
So glacial, precise.
He is a Jetsam, water beast,
And yet so formed of ice.
Should he swim forth, follow the sun,
He'll nearly blend right in,
Were it not for crystal sheen
That glazes each sharp fin.
But beauty none could yet describe,
The sight of sunlit beam
As it hits Jetsam's icy form,
Reflected colours stream.
Where water laps at mountain's base,
With islands, formed of snow,
If you seek Jetsam made of ice,
That's where you'll want to go.
As he dives in waters bleak,
Don't think him mad or lost.
It is merely where he belongs,
This creature formed of frost.
Biography of a Grey Jetsam
he hasn't been young for
a very long time.
well, he hasn't acted like it
anyway. I guess it does that to you, huh?
like he's lost his teeth.
that's how I'd describe it
anyway. ever since his little
'excursion' in the Rainbow Pool
he just hasn't been the same.
it's like only half of him came
back, and it sure wasn't
his better half
(not that there was one)
anyway. I'm sick of him
and I'm sick of his attitude
and his perpetually
frowny face. can someone
get a Paint Brush in here? and
tell him I'm sorry. yeah.
I'm sorry that you're rapidly
aging and I'm sorry that
you're always depressed and
I'm sorry for pushing you in.
Fishing Jetsam Gnome
Surely being the epitome of patient waiting,
This Jetsam, among all, deserves a high rating.
Imagine the time he spent, idly fishing,
Rod in his hands, and a head full of wishing
To make the big catch, get the big prize,
Hook a fish that shocks with its size.
What a wonderful catch, sure to be well known,
And soon he'll stop being seen as a simple gnome.
He'll sell the big fish for the highest bid,
And finally accomplish his dreams set as a kid.
A big Maraquan Neohome, a daily kelp meal,
But for now all he has is patience and zeal.
Yes, he's been waiting for a very long time,
So long, in fact, that he's well past his prime.
With a grey beard to the floor, he holds his wish,
Even though ironically he, himself is a fish.
Three Jetsam Sandwiches
three Jetsam sandwiches
from a pile on the sideboard.
three Jetsam sandwiches
with one fin sticking up
out of the middle
a triangle of bread
three Jetsam sandwiches
I know they're not alive
I know they're not sentient
it feels so personal
I swear they're mocking me,
three Jetsam sandwiches
Strawberry, Spotted Chocolate,
daring me to eat them.
three Jetsam sandwiches
I had planned to eat them
but my friend just called;
she said, 'today is Jetsam Day,'
I find their appeal has quite waned
and now I will leave them:
I understand now
why they were glaring.
Travelling across the galaxy at the speed of light,
He will never give up without a fight.
Battling villains with all his might,
Criminals will end up screaming in fright.
He is daring, strong, and brave,
And teaches Neopians who misbehave.
Is he a spaceman who simply saves
Or is he Dr. Sloth's slave?
He drives an awesome spaceship,
Which isn't at all cheap.
He enjoys shooting down other ships,
And maybe loves taking a dip.
He had travelled to V.S.S. and Kreludor,
Probably even to Neopia's core!
He might have explored the seafloor,
Or the grand and majestic Altador.
So is he a hero or a villain?
He has probably defeated millions,
Yet might have attacked innocent Kreludans.
Maybe he really is Dr. Sloth's minion?
The Jetsam: A Power-House
His eyes dart the seas,
While his gills filter the flow,
The body freely moving,
Swaying to and fro.
Teeth that glisten brightly,
Striking fear in all around,
His body moving rapidly,
Thrashing waves that reach the ground.
Rough skin is his possession,
Something no one can ever feel,
'Cause the slightest touch to his skin,
Leaves your hands unable to heal.
His blood runs through his body,
Heating as he feels the thrill,
The strength within his jaws,
Quivering for the kill.
To slight the power of a Jetsam,
With a nasty bite of bane,
And a menacing glare so lethal,
No fear is to be insane.
The Golden Mr Irgo Stamp
The golden stamp, a priceless treasure,
Coveted beyond all measure,
For galleries a-stocked with riches,
And collectors with deeper purses.
Upon it is a Jetsam red,
Whose fearsome leer brings forth our dread,
With shifty eyes that speak no truth,
And one shiny, golden tooth.
Mr Irgo, immortalised,
Black Market dealer, undisguised,
Whose business deals have earned him fame,
In the famous Neoquest game.
And now he's here, he's in a stamp,
Never to suffer from cold or damp,
Never to be unwanted here,
A piece of paper beloved, held dear.
Always traded, always wanted,
Never wasted, special, sacred.
Hey Jetsam, wanna fight?
You're not the only one who bites!
I don't think that you're so tough.
(Okay, I do, don't call my bluff!)
Hey Jetsam, wanna dance?
You could wear your new tuxedo pants.
We could twirl and spin beneath the waves.
(I only wish I could be so brave!)
Hey Jetsam, wanna talk?
We could go on a long and private walk.
You could tell me all your secret dreams
(And I hope your teeth won't make me scream!).
Hey Jetsam, wanna play?
I have some plushies put away.
You stay out with the garden gnomes.
(I'm too scared to let you in my Neohome.)
Hey Jetsam, wanna read?
I have a book on home surgery
And books on Jetsam art and style.
(These make you look, really, not too vile.)
Hey Jetsam, wanna be friends?
I truly don't mean to offend --
Your teeth so sharp! Your eyes so beady!
(I want to know you, so please don't eat me!)
He Without a Name
Tall buildings cast shadows long,
Between the bustling streets of old,
One figure slips through the wind's whispered song,
Disappears a myth of one seldom told.
A dark fin cuts through the night air,
Passing a slight glow of a worn tavern,
Twisted scars distort the under skin, fair,
Turning the face's smile into a hollow cavern.
With whom do his dark loyalties lie?
A being whose fate is riddled with hate,
The green one who will ultimately face his demise,
To a small little Bruce who blocks the gate.
A Jetsam that is rarely seen or made known,
Who twinkles along the outskirts of norm,
One whose name with the wind is thus blown,
The creature of myth whose role we cast in scorn.
Is there still a chance to turn back, now, and run?
Your racing heart tells you you shouldn't have come.
You know all of a sudden that you'll come to grief
When you catch first glimpse of sharp Jetsam teeth.
Now she slowly moves closer and gives you a grin,
Pearl-polished and glossy, to welcome you in.
Your life flashes before you, so precious and brief,
As light glints on the white shine of her teeth.
Behind that bright smile, you'd be willing to bet,
There's no shred of compassion for human or pet.
Cruel joy at your pain is what's lurking beneath
Friendly facade crowned by flawless sharp teeth.
As you lie flat and helpless, she starts to advance.
No getting away now, you've wasted your chance.
You try to be brave, but can't hide the belief
You were doomed from minute you saw her teeth.
Oh, if only it all were some awful mistake!
She says dire words; your hands start to shake.
This merciless brute from some undersea reef
Will soon do her worst, with a smile full of teeth.
"My name's Tasmin, and I'll be your dentist today."
How you wish that the Tooth Faerie wasn't away!
She pulls out the drill, and you shake like a leaf.
"Lie still, open wide, and I'll look at your teeth..."
You're keen and frisky as
reaching for the high; you
exclaim at a bubble of a thousand
others, bursting -- the
smallest of small wonders,
yet meaning the world
to your wide red eyes.
Now others, the
years turn them sly --
for they say your kind is born to
rule the seas, to rise and
surface above all else in this
domain of light minimal
and blue undying;
to be shrewd, to be swift,
to be... feared.
Yet to you, this pebble in your
tiny fins, shining when tilted
a golden shine --
yet to you...
this here is the
heart of treasures.
Little Jetsam, little one:
you're a treasure in yourself.
Stay that way, now --
The Grounded Jetsam
There in the land of omelettes,
In a place so dry,
You'll find a creature of the ocean sort,
Yet complete with hairy hide.
Not scaled or slick or even wet,
But hating the spray of salt.
Enormous he is, bulky too,
An anchored tail, flat yet spiked.
A rough layered skin, mountainous.
Crowned with a single curved horn.
A lumbering gait,
A dangerous foe, be warned.
His eyes are sharp and steady.
Trained on victory, surely.
Quite out of place, yet fitting --
You've seen the Tyrannian Jetsam.
Spectre, King of Cheat!
Never gamble with Spectre,
The ruler of all things Cheat!
A true card shark with skill,
You'll surely be left in defeat.
He sees what you did there;
He knows that you're bluffing.
He will take on your bet,
He will win without blinking.
The game to him is like breathing,
A part of his life that needs nothing
But a quick glance and sleight of hand;
To win you'd have to be a lucky man.
A gold Cheat! Trophy is quite rare,
Since you'd have to beat the Jetsam
With the cold, piercing red stare
That knows more than you can fathom.
So he stays in his mansion
On a multi-million dollar lot,
Bored and waiting for a challenge
With hopes that he will be taught
That this game that he plays
Could be so much more interesting
When he is the one who is not winning.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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