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BRUCE DAY SPECIAL
Hallowe'en Bruce Gnome
In the silence of a still garden,
A fountain trickles somewhere;
Flowers bend in the breeze,
Nodding their gaudy heads.
The sun's luxuriant light retreats,
As afternoon slowly wanes,
And shadows claim their place,
Wriggling into crevices,
Clambering over vines.
In the corner of the garden,
Just past the little pond,
A figure sits in semi-shade,
And contemplates his reign.
One large grey hat
Overlooks a round little face,
Where a beak pokes out,
Orange as autumn leaves,
Between two chubby cheeks.
Robes like stone lichen flow,
And join with tumbling beard,
Down to the earthy ground,
To spill over pointy feet.
In each flipper are gripped 'shrooms,
Creamier than summer moons,
Roots a-dangling from their stems.
The Hallowe'en Bruce Gnome
Stands to watch the sunlight fade,
And keeps a poppy-seed eye
On his peaceful garden.
Squishy, cuddly, soft,
And stuffed with cotton to the brim,
The plushie Bruce is just so adorable,
And not the least bit grim.
That big green bow about his neck
Is tied neatly and handsomely so,
Though the mismatching patches reveal
That he was probably made long ago.
He moves really quite little,
Being so fluffy and so plump,
Sitting there on his tail:
Surely the most adorable little lump!
But with his round black eyes
And soft lavender skin,
Wherever this one does decide to go,
He's sure to cause an excited din.
And if you did not look carefully,
You might think he was a toy,
But this one eats and blinks and breathes:
He's certainly real -- it's not a ploy!
The Bruce That Wasn't There
I bumped into a Bruce that wasn't there,
Her invisibility briefly giving me a scare.
I asked her what her name might be
And she replied, "Nobody."
I grasped her flipper in my hand
And tried to make her understand
That she could tell her name to me
And she replied, "I'm nobody."
I pondered what the Bruce might mean,
What caused her lack of self-esteem.
Perhaps this Bruce, see-through and small,
Perhaps she hadn't a name at all.
I suggested that I might call her Mary
Or, if she preferred, Darlene or Cheri,
But her disembodied voice replied firmly,
"I have a name, and it's 'nobody.'"
"I'm the nobody who's on the stairs
When you spin and find that no one's there.
I'm the nobody that you can blame
When you could have sworn you heard your name."
I turned and left this trickster Bruce,
Feeling cheated and confused.
I strode right home and hopefully
I was not followed by nobody.
What the Bruce Gnome Saw...
The garden tinted crimson red,
Awash with rising dawn.
Back across the bowing fronds,
The silk of night is drawn.
So slow the garden doth awake,
To day doth dark submit.
And there upon a toadstool small,
A Bruce gnome small does sit.
Guardian who never speaks,
But one who does see all.
Gaze fixated on the green,
This scene does fast enthral.
He knows the song of falling snow,
When leaves do glaze with ice.
The length of lazy summer days,
When sleep heat doth entice!
The gnome is silent, watching all,
He's heard the frenzied rain.
The sound of trees that shake their leaves,
When sunlight peeks again.
His little hat atop his head,
Small flippers, posed in place.
His beak uplifted to the sun,
A smile on tiny face.
He knows the laugh of Petpet play,
As Warfs run through the trees.
The sound of Meowclops make at night,
The 'Chooo!' of Snorkle's sneeze.
He knows the sound of pets that play,
Of fun times, hide and seek.
Oh, the stories he could tell,
If he could only speak!
The Disco Bruce Has Got Style!
The music is blaring, loud in your ears.
The pretty cake tasted quite good.
That disco ball is blinding you.
A quick twirl, another spin,
You're dancing across the floor.
Dazzling the awestruck crowd.
But it isn't long before someone takes your hand
Inviting you to dance.
Why, a Bruce he is! What a charmi--
You drop his hand, alarmed.
Just what party had you crashed?
This Bruce has hair of the orange sheen,
Orange and poofy and only three feet tall!
And glasses! Framed, wide glasses, dark,
With wriggling eyebrows on top.
Decked out in green, pink, orange...
You aren't sure what to think.
But with his smile and friendly voice,
You dare to take his hand and dance.
Tra-la-lee, tra-la-lye, it's no shame not to fly
When you soar on the ice instead.
We can spin and slide, for there's no need to hide,
We have a light and elegant tread.
Oh, to dance, to spin, to skate,
Never too soon and never too late!
Oh, we dance, we skate, we spin,
We draw sharp circles in the ice's skin!
Fa-la-lee, fa-la-lye, live on earth, not the sky,
There's no need to use a sled.
You will know once you've tried you'll not stay inside
While there still is time before bed.
Oh, to be a winter thing,
Short and stout and stubby-winged!
Oh, to be cold winter's thing,
To hear the joy in how ice sings!
So come and dance with us today;
Hear the words ice has to say.
Come and join us in our play --
Ground-bound flight is the only way!
The Bruce Rink Runner
With a merry flip, a single slip
A note was heard, a ting.
A little Bruce, on skates --
Slip and slide, around,
This little square of ice.
These notes, rather pretty --
Dance around too -- prancing
And glittering, an aurora of colours.
The ground creaks, alarming.
The colours swirl faster,
The Bruce skates carefully.
Avoiding the ice shards,
The lines in the ground,
One wrong move, one wrong note --
And splash, a tumble through the surface ice!
To feel the cold of water!
The notes carry on, a-tingling.
Red, orange, green, blue, black.
The notes carry on.
Before they too, like the winter lights,
Sunny Winter Days
There's nothing like the fall of snow,
To brighten a Bruce's day, but
There's been no snow since years ago,
As things haven't gone his way.
He once lived atop the mountain,
Skating the rinks of ice,
He wanted a change of climate, though,
And left on a friend's advice.
His journey to the desert lost
Was perilous and long,
So far away from the winter frost,
Perhaps he did choose wrong.
Years have passed since then, of course,
But still he misses the time,
Among his friends that'd cheer till hoarse,
Reciting terrible rhymes.
On Bruce Day he's thankful, though,
To be amongst the sand,
The sun always shines here, you know,
There's no winter in this land.
Ramtor, the Evil Bruce Advisor
You wear a blue robe, you have a long beard,
You're supposed to be scary and ought to be feared.
Instead I find you amusing to fight,
Usurping your throne, it just makes my night!
(So what? You can say that it "makes your day",
Suddenly night's not the right thing to say?)
To get back on topic, about your lifestyle,
I think it's pathetic, I do so revile,
But maybe it's not your hobbies that seem
So revolting and vile and way too extreme.
Plus, your robes are way out of date,
Who cares if they're expensive and ornate?
I sure don't care, as you might have seen,
So stop crying, you obnoxious drama queen,
Maybe someday, you'll learn to change,
Every good villain needs an appropriate range
Of plots and disguises, instead of just one,
Foiling new plans gives us great fun.
Get back to your tower and continue your plots.
Remember my advice, don't say you forgot.
In a few days, I'll meet you again,
Don't ask me how, I'll just see you then.
Brucey B Slots
Come on in, won't you sit down
And please give us your names?
Relax, make yourself at home
And join us in our games!
Pull the lever down real quick,
And watch the pictures spin,
See what matches you can make
And wonder what you'll win!
The time has come, so step right up,
Hurry to make your bet!
Spin the slots and watch them go
To see what you will get!
How much money will you bet?
How many lines to choose?
Take a gamble on the game,
But watch out you don't lose!
So what are you waiting for?
You know you could win lots!
So come on down, and join the fun
And play Brucey B Slots!
The Skating Specialist
Round and round the rink he goes,
Putting on such a magnificent show.
Skating with simple style and grace,
Putting a smile on everyone's face.
Round and round the rink he goes,
Catching notes from La to So.
Jumping over puddles with ease:
Daring to do what makes others flee.
Round and round the rink he goes,
Never to stop, never to slow.
The judges are awed by what they see,
And give perfect 10s with utter glee.
Round and round the rink he goes,
Unaffected by the ice and snow,
For this weather is his favourite type,
And in it he'll stand for no whine or gripe.
Round and round the rink he goes,
With happiness this Bruce does glow.
And with a final bow he doth say,
"To all who watch, happy Bruce Day!"
Slicing a trail across the ice,
A Bruce on pure white skates,
She swirls and spins a lonely path
Dancing in bright figure eights.
Her eyes shine with reflected snow,
And her beak is glowing gold.
Upon her head is a soft pink bonnet,
Which gently fends off the cold.
Gracefully the Bruce pirouettes
Through the clouds of falling snow.
This is her stage, her world,
Her chance to learn and grow.
Though she is but a pink-furred baby,
Confidently Swantila twirls
Through the magic winter wonderland,
A diamond in a sea of pearls.
Bruce of the Peak
would you believe me
if I told you?
if I said that
if you travelled
up this mountain --
if you could brave
the brutal cold,
if you could believe
you could never see --
if only you knew,
if only you
to stand upon and gaze
at what you thought
but how to show them
when they know
only how to see --
would you believe me?
if only they knew
what all Bruce
some things felt
but never seen;
the winter's wind,
the calm before
a storm --
we will know
of eternal sunshine.
This baby Bruce runs wild,
Though his crimes are rather mild.
After pushing the trigger of his ray gun,
He would cackle and run.
Some fancy him, others detest him,
But some just want to be his victim.
Luckily, Boochi doesn't have a good aim,
Or all Neopets can't be tamed.
You'll never find Boochi napping in a cot,
He's such a weird and troublesome tot!
So the next time you see this little chap,
Be prepared for the...BZZZAP!!!
The Bruce Day Gift
I remember the day I heard the shout:
"Hey, you over there! I see ya!
There's something I need to tell you about!
Today's Bruce Day -- bet you had no idea!"
Now I have never been a Neopian Times fan,
So the news hadn't been known to me.
But I've just been so busy; for today my plan
Was to visit that winter worm Snowy.
I had to throw this ragged yellow Bruce a bone,
So I stopped and I turned toward him slow.
"You're so right, sir!" exclaimed I with a moan.
"So how shall my celebration go?"
He primped up his plumage, eyes shining bright,
I saw he was preparing to speak.
I glanced down at my watch, but it was all right
'Cause he'd already opened his beak.
"Well, first of all, madam," he said with a shift,
"I'll need to inform you of this.
Every Bruce's most favourite-est gift
Is a nice heaping helping of a frozen dish!"
"Indeed?" asked I, my interest feigned.
"Well, I'll purchase a Chia Pop in that case."
He cried, "Wait, don't be so bird-brained!
Don't you own a Bruce to feed his face?"
Now the look in his eyes became so canny;
He leaned up real close to my ear.
"I was always fed Chia Pops by my ol' granny,
'Tis a memory I hold very dear."
His true intentions were showing,
So I let out a small, subtle sigh.
"Well, Mister, I'll need to get going,
Anything else that I'll need to try?"
"Of course!" he exclaimed, sounding frantic.
"I've been craving a new pair of skates!
You know, for each Rink Runner antic,
And oh, such a difference they'll make!"
Annoyance struck me, and I voiced a thought:
"When did this become about you?"
He stuttered, "If you think it ought not,
Just remember that I'm a Bruce too!"
"Good day," I bid hastily, shaking my head,
As I turned away to depart.
"Merry Bruce Day to you," he scowled with dread.
"You've broken my poor Neo-heart!"
Soon I discovered a sight not-so-nice,
Because of the time I'd deigned to take.
I arrived at those glorious caves of ice
To find the Snowager already awake!
I immediately emitted a raucous cry
And exited there with a dart.
When I'd reached the mountain top suddenly I
Had a strange, frightening change of heart.
I approached Lenny so super, happy, icy, and fun.
"Sir, would you tell me the cost, if you may,
Of a single Chia Pop -- oh, any one,
I'm in need of a gift for Bruce Day."
A slick smile hit his mug
That the crafty old bird could not hide.
"Big-hearted traveller, you too've caught the bug!
Is the yellow moocher taking you for a ride?"
Right away my shock was apparent!
He said, "Have the pop on me,
For that poor Bruce has not even a parent...
He'd appreciate a gift for free."
Graciously, I accepted the treat
And left his shop in a hurry.
There was a hungry local Bruce I had to meet
Before the snow became more than a flurry.
"Oh," sighed shopkeep. "This scene feels so right,
There's but one thing for me to say.
I wish a happy Bruce Day to all,
Yes, to all a happy Bruce Day!"
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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