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GNORBU SHEARING DAY SPECIAL
Hunting, eating, burning scourge,
Ashes, ashes, come, emerge!
Past the tar that makes his coat,
And the mane that makes him gloat,
Past the Gnorbu's ember eyes,
That flicker bright with sharp surprise.
Dancing white sparks burst about,
Flying past his ash-grey snout,
Sending nearby twigs aflame,
All he touches ends the same!
From bone-dry soil 'neath his feet,
To those leaves that hear his bleat.
A kindling forest snaps in fear,
Dry grass sighs as he draws near,
The tar-black Gnorbu, mane ablaze,
By whose whim the flame obeys!
The bane of the woods
And of combustible goods.
Lord of the fires that singe and cry,
Demanding to spread forth and defy,
The reaver of heat that knows his doom,
To weave discord upon a burning loom,
The master of ashes that float 'round by,
To where they come, and where they lie.
Loss of Appetite
Take it, I certainly want no more,
No wait, maybe just a taste,
Maybe just one or perhaps four,
I shouldn't let it go to waste!
No! I've surely had enough!
But so delicious and good,
No! I must be tough,
If I must, I'll bite wood!
A Gnorbu Burger with a side of
Gnorbu Salad; as a drink
Apricot Gnorbu Juice, and for dessert
A Meaty Gnorbu Pie! Mouthwatering!
But that's surely a lot,
Sure, some would think I'm obsessed,
One more bite... I should not,
But I can't help it --
Gnorbu treats are the best!
WHAT IS THIS?! A HAIR?
I had ordered a cake,
And this was baked without care.
I now have a stomachache.
To Gnorbu treats I was bound.
Always reluctant to share,
Until in my cake I found
Some Gnorbu sheared hair.
One Baby Gnorbu
One baby Gnorbu, smooth and pink,
Out playing in the fields,
Frolicking, but never far
From his mama's heels.
Distracted, chasing Lady Blurgs,
He was nearly left behind
When his flock was abruptly herded up,
And he quickly joined the line.
Marching, single file,
The farmer led them to a barn
(Which the baby Gnorbu could barely see
Through all the shaggy heads of yarn).
The baby watched as one by one
Each grown-up Gnorbu was led inside
And listened as they bleated that
Gnorbu Day must have arrived.
How his cheeks glowed with excitement
As he tried to visualise
All the wondrous treats for Gnorbu Day
That the barn must hold inside.
As the baby reached the entrance,
Trembling with both joy and fear,
The farmer gently turned him back
And said, "You will get your turn next year."
The baby Gnorbu's eyes glazed over
With hot and heavy tears of shame
And wondered why (not for the first time)
All Gnorbu aren't treated the same.
He wondered why the faerie Gnorbu,
The plushies, royals, the chocolates,
Why these few parade around so proudly
When they all belong to the same flock.
This baby Gnorbu was convinced,
While he sat alone and cried,
That no matter how each Gnorbu looks,
They are all the same inside.
When the flock returned with a clatter,
The baby was stupefied to see
That each and every fresh-shorn Gnorbu
Was now as pink and smooth as he!
She lifted her head.
The wind danced gently
Through her playfully flowing mane.
Harmonious fluttering of butterflies
With a curtain of bliss.
Magical serenity was cut short
By remembrance of the date.
Joy melted into despair.
Her thoughts raced
To the icy metal shears
Ripping away her magnificent locks.
Feverish snipping enveloped her mind.
She had but one day left
With her regal coif,
Before it fell to the hands of time.
Tomorrow was Gnorbu Shearing Day,
Any royally painted girl's yearly nightmare.
There's a Gnorbu in the Haunted Woods
who's not known for selling goods,
but gives Neopians of any rank
a try at bobbing from his tank.
Apples there forever float,
bobbing up and down like a sailing boat,
'til some Neopian that's passing by
decides to give this tank a try.
Looking down at the water beneath,
trying to get one in his teeth,
the bobber does not fully know
what is lurking in the dark below.
But chances are that they will miss,
for they prob'ly aren't that good at this.
And back again they come to Bart,
in hopes of mastering this art.
Maybe, though, they will get lucky,
and get something from the water mucky.
The Gnorbu looks up and gives a smile,
but one friendly, not one vile.
Then he tells them of their prize,
as they look with unblinking eyes.
But in some cases of misadventures,
they sadly end with someone's dentures.
Or maybe they'll have a different fruit,
instead of an apple or something cute.
Or with thieves their path had crossed
and they leave with Neopoints lost.
But those are not the prizes Neopets seek,
for every day of every week,
Neopians come from places far
in search of this tank's avatar.
Few get it each passing day,
so they leave filled with dismay,
but this Gnorbu will always know
that they'll come back for another go.
Sloppy, slow, and lazy, he grazes all day and night,
Chewing on dusty grass, alone with no one in sight.
Old and forgotten, this ancient Gnorbu stands,
His prehistoric body, camouflaged in the sandy land.
Overgrown and matted mane, surrounded by flies,
Although useless and forlorn, his spirit never dies.
Beneath the sun's rays, searching for more grass,
Moving few inches a day, watching the day pass.
Tyrannian he may be, but a heart made of gold,
Willing to tell anyone, his stories are untold.
But nobody notices this old shaggy pet,
Soon to be a memory, one that you will forget.
His face forever smiling, no worry in the world,
Watching passersby, seeing this land unfold.
Dirty, muddy Gnorbu who smells so very bad,
Always standing tall, remembering good times had.
Moltara is the name of this new land,
therein lies a cave of fire and sand
Whose only tenant shines so bright,
a pet of fire and lava, what a sight!
That fire Gnorbu is so mysterious,
just this once can't he be serious?
I ask a question he might know,
he answers, the fires say it will be so.
I ask a question he cannot miss,
his reply, the fire is dimming and so is this.
Why does he tarry? Why does he play?,
I really haven't got all day.
He seems all-knowing,
the ideas simply flowing.
Carrying his wisdom like his years,
his answers reduce me to tears!
His name is Igneot, with a smile so nice,
but his answer is like rolling the dice.
What is his purpose? What is his plan?
Can he tell me, will I get a shop ban?
I have one more question,
I hope his answer isn't mere suggestion.
Will my poem get in the competition?
The darkness is here and won't be overcome.
I Dream of the Seas
Looking out to sea,
I watch the ships go by
Into port, out of port,
And always wonder why
I am not on one of those
Vessels out at sea,
For a pirate Gnorbu
Is all I wish to be.
With a scarf tied in my hair,
A gold ring in my ear,
I'd be the best at sea,
The pirate all else fear.
Sure, the peg leg's clunky,
But it'll let them know I'm tough.
Tattoos and battle scars
Would show them I've lived rough.
I'd collect mounds of treasure
In every island cove.
Enough to buy a Pirate Paint Brush
With my treasure trove.
But alas, for now,
A plain colour will make do.
And I suppose it fits,
As the thought just makes me blue.
But one day, I assure you,
My flag will know that breeze
As I fulfill my destiny
And sail those rolling seas.
Hall of Mirrors
I am but a Gnorbu in a hall of mirrors
the past behind
the future ahead
the same before
the shears flash before and again
I am left a bald old soul
no way to make it stop
the same before
the same again
no longer lush furred, we cannot help
we are ugly in bare pink form
our fur is our beauty
the same before
we are simple joy, friends to cuddle
we cannot be bare and still fuzzy
so why do you shave
there are easier ways
other than before
A New Look for Gnorbu
The Gnorbu all step up to the stage.
Today is finally Gnorbu Shearing Day.
All look nervous for this event now,
but most is the Gnorbu made of cloud.
For although all Gnorbu are proud
of their coats, the one made of cloud
is most. For his coat is light blue
and white, and almost see-through.
He floats through Faerieland and clouds
unseen, for he blends into the crowds
of cloud and faerie-folk alike. Who
could shave his most prided attribute?
But today is Gnorbu Shearing Day,
and even the cloud Gnorbu must say,
he accepts a new look with a shorter
coat. Indeed it'll grow back some day.
Sonnet of a Gnorbu
The little Gnorbu was hiding under his bed,
His eyes filled to the brim with fright.
The future, he knew, did not look bright:
Gnorbu Shaving Day was ahead.
And so, our young hero fled,
Ran, till he saw the morning light,
For him, an encouraging sight.
He turned around and said:
"No longer will I run away
Where no one will find me
Or hide, filled with fear.
"I will go back and stay.
I will beg, no, I will even plead
To be shaved from tail to ear!"
The Mystery of Gnorbu Shearing Day
Gnorbu Shearing Day is a time
When having wool is quite the crime.
All Gnorbu grow their coat all year,
Only to have it disappear.
The elder Gnorbu are aware
At the end of the day they'll have no hair.
The younger Gnorbu are not quite sure
What awaits them, or what they will endure.
One by one, they wait in line,
Admiring each other and looking fine.
"What nice wool," one says to the other,
"You've fine wool, too, my Gnorbu brother!"
And then, at last, it is their turn,
Their wool won't last long, they are soon to learn.
For Shearing Day, as it is called,
Makes every Gnorbu in Neopia bald!
Ode to the Gnorbu
An ode to the Gnorbu,
how shining thine eyes,
and oh what a wit,
so incredibly wise!
Your long healthy mane,
as it flows in the breeze,
is rivalled by no pet,
you trounce all with ease!
A most loyal friend,
with a heart of pure gold.
So I hope that we'll someday
together grow old.
So on this bright day,
the sixth of the year,
with quite a close shear.
Total Poetry Pages : 1984
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