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The Gift of the Forge
Light-blue tendrils lick the blade,
Neon sigils breathe and fade,
Raw and twisted, unrefined,
Sharp and crisp, now undefined.
Hammer poised, path precise,
As swift as wind he makes the slice,
An arc of blue strikes a spark,
The ardent smith has made his mark!
Water holds no qualms for him:
Simple metals resist and swim,
But wield this metal, and behold,
Why, it's worth its weight in gold!
Maractite holds such domain,
That sunken feathers are cut in twain,
Bubbles part, stones are sundered,
Its path through water lies unaltered.
And now it comes forth from the blaze,
Symbols soft and yet in haze,
Blue as water and sweet moonlight,
Yet cold as steel with equal bite.
Bubbles whirl around its shape,
Streaming in their swift escape,
While the hammer falls in turn,
Milky white from the forge's burn.
At last the symbols take their place,
Swirling like a Spyder's lace,
Around the sword, so proud and grim,
That gleams in the watery dim.
The Maractite blade is now complete,
The hammer stops the staccato beat,
A masterpiece from the heart of the forge,
Embraced by fire, now never more.
Destruct-o-Match: a Villanelle
We swing our hammers, heave-ho,
at bricks of several shades and hue.
Down, down a-tumbling they go.
At noon, the wall of bricks doth glow;
a fitting, final sight to view.
We swing our hammers -- HEAVE-HO!
A jolt as stone meets stone -- Lo!
Some cracks where hammer will yet hew.
Down, down (a-tumbling) they go
splitting rocks. Another blow
do multiply the fractured few;
we swing our hammers, heave HO!
The bricks (at last!) -- one last bellow,
a bone-dry sigh, a swift segue --
Down, DOWN a-tumbling they go!
We hammer high and strike low
till but for dust, the plain is new.
We swing our hammers -- "Heave ho!
Down, down a-tumbling they go!"
Xandra, who is she?
She must have once been sweet and kind,
But now appears as a mastermind.
At first seen as loyal and trusted,
Now known to be corrupted.
We may never understand
What caused such a loss of way.
Will she go or be here to stay?
Yet later it probably won't matter,
Everything will be okay,
They won't even stop to stare,
Or even fear her frozen glare.
Her story remains, for those who care,
Among the villains who you should beware.
Known as evil because every Neopet says so,
But that's not always the case, you know.
No one should say who's evil or not,
If you never truly look or if you forgot,
To find truth like she has done.
So "evil," sometimes, is simply misunderstood.
The heroes would probably save them if they could.
The fate she has beyond her demise,
Could be that her figure sinks into the sea,
To land next to a faerie she so despised.
She's like the Darkest Faerie but not as dark,
Just a misunderstood lady, fair at heart.
By Tealnova_dragon and Philopoet
Cupped tightly in my hands
Is a tall glass of warmth.
Deep swirls of chocolate and lots of rising steam.
Ooh Borovan, you make my day.
When the sky spills its icy crystals,
When the window panes are frosted,
Borovan, you warm me head to toe.
I hold you close; you're so warm,
My chilled fingers will slowly thaw,
I can feel those nerves again, they're stinging.
Ooh Borovan, you make my day.
Winter is here, little daylight indeed,
While I wait in line for the Advent Calendar,
Borovan, you keep me company.
I sip and I sigh; you're very sweet, you know.
Better than sugar or candy, better better better...
There's nothing better than you on a cold day.
Ooh Borovan, you make my day.
When the parties are swinging, we all toast to you.
You and the warm fuzzy feeling,
Borovan, you put a smile on my lips.
I'm waiting at the counter,
Waiting for you to be served to me.
I'm craving your sweet taste --
Ooh Borovan, you'll make my day.
The Sun Came Out
Will the sun come out?
No one really knew.
The air was dark and damp,
And the mood was blue.
Would the sun come out?
Would it even try?
It seemed that Xandra won;
Evil cloaked the sky.
Could the sun come out?
Or was she just too strong?
We'd been helping her,
A traitor all along.
Should the sun come out?
Hanso had a plan
Not for the faint of heart,
But for the bravest man.
And the sun came out,
But at a too steep price.
Thief and usurper froze
In stone cold as ice.
So the sun came out
And it shines on you,
Brynn; you're our last hope --
We're counting on you!
Total Poetry Pages : 1983
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