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Note from the Poetry Judge: Tomorrow is ValenPAINS Day in Neopia, so please send in your most depressing anti-Valentine's poems by 10:00 AM NST tomorrow. Thanks!
The mountains pinken under evening sky
and snowy peaks reflect the day's last light.
The clouds drift by on the breeze like paper
but an impatient child cries for a sweet.
The perfect clouds and the joy in the air
mean nothing to her on her first year's moon.
They wait for their invited guest the moon.
Eyes and telescopes search the painted sky
for the first hints of magic in the air.
An old Gnorbu walks out by fading light,
ruffles the small girl's fur. "Your first? How sweet."
He gives her a toy Petpet of folded paper.
In her cabin, Linae is cutting paper
and painting images of the stars and moon.
The childhood memories are bittersweet.
Against the gathering darkness of the sky
she hangs the lantern with its tiny light.
It dangles and swings in the mountain air.
A musician strikes up an ancient air
never given a name or committed to paper.
The mountains hide the last glimpse of sunlight.
Between the clouds, a sliver of pearl moon
joins the pinprick stars that dot the black sky.
Excitement makes the night air taste sweet.
There has never been a moment so sweet
as when the soft light makes mist of the air,
the streak of moonbeam splitting open the sky.
The candles in their flimsy coats of paper
pale alongside the beauty of the moon.
For a moment, all stand awed by its light.
Then joyful fireworks burst in showers of light
as the music shifts, no longer soft and sweet.
As one, pets celebrate the year's first moon,
dancing and singing as cheers fill the air.
Confetti rains down in a shower of paper
and a thousand-lantern glow warms the sky.
As dawn's first light chases stars from the sky,
a paw clutches a paper bird. Her dreams are sweet,
filled with the moon music still in the air.
Double Agent's Swan Song
Close your eyes
Just for a moment
Pretend everything is okay
You never meant to
follow this path
making the world your enemy.
Until even you don't know
where you stand.
tricks abound --
who knows where
the truth is found?"
You don't know.
You haven't a clue.
So as you slip deft fingers,
This is the last time.
This is your swan song.
The Month of Awakening
A fantasy land of my design
Swirls to a close and merges with time,
Now my heavy lids shall rise again,
And from the pillow I lift my head.
Draw to a close my cold winter sleep,
I need to wake up, no need to shout "Meep!"
There are things I must do and now is the time,
I'll start off with writing this poem that's in rhyme.
Hello again, I say to my fellow slumberers,
I've been counting days, keeping track of numbers,
It's the month of Awakening, you know what to do,
It's time to start life again, all anew!
Ode to Edna
High above the rest of us, she sits within her tower.
She comes at midnight, out to fight,
And shows us her great power.
Yet when she's spied the sun outside,
She treats us with a glower.
Of treats she knows such ghoulish things,
An eye candy or two;
You never know what ends up in her spooky brew.
Don't take a peek, unless you seek
A truly ghastly fondue.
Her concoctions must be great,
But made of things so strange,
An odd assortment that will always change,
Her items unusual, but must be usable,
For she ends up with them in the exchange.
She still remains of the eeriest sort,
Nigh always holed up in her own little fort,
But of what we see, you shan't disagree,
She's a friend of the last resort.
A Lunar Festival Night
The old Gnorbu lights a candle
In the dark
And waits for winter to pass.
No one knows the moon
Better than he,
And the moon tells him
Of the dawn of spring;
Of cold melting to green,
Of tender petals and fresh dew --
This news he has told us all,
Not idly waiting but frantic, rather,
In busy excitement --
Quivering, in anticipation,
A flurry of paper couplets
In the wind. Red is our colour,
And the old Gnorbu lights more candles
For every room.
Dinner: dumplings and fish.
Take an orange and peel it
Then spring arrives, and
Our waiting welcome
Is a riot of noise and colour;
An explosion of firecrackers,
The dizzying whirls
Of a silk ribbon's dance --
Tonight chaos is beautiful.
Tonight in lanterns, our candles shine;
Red is their colour,
Bright red and gold; and tonight
Just like that, a brief chill
On a sweet spring night.
Total Poetry Pages : 1971
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