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A Still Life Of Bottled Faeries
Six glowing bottles of smoothest glass
lined in a row upon a lavender table.
The table is old and thin like
worn-out faerie wings,
but it is enough to support the bottles --
perhaps the glass is made of light itself.
Six bottles of the strongest magic;
in the left-most dwells the water one,
on the right-most is the earth.
This pair that marks the boundaries
is mirrored by ourselves;
we walk as we will,
but are bound by seas and lands.
Standing by the water is the fire one,
for flames must be kept under the aquatic eye.
It warms its kin against the
cold radiance of the water.
And second to the earth is the air one --
a microcosmic sky set against the
sturdy ground dominion.
Finally, in the center, lying side-by-side:
the light one on the right and the
the dark one on the left.
The light, the element breathing into us all,
gives us energy, life, and
bright inspiration of hope.
But where light is cast,
so must darkness counter it.
And, curiously, the shadow magic
of the dark shines as brightly as the rest.
Six bottles of faeries’ mysteries;
the corks are tightly set in place.
Old dusty corks they are, though there seem
impressions made from tugging fingers.
But all that is seen now are those bottles
standing still, as if content to live
silently in their constant glowing of
In The Ice Cream Machine
Poor Adee, you’re trapped in a dream,
Where you’re chased by
Some deadly ice cream!
Strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate, too,
Make sure you don’t run into a scoop!
Weave and dodge, and collect those hearts!
You’ll never again go near the Ice Cream Cart.
A short-lived shield is better than none.
Ah! The Mint and Blueberry levels are done!
Try to catch your breath as the levels go by
(Is that The Phantom Orange Shirt Guy?!?)
Vanilla-chocolate chip, then a tri-coloured taste,
Prepare for Peach next, it’s really fast-paced!
If you get larger in size, try not to fret!
A Strawberry Bomb makes all bonuses reset.
A Swirly Delight next,
And Double Chocolate Chip,
The avatar score is at your fingertips!
Faster and faster, the scoops come your way,
Then a sudden flash of blue:
A Fish Negg! Hooray!
Now smaller in size, and that, you prefer,
As purple and orange go by in a blur!
Onward onto the Rainbowberry round,
Colourful scoops topped in syrupy crowns.
Garlicky Bratwurst! You’re almost at the end!
And if you've made it this far:
Well done, indeed, friend!
The nightmare is over! Wake up now, Adee!
You’re no longer trapped
In the Ice Cream Machine!
Training Fortune Cookie
Noda is back again
With another NC cookie.
This one is for you,
If you’re a training rookie.
This cookie does wonders
For the battlers all around.
The powers they possess
Are surely to astound.
It reduces training time
At any of the schools.
Those who do not buy
Are all but simply fools.
Dubloons or codestones,
It matters all but none.
This cookie works for both;
Not for just one!
I hope Noda bakes more,
They will surely sell out fast!
Maybe if I’m lucky,
I’ll buy out the last!
Thank you, dear Noda,
For your crafting expertise.
Now I can train faster
And with more ease!
The Wheel Of Excitement
Here I am upon a cloud,
just looking for some fun,
when by chance I heard from the crowd,
"Perhaps you are the one."
I looked around so confused,
and saw a faerie shining so bright!
"C'mon then, what's there to lose?"
Her smile was such a delight.
I realized now what she spoke of,
a wheel of vivid colours!
Could I really win on this wheel above?
Or would it turn out like all the others...
Now's my chance! I took a breath,
the wheel spun 'round so fast!
This was all the coins that I had left...
I hope they weren't my last.
It slowed down to a steady pace,
I looked with the widest grin.
The light faerie glanced gently at my face.
"Congratulations! You win!"
The Frustration Of Kentari
Armed with parchment and with pen,
Brave Kentari tried again.
Though he wields his words like knives,
Not a poem of his survives
To make it to the gallery
Of most prestigious poetry.
As deft he is with swords and staves,
So, with words, he toils and slaves.
Like with chakram he could cut,
In poetry, he knows what's what.
The way his silver sai can slash,
He handles adverbs with panache.
Of verbs and nouns he shows no fear,
Using them just like his spear,
Tearing muddled rhymes apart,
Turning blunders into art.
Adjectives and pronouns, too,
All parts of speech are tried and true.
With weapons and with words he plays,
Manipulates them many ways,
Yet poetry is still his bane,
When time and time and time again,
That confounded gallery
Keeps adding to his misery.
Now he sits and chews his quill,
Deep in thought, and yet he still
Cannot find the proper rhyme,
His rhythm's off, and so this time,
He throws his arms up in the air
And cannot bring himself to care.
"I give up, I'll take no more!
Writing's turned into a chore,"
He exclaimed, threw down his quill,
Our warrior poet had his fill.
"From now on I'll write for me alone,
My poems don't need to be well known."
He grabbed his quiver and his bow,
A javelin or two to throw.
To the training yard he went,
Practicing all day he spent,
Sharpening his skills and senses,
'Cause rhyming's lame.
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