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1,700TH POETRY CONTEST
Ode To Cylara
There’s that famed Cybunny,
Who comes from outer space.
Starring in her own game,
She need not place with Ace.
She blasts in Moon Rock Rampage,
And hails from that moon Kreludor.
She helped defeat Sloth again;
There’s no reason we can’t adore!
Dear Cylara, you are great,
For everything you’ve done.
Helping Neopians everywhere,
You do it just for fun.
Your family was kidnapped
By Commander Garoo.
Instead of panicking,
You knew just what to do.
Now that Sloth is gone,
You relax on your moon.
You appear in Time Tunnel,
With its wonderful tune.
So Cylara, here’s to you,
And all your wonders so far.
You’ve truly helped Neopia;
One of its shining bright stars!
Shadows crawl across the land
As day to dark does drift.
Poor Illusen, she aches to rest,
But through her tasks she sifts.
For loyal friends and questers, she
Must forge and write and brew.
Though exhaustion clutches her,
Her love it can't outdo.
With supple arms strong as tree boughs,
She hammers a new blade,
Then scrawls her story in a book
About life in her glade.
But after dusk has turned to dark,
A power rises fast.
Illusen, she must succumb
And eat something at last.
Inspired to make something new,
The sweet faerie retrieves
Lush forest ingredients
Like berries, nuts, and leaves.
With forging's great intensity,
As she brews precisely,
Like her novels writ with zeal,
Her food takes form nicely.
A taco clad in leaves is born,
Too valuable to eat.
Illusen restrains herself:
It's handcrafted and neat.
The taco's stored for faithful friends.
Before she goes to bed,
Illusen sets out more food
And has salad instead.
An Ode To Cookie Neggs
Oh Cookie Neggs, how I love thee so,
you are made of such delicious dough.
Your chocolate chips cannot be beat,
you're even Kari's favourite treat.
Other Neggs bow when you're nearby,
while Neopians give you a yummy sigh.
If I was rich I'd buy you every day,
not even worrying about my tooth decay.
I wish I worked for Neopian Fresh Foods,
that'd certainly put me in better moods.
Since it's where you're made and sold,
I heard you are bought more than gold.
Some say I'm foolishly addicted to you,
to this I say they do not have a clue.
Telling me it's wrong is awfully rude,
perhaps they just don't know good food.
I'd tell you more but it's time for lunch,
which means I have a Cookie Negg to munch.
This is something I simply cannot delay,
They absolutely must be eaten right away!
Lellefisk, An Ode To
How many times do I have to see
A Bubblebee staring back at me?
Click, click, restock ban I risk...
All I want is to buy a Lellefisk!
Lurman, Arkmite, and Urgoni, too,
Kora, Splime, no I don't want you,
I need to focus and be brisk --
I need to nab that Lellefisk!
Half a Noil, half a Nupie,
Such a blue little cutie,
Three days here, no sign yet
Of my dear Lellefisk Petpet!
I took a break, I had to rest,
When I came back -- yup, you guessed,
The Lellefisk that I wanted the most
Was now for sale at the Trading Post!
First bid rejected, I bid again,
Another buyer gets it! OH, MAN!
I missed the restock and the sale,
I feel like such an epic fail!
So, back I go to the Maraquan store,
Again, I tend to my mundane chore,
I need to focus and be brisk,
Please let me get that Lellefisk!
Tangor The Tinkerer
Tangor is a well-known green Mynci,
Who lives in the depths of Moltara city.
He spends all his time in his workshop,
Hours on end, he works and doesn't stop.
He can pick any item and take it apart,
What Tangor does is truly a work of art!
Even if it's made of one thousand bits,
Tangor will find a way to make every piece fit.
He likes to solve puzzles and riddles,
When it takes me a lot of effort,
It takes him a little.
Tangor has that curious Mynci drive,
When he's got a puzzle is when he thrives.
So, he puts together every bolt and nut,
He's never heard of being "stuck in a rut."
"Tangor the Tinkerer" is his nickname,
That's all he does; every day's the same.
Widgets, gadgets, and trinkets galore,
Come to his workshop; see what's in store.
Beware, his creations are the best known,
I guarantee you'll take something home.
The colder winds are blowing in,
The leaves are swirling off the trees.
It's time to buy some warmer clothes
Before your 'pets' toes start to freeze!
A sweater will help heat them up.
Make sure the wool isn't too thin,
And if they're fashion-conscious, then
Schoolgirl jumpers are always in!
If sweaters make them itch and squirm,
A jacket might be better, yes?
The Fancy Frock Coat's popular
And won't make your 'pet look a mess.
A scarf helps every ensemble shine.
Squid, Snowager, or Sandan-shaped --
All will look extremely fetching
Around your dear 'pet's cold neck draped.
Now, don't forget to add a hat!
Woolen cap, while plain, does the job.
Just make sure it's made very well --
Don't want your 'pet to look a slob.
And if your 'pet is adventurous,
Try teaching it to knit for itself.
Woolen sock or glove knitting sets
From the Toy Store can offer help.
Whatever you choose --
Scarves, hats, gloves --
Your 'pet will smile with great relief.
Now they'll be ready for the snow
That comes after that last gold leaf.
A yellow curl peeked out from underneath
the baker's hat; he smiled without teeth.
The oven gave the room a friendly glow.
As I walked in, the Breadmaster said "Yo."
I glanced about, saw warm baked goods galore,
but only one I hadn't seen before --
a muffin with a pair of staring eyes;
a Meepit in a soft and moist disguise.
A Meepit Muffin? It cannot be, I thought.
Why, such an evil food would not be bought!
The baker smiled again and winked an eye,
"You're curious," he said, "So why not try?"
I bit it, and, although it's just a snack...
I think that Meepit Muffin bit me back!
The Day of Giving
Is drawing near.
Yet, all preparations
Are not done, I fear.
My energy is running low,
So, to the market, I must go.
Aisles and aisles, to my delight,
Of Borovan -- what a lovely sight!
New holiday flavors
For every taste.
Now sugar free,
If you're watching your waist!
The decorative tins
Are all aglow.
Into my buggy
They all must go.
A Borovan cookbook?
I'll take one of these.
That are sure to please.
Back at home
Decorating, you see.
Running on boundless
I've cooked and cleaned,
The table is set.
Full of caffeine... you bet!
I'll fill the table
Mint for cousin Emily,
Super Spicy for Stan.
So, where can you find
It is hidden in
Borovan, you see!
Black Alabriss Wings
Feathers flutter, heavy with desire,
As dark as the deepest pride of kings,
Oh, how I long to one day acquire
The unattainable Black Alabriss Wings
For, you see, only with luck from a goodie bag,
Can this wonderful wearable ever be had.
And who knows how many bags it might take?
Finding tricks inside only makes my heart ache.
What’s worse, these bags demand a fortune!
And then there’s the fact they’ll retire soon
Who knows how much
They will cost by next year?
Surely some figure I fear to hear...
I have just shy of six weeks to go,
For Wishing Well to awake and say hello
And grant my wish, a chance to obtain,
Black Alabriss Wings, relief to this pain.
In The Sway
Be candid, do not speak
Louder than the softest breeze.
There are ears inside these walls,
There are eyes on all the trees.
Come inside, my brother.
Do not remove your cloak or hood.
Not until the order sits
And the doors are closed for good.
Let us rise, my friends and comrades,
For the Duchess comes to speak.
Let silence fall upon your lips
As she opens her noble beak.
Listen closely, do not wander,
Lest you miss her command.
It may be steeped in code,
And our time is close at hand.
So many secrets we have hoarded,
For so very many years.
But it seems to our headmistress
That our unveiling time, it nears.
Stillness befalls our table
As we wait on bate breath.
For, if she says the word,
We shall march toward our death.
Worry not, my shaking brother,
Do not let your heart grow weak.
For centuries we've done this,
It's control we hunt and seek.
They need us, those poor fools.
They know it not, but still,
We control their mere existence.
We direct and bend their will.
Perhaps this time they will see us,
They shall know our glory well.
They will all bow before us,
Their fear and awe shall swell.
Yet, for now, we are clandestine.
Surreptitious we shall lay
In the shadows; planning puppeteers.
In the shadows, in the Sway.
Total Poetry Pages : 1955
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