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It sits on Krawk Island,
Sad and alone,
And nearly unknown.
Its blue hat is covered
In layers of dust,
Its old pirate hook
Is beginning to rust.
A large Spyder web
Makes it quite clear
It hasn't been used
In over a year.
Its expression is sad,
Its mouth is agape,
And in fact its whole face
Is a rather odd shape.
An old faded sign,
Worn and unclear,
"Place Dubloons Here."
It yearns for attention,
For meaning or use,
But all it receives
Is neglect and abuse.
It only hopes
That somehow, some way,
Things won't be so bad
Such soft light breaks through the haze,
Upon Meridell does it gently gaze,
A land of many a tale
Of adventure and interesting lore.
How the sun does nary quiver,
Nor the trees so vainly shiver
In this mystical realm
Of things never seen before.
Oh, the sun! It does befall me
Ever so eloquently,
And this ancient earth is bathed in warming light.
Should a Lupe or Uni of peasantry
Wander too far from its kingdom's keep,
Then it could be faced by a rogue or noble knight.
Does Turmaculus still slumber?
Have the Petpets gone asunder?
Is the Mortog still waiting
For a spell-breaking kiss?
Fear not, for all is well,
Dearest citizens of Meridell.
Sure as Jeran is nearby,
Nothing shall ever go amiss...
Upon a mountain to the north,
Deep within great caves of ice,
Paces a creature to and forth,
You shouldn't cross 'pon my advice.
But many enter, quite aware
Of the dangers that they face,
To meet two icy eyes' cruel glare,
And turn to flee with flying pace.
Day after day, the Snowager is woken
By trespassing visitors into his lair,
Seeking the hoards by many spoken
Of priceless treasures and items rare.
Guarding its towering pillar of dreams
That catches the flighty Neopet's eye,
The Snowager's orb warily gleams
At many a thief of its treasured supply.
Rarely one manages to steal things away
From this watchful, gelid being of lore,
Hardly a rest from midnight to day,
The Snowager elicits my rapport.
I ask, before you traverse to
Terror Mountain's icy cave,
Remember the piteous Snowager's due,
And sleepless temper that you must brave.
Of danger ever closing in--
Of the danger that she's in.
The small faerie,
That the scary
Lupe draws ever closer now,
And she's within his reach now.
And in a flash,
She's jarred up, stashed,
Before long, cached
As, with a crash,
She's thrown into Balthazar's pile,
Left to rot in the hunter's pile.
And as day gives way to night,
Fellow faeries, those of light,
Stand 'gainst the darkness, ever bright,
Yet sadness floods this faerie's sight.
Captured, forced to fight for breath,
Devoid of that which she loves best:
Freedom, open air, her zest,
In that jar she's forced to rest.
But fear not, reader, for, you see,
All these faeries will go free,
Bought in someone's spending spree,
Sold by the Lupe to you or me.
And she will flit,
A free spirit,
Not think of it,
That awful pit,
That pit where captured faeries lay,
When Balthazar takes them away.
The Disaster at Maraqua
There was a roaring wind all through the night,
The rain came heavily down in floods,
The terrified Koi sheltered elsewhere,
As they listened to the heavy thuds.
Then from deep down in the ocean came
The biggest whirlpool ever seen,
It swallowed up the buildings there,
A swirling torrent of blue and green.
The Koi watched as their city went down,
All their toiling work undone,
But very happy to be alive,
Each and every single one.
For many years the whirlpool swirled,
Until it eventually stopped,
And the howling wind around Maraqua,
Suddenly, suprisingly dropped.
As a few brave Neopians see,
As you squint into the black,
There are some ruins of a majestic city,
One that may never come back.
Total Poetry Pages : 1960
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