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CYBUNNY DAY SPECIAL
The Cybunny Guardian
Straying slowly, far from home,
Shivering, scared and all alone
Meandering through the wood
To where a sinister shadow stood.
It looms and lurks and twists and turns;
Your heart begins to beat and burn,
A shape emerges -- two black ears
That symbolise your darkest fears.
A voice as silky sweet as honey
Belonging to a terrifying Cybunny,
Not one pink or fire or faerie,
But a mutant one, maligned and scary.
The monster that in days of childhood
Would chill your thoughts and freeze your blood,
Hiding in the closet,
Or under the bed,
Or even worse, inside your head.
Its piercing eyes fix you until
You stop, the air becomes quite still,
The shape extends a mighty paw
With the sharpest claws you ever saw.
You shrink and try to back away,
But it insists that you should stay,
Raising its head to meet your eyes,
It pauses then and sadly sighs.
"I saw the way you wept and shook,
But don't be fooled by the way I look,
My world view could be so sunny,
But I'm not a very happy Cybunny...
"Because I seem so malevolent,
You could not see what I really meant
When I lurked in shadows, followed you,
I was doing what I was meant to do.
Please don't run, or shriek, or beg,
I wanted to give you a belated Easter Negg."
Skipping, leaping from the wood,
So pleased you finally understood,
The nameless fear you knew so long
Turned out to be so very wrong;
Your guardian angel -- it seems so funny --
Was in fact a mutant Cybunny!
Cybunny Utility Belt
Bounding through towns and forests,
Hopping along grass and snow,
Everywhere a Cybunny treks,
A belt is sure to go.
A belt of superior quality,
A belt of the finest leather,
Durable, practical and always handy,
As light as a feather, made for all weather.
Two pouches adorn the belt
For knives and battlecards.
The source of a Cybunny's self-defence.
Who needs bodyguards?
The third pouch is for notes and coins,
Essential for days at the shops.
When worn at the waist, none dare pinch 'em;
Even the Pant Devil stops.
Then come the carrots, tied onto the belt;
A Cybunny's pride and joy,
A source of energy for all their hikes,
A Cybunny's delectable convoy.
The utility belt is a vital garment.
Without it, where would they be?
Cybunnies need their defence, their cash,
And their breath smelling carroty.
Gourmet Club Bowls Champion!
This shot was so important,
On it hinged the game,
He was holding the last ball,
The one to bring him fame.
Back he brought his paw,
Determination on his face,
And bending down onto one knee,
He rolled the ball with grace.
The ball curved out and then
Back in towards the jack,
The crowd held its collective breath,
'Till it stopped with a loud clack.
Would the ball be close enough?
The judges went to see,
And when he found that he had won,
The Cybunny jumped with glee.
He held his trophy in the air,
He'd achieved his dream of fame,
A Cybunny was the champion
Of the Gourmet Bowls Club game!
A Cybunny Mirage
The Lost Desert,
As hot as fire,
Has trapped many a traveller.
Smooth sand beyond the pyramids
Stretches into the deep distance;
Once ensnared, all hope is gone.
A danger bell
Rings shrilly in the traveler's head.
Just when all else is dim and bleak,
Someone hops by with furry feet,
A saviour banishing despair.
Eyes lined with kohl,
Comes quick to help with water, cold.
A strange yet glorious mirage:
Fur the colour of desert sand,
Head covered with hair so black.
A collar with ancient pattern,
But none so enchanting as this:
The kindly smile one cannot miss,
Cools the sweltering heat.
But do not touch,
Resist the urge,
For many travelers were lost,
When in a rush of grateful thanks,
Reached out to pat the sandy coat,
And lost their only hope:
The desert Cybunny vanished,
Its water nothing more than dust.
A Cybunny's Tale
Hiding her face in her soft downy fur,
The Darigan Cybunny cries.
Wet tears fall down
To the grass covered ground
Yet nobody blinks an eye.
There's no one to hug and no one to love,
Not for this lonesome pet,
The others they play,
But this one's a stray
Whom everyone seems to forget.
She's sad and alone, with no one to care,
And nobody takes her home.
She hops along
As if nothing is wrong,
But inside her heart feels like stone.
Her owner once cared, and loved her so much,
But she was sent away for good.
Left in the pound
On the hard, cold ground,
The heartbroken Cybunny stood.
This tale has a moral, and here's what it is,
Pets should be loved and fed.
They shouldn't be sad,
Or made to feel bad,
Like this poor little Darigan pet.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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