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Once thought a legend,
But now proven real.
In undersea mines,
A very dark metal
With markings of teal.
They study and learn it,
They heat it and mold it,
They make themselves armor,
Their enemies don't know it.
With little resistance,
Through water it cuts,
Slicing seaweed and coral
In sand leaving ruts.
The sword of malactite
Is a handy war tool.
Springtime in Neopia
As winter's frost begins to thaw,
We're called to watch in silent awe.
As winter's shades of white and blue
Begin to fade, we start anew.
Beneath Meridell's sun, the farmers toil.
Raking earth and tilling soil,
After rending the ground, they begin to sow,
From these tiny seeds new crops shall grow.
Lost Desert farming brings no enjoyment,
For the sun's harsh rays begin to torment
The poor souls who have to lay the root
Of the ummagine, bagguss, and tchea fruit.
On Mystery Island, agriculture is fun.
Farmers sing and dance beneath a tropical sun.
Their laughter brings about great cheer,
Without a care, they have no fear.
Krawk Island's shores bear no greenery.
Its dismal plants are no more than scenery.
The pirates guffaw as they guzzle their grog,
They scoff at farmers in island fog.
Maraqua was never a good place to farm,
To the plants saltwater would bring much harm.
Before or after the city was cursed,
Agriculture was always at its worst.
In spring, the Haunted Woods bear gloom.
Regardless, plant life starts to bloom
To yield sickening fruits like the clawmatoe.
Through the woods pumpkin lanterns glow.
In Faerieland, the haven of sweets,
Faerie farmers grow their faerie beets.
Faerie carrots and faerie pineapples grow
On farms where only the coolest winds blow.
In Terror Mountain's chilling core
The Negg Faerie hardly finds it a chore
To raise her Neggs and grow the crops
That are ingredients of the Chia pops.
Sun-baked Tyrannia cannot bear root.
The heat will bake all of its fruit.
Carnivores roam on its dry plateau,
While natural fertilizer is wasted below.
In springtime, Neopia is a glorious sight.
The greenery blossoms, taking the fright
Of a cold, harsh winter that's already passed.
But how long will its green season last?
Jelly Blobs of Doom
Behold in a land of jelly,
Where go only the insane.
There is a game that you may play,
If hunger is your bane.
A jelly Chomby's what you are,
And you're hungry for a bite.
Defeat the evil jelly blobs,
With all your tummy's might.
Only eat blobs smaller
Than your present size.
For the bigger blobs of jelly
Might eat you for their prize.
Beware the jelly-covered floor,
A slippery sort of trick.
For you will slide and stumble,
On a floor that's very slick.
So go, you hungry Chombies!
As the Jelly World does loom,
And take a bite for justice,
Out of the Jelly Blobs of Doom!
Sojourn Into the Maraquan Ruins
I ventured once into the deep
Of Old Maraqua's silent lands,
So full of memories long asleep
And moveless, now-forsaken sands.
That lightless kingdom, black and dark,
Was littered with the ship debris
Of pirate lords and leering sharks
Who barred me from the deeper sea.
The Bubbling Pit spewed rainbow tints
And shrouded strange aquatic pets
In tortoise shells and fish's prints;
I fled the Grarrls with no regrets.
A faerie's statue strewn with vines
Bore crimson jewels 'round her neck,
Now dissolved and cracked with lines
Caused likely by a nearby wreck.
I gladly entered Maraqua's gate
And left the ruins far behind,
But in my heart I knew her fate
Was, as of yet, still undefined.
A Treacherous Game
Gather 'round one and all
For a game of Bilge Dice.
Fer the weather be fair,
And the payout be nice.
Yer opponents be sneaky though,
Watch with an eye,
When ye set down to play,
And begin rollin' the die.
Monty the Mad be a sly little fellow,
A mischievous guy, he laughs with a bellow.
He takes many risks,
Sometimes more than he should.
I must warn ye, Monty is up to no good.
Grimtooth will git ye, with a look in his eye.
Should ye glance his way when he's rollin' the die.
He is tough and he's strong,
And he'll dare ye to play,
'Cause he'll take all yer booty
Once he scares ye away.
And then we have Deadeye
Who's king of the game,
He'll first rob ye blind
And then laugh just the same.
He's skilled in the fine art of subtlety,
Which is why, since I'm smart,
He'll not be playin' with me!
So grab yer bandanna and don yer gold hook,
And practice yer dastardly pirate-like look.
And methinks that a patch on one eye will suffice,
Arg maties, let's start a game of Bilge Dice!
Total Poetry Pages : 1961
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