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POOGLE DAY SPECIAL
Be a Faerie Poogle
Spread your wings far and wide,
Be the master of the air,
Gliding on the thermal flows,
Be a faerie Poogle.
Leave the rocky mountain cave
For the freedom of the sky,
Exercise your golden wings,
Be a faerie Poogle.
Soaring high through the clouds,
Feel the mist on your wings,
Swoop down to the mountaintop,
Be a faerie Poogle.
Flying high and flying strong,
Giant shadows on the wing,
Owners of this airy kingdom,
Be a faerie Poogle!
Choras Tillie of Neoquest
Choras Tillie of Neoquest,
'Gainst her skill none can contest.
Calm and steady, strong of arm,
Works with rare and silent charm.
Watch her fingers craft the threads,
Forming robes of ruined shreds --
Mystic shield and magic cape
In her crafting-shop take shape.
Evil now shades the countryside --
Those ancient lands, which once supplied
Foundations for her noble art,
Those which comprise each armor's heart --
Unable to roam the darkened shire,
She now assistance must require,
Seeks adventurers to obtain
Rare supplies for work again.
Items wrought with expertise,
Formed by hands which fly with ease,
Blessed with skill of ancient myth --
Choras Tillie, the armorsmith.
Perched high upon the tallest winter slope
The Poogles all await their starting call.
With trembling nerves
They peer through flurries thick
Knowing only one can win, of all.
The Poogle Moogi glances left and right;
It is his goal to leave them all behind.
The fervent wish lightens his racing heart,
The hope of winning focuses his mind.
"They're off!" -- the call,
And shrill the whistle blows;
Moogi leaps up front, his paws a blur of haste.
Thundering behind in an avalanchen rush
The Poogle Moogi narrowly is chased.
Swift he plows through piles dense and thick,
A nimble creature darting his new trail.
But oh! -- His eager paw meets sudden ice,
And off he skids; his head spins 'round his tail.
Fortune, though, regards Moogi kindly,
And directs his wild slide toward the goal.
The flailing frantic Poogle swiftly shoots
Out of control -- and stops with a hard roll.
As he rubs his head to feel the damage done,
The referee leans down and says, "You've won!
And never have I seen (not once, not twice)
A faster Poogle than Moogi on ice!"
In the shadow a horrible form,
Cries they sound like thunderous storm,
Glowing eyes are all that's seen,
Shining with a blood red sheen.
An evil smile glistens with hate,
This creature has suffered a hideous fate,
Once just a Poogle -- in races he'd run,
Now so deformed that he hides from the sun.
Terror embodies this rare soulless beast,
Prowling the night -- in search of a feast,
Groping and clawing with flimsy stuffed paws,
The curse of a plushie now devoid of claws.
Hungry, yet not feeling, twisted and ashamed,
A once loved pet now abomination named,
And all former friends they do flee from his sight,
Terror stricken and sick with a horrible fright.
So alone in dark corner all twisted and bent
Sits the form of a plushie most malevolent,
Though it's Poogle Day and we celebrate,
This poor soul feels naught but hate.
The Pampered Poogle
One cloudy night on the garden path,
The cool breeze blowing so nicely,
The Pampered Poogle sat down to rest,
Just like he did, almost nightly.
He breathed in deeply to smell the air,
Full of flowers and fountains and such,
And dreamed of the things that make him smile,
His money, his mansion, and all of his stuff.
With his eyes closed in thought,
About himself no doubt,
The clouds blew away from the moon,
The wind picked up and whipped through the trees,
Something was coming, and soon.
From out of his day-dream,
All at once his eyes opened,
And the pit of his stomach did churn;
He knew he should leave, he had to get back,
But he was confused on which way to turn.
The street lamp went out, a trash can rolled by,
The night seemed to close in around,
He started to run, and didn't stop
Until he reached the Haunted Woods Fairground.
He kept his eyes on the woods
And backed up very slowly,
Where he was going, he did not check,
When all of a sudden, out jumped a Werelupe
And bit him politely right on the neck.
The Pampered Poogle yelled "Ouch!"
And turned quickly to see
The Werelupe was really quite small.
The Werelupe said, "Sorry,"
With a tear in his eye,
"I wish this hadn't happened at all."
He started to swoon, the moon seemed to laugh,
The woods started to spin all around,
He struggled to make it out of the woods,
But everything went dark and he hit the ground.
The Pampered Poogle woke up
In his down-stuffed bed,
His satin pillows and covers just so,
Was all this a dream? Did it happen this way?
There was only one way he could know.
He went to the bathroom and cautiously looked
At his reflection in the mirror
And yelled, "Argghh!"
Not only did he have brown fur and long fangs,
But that Werelupe put a hole
In his brand new silk scarf!
Total Poetry Pages : 1984
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