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Ode to a Maraquan Uni
Let the sea be your plain
(For its waves are your hills);
Let its watery blue
Be your bristling green;
Moving and rolling
And salty and chill,
Holding the light like
The grasses' spring dew;
Formed of it.
Let the wind be your song
(As it rustles the waves);
Let its clear thunder-sound
Hum the glory of sea;
Whistling and rumbling
The hymn of the brave,
(The ancients before who
Chose water, not ground);
Sung by it.
For earthly things die;
Grasses wither and brown.
Trees rise up to fall;
Saplings crumble in shade.
Take water, immortal,
Take blue over brown;
Where lie secrets of deep,
Where the leaves cannot fall;
Make it yours.
In her home of icy wonder,
Sparkling magic shining bright.
Luscious lips of pale blue beauty,
Skin like snow so pure and white.
Gracious winds caress her hair,
Hood of soft fur pulled 'round tight,
Evoking snowflakes with her wand,
Glistening in the clear moon's light.
Elegant crystals above her form,
Incandescent with their own spell,
Marvel at her glorious work,
Among them her powers dwell.
Swirling blizzard encompasses her,
Unusual -- soft yet tough,
Created by magic means,
The blizzard bringing snowy puffs.
This faerie of the wonderful snow,
A beacon of hope for lost Neopets.
Caught up and weakened in the cold,
Meeting her they have no regrets.
Whispers in the Meadow
Let vanity escape the mind --
These words one must heed,
Lest greed befall a lesser heart,
And befall it will indeed.
For the flowers in the meadow
Can sing a lovely tune
That the pretty eyes will unwind
To reveal the catcher's swoon.
As such a pretty Vira
Did discover without wit,
As her vain thoughts did bestow
A tempting whisper did emit.
"Such a lovely child," it cried,
"But what a horrid shame!
To be but an earthly rose
Yet no beauty to your name."
Distraught did she beg
At which this voice did mirth,
"Quiet, child, and take this mirror,
For to perfection it gives birth."
And take she did with such haste,
That the waning laughter was not heard,
And so the pretty Vira
Gazed in without a word.
Such a lovely presence did stare back
That she doubted it her own,
But even if this object lied,
She would rather it unknown.
Yet even as she sighed and cooed
Her heart began to realise --
Though her conscious could deny;
Until the horror met her eyes
Beautiful, she was indeed
Though the flowers did recoil,
And wither as if set aflame
And fall into the soil.
The sky did grow a darker shade
As the sun did run away,
Whispers in the eerie wind
Did put her all in disarray.
She screamed in betrayal
To hide her inward fear,
Yet even through the horrid sound
The laughter caught her ear.
"Foolish child!" it shrieked in taunt,
"See what your vanity has gained!
Even though the plants recoil,
At least your beauty has remained!"
With that the voice did fall again
So did Vira in her shame,
Still she smiled in grotesque content,
For others would soon know
The beauty of her name.
As autumn comes to us upon a breeze;
A beauty that which nothing can deface;
Excited croaks rise up from yonder trees;
That's where the Nimmo harvest time takes place.
The Nimmos, they wait patiently all year;
For green to turn to crimson, then to gold;
To celebrate the harvest with good cheer;
To dance and hop about; to be so bold.
They gather every year there, with their kin,
Recalling the past year do they, unvexxed;
They speak of how the aging year has been;
And hope for brilliant fortunes in the next.
Gift giving is a common practice, there;
And every Nimmo present gives their part;
Eating fly cakes so fluffy white and fair;
And battle magic, oh that sacred Art.
They celebrate and play from dusk 'til dawn,
Remembering a year that's almost gone.
The Lament of the Grey Faerie
Once they frolicked everywhere,
Shining flutters, silken hair
Playing, gamboling, all day long,
Singing tunes and faerie songs.
Their powers were unmatched by others,
Fellow faeries, elven brothers,
Flying through the air so light
Through burning day, and velvet night.
Then one day a curse was cast,
And these faeries flew their last
The powers gone, they fled the open
Until the curse would finally be broken.
Now they hide in forest shadows,
Nursing memories and their sorrows,
Still they hope for spell reverse
To lift the vengeful, wicked curse.
Total Poetry Pages : 1959
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