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POOGLE DAY SPECIAL

The Poogle Parade
By Geneames1

Everyone come out and grab a good seat
Find a nice spot in the shade
For this is a day we will all shout with glee
It's the time of the Poogle Parade!

Poogles of every color and size
Appear in this wondrous tableau
They tramp down the street
And we all loudly cheer
It is a most marvelous show!

Drummers march by with a rat-a-tat-tat
Followed by cymbalists crashing
Tubas and trumpets sound out loud and clear
Oh it's going to be simply smashing!

Acrobat Poogles all dance in a row
Tumbling and flipping in time
Stilt walkers and clowns
Happily wave to the crowds
The experience will be sublime!

Performers distribute balloons and small toys
Throw chocolatey treats left and right
Confetti and streamers and pinwheels abound
This occasion will be a delight!

So put down a blanket and sit for a while
Drink a small glass of Limeade
Think of the fun that you're going to have
When you celebrate Poogle Parade!

Oh, Faerie Poogle
By Carmmy222

How daintily you spread those wings
Beneath the cloudy sky,
The trees will hum, the brook will sing,
Should you go spinning by.

Your enchanting smile is like a spell,
Your eyes, two sapphires pure,
Glitter, glisten, jewelled and charm,
Sent with loving lure.

All who lay their eyes upon
This Poogle, warm and sweet,
May hearts beat enviously true,
For with you, they can't compete.

Your pair of never-fading wings
Flood me with their hue,
Who can take my breath away?
It's obvious; it's you!

I wish you luck as you depart,
And softly fly away,
Charisma, hope and elegance,
With a heart that cannot fray.

All in favour of faerie Poogles,
Raise your hands, say, "Aye!"
And stare upon the miracle,
Now a speck in the black, jewelled sky.

Malevolent
By Fyrestopper

From pieces of unwanted cloth
Sewn with tatty black thread
A misshappen Poogle plushie
Whose eyes seem to glow red

He seems to sit and stare at me
From atop my huge plushie pile
As I dive back under my covers
I could swear I saw him smile

I fell into a restless sleep
Only to waken deep in the night
What I saw when I opened my eyes
Filled my heart with fright

My window was pushed wide open
A wild cold wind was hissing
And as I looked about my room
I saw that plushie was missing

Cautiously I shut the window
and shoved the lock into its track
The only thing that worries me
Is what if he comes back?

Sketch Poogle
By Pupspare

Just a blue line drawing
On some plain white paper
Ink flowing from the pen
Forming an image
That was once just a dream

The drawing comes
To life and smiles
More than just a sketch
Now she picks up her books
And wanders off,
Hardly just a sketch

Picking up her notepad,
Her pencil flies,
Quickly creating
Making and remaking
Writing, drawing, forming
The world of her dreams

The artist watches, smiling
Their creation making
Her own creation -
Such a colored world
Of pictures and words
But of more

Of valleys with sunsets
And lakes at sunrise
Afternoon's meadows
And morning's highest mountains
Of dewdrops on cobwebs
And raindrops on green leaves

She looks up, still smiling
The same blue line smile
And, turning, she leaves,
Notepad in paw
The afternoon sun
Warming her back

And then she remembers
Where she must be
For what today is
And notepad in paw
The sketch Poogle runs
To join the Poogle Parade

The Poetic Poogle
By Anjie

When burning coals have melted down,
And simmered, just a bit.
Alstaf's gaze is drawn ahead,
Alone doth Poogle sit.

The roaring fire blazes here,
And lights the shadowed room.
Like poetry, the silhouettes,
Within his mind, do loom.

A Poogle of such noble mind,
Where words translate to rhyme.
They linger in amazing verse,
And link in ways sublime.

In history books we do recall,
The gifted creature's name.
The greatest poet in the land,
Each praising page does claim.

And now his gaze is bright with thought,
His mind drifts, and it roams.
Within the shape of firelight,
He'll bring such life to poems.

Now with his fame still matched by none,
The days remain his own.
The critics still discuss his work,
And claim his talent's grown.

Each word selected with such care,
And into verse, it fits.
Composing by the fire bright,
The Poogle poet sits.



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