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LENNY DAY SPECIAL
The Lonely Ghost
Far beneath the starry skies,
Within the forest eaves,
A spirit wakens from the dark,
Stalking 'tween the leaves.
Dark eyes shine out, emotionless,
Gleaming dark amber red;
They speak of secrets long hidden,
Sad things not to be said.
And as the night progresses on,
The ghost can still be seen
Walking through great wooden elms,
Highlighted by the moon's gleam.
It has a beak that arches high,
A stiff tuft upon its head,
Great wings that spread out broad and wide,
Thin legs that shine like lead.
Tears slide off a Lenny beak;
The awakened ghost does cry,
And mopes and moans with all its heart,
But can only sit and sigh...
Why is it that it should have
To be alone until the end?
Why is it that the Lenny should
Have to live without a friend?
'Cause even though he is a ghost,
Its feelings are not obsolete --
For ghosts have feelings too,
And ghosts need a friend-to-be.
The Mutant Lenny Lament
Oh, I've sliced past crimson-marred clouds,
With wings tattered and old,
Eyes swimming in stark gold,
Feathers; countless hectic shrouds.
Oh, I've met many barren lands,
Of rocks and dirt and sands,
Where thirst is common, quenching rare,
Where the earth is cold and trees bare.
Oh, but I travel forever on,
Ridiculed by the breeze,
Taunted by the vast seas,
Aghast by the bright glare of dawn.
Lo! My despair only cascades--
Twilight bruised by my claws then fades,
Knolls by my endless cries unkempt--
You've heard the last of my lament.
The Faerie Lenny
Dressed in robes of flowing grace
Colours, none else could boast
In the room were jewels of taste
But Sonandra had the most.
Envy of the populace, she
Swept by in rich attire
Faerie of the Lennies, we
Can't help but all admire.
Into the ball, and silence fell
As all gazed up with wonder
Some adored as if under a spell
Some ripped their finery assunder
She had not always been Belle of the Ball
As her friends could surely say
Once, in a gutter, lonely and small
She lived from day to day.
But, as it always is with tales,
She turned up one day and shone
Luck, although nearly always fails
Sonandra today had won.
A whirlwind of parties greeted her
Whisked into a life of glee
Forget not your friends, nor where you were:
Or who 'twas who painted thee!
Don't Match Wits With A Lenny!
Some pets boast of strength and brawn,
And some of colors, bright.
Some will brag of dashing deeds,
Or launch to graceful flight.
The Lenny is an awkward pet,
Upon those stilts he stands.
And yet he makes a riddle, strange,
That no one understands.
Once a week the world does hush,
Await his puzzling word.
A conundrum he'll conjure up,
Just waiting to be heard!
With clever glint in beady eye,
The puzzle is released.
Seven days are needed here,
To solve it at the least!
Within those mystic, swirling robes,
The Lenny seems to gloat.
Watching as we puzzle hard,
Over the things he wrote.
With flourish of his magic wand,
Each puzzle will appear.
Knowing what comes from his mind,
Suspense does mix with fear!
It seems that Lenny is quite bright,
(Such witty, clever birds!)
Magical with the way he thinks,
A wizard, but with words!
That peaked hat perched upon his crown,
He sits back to relax.
What this creature might miss in brawn,
It's not brains that he lacks!
If this Lenny, you might meet,
If fighting's what you choose.
Don't enter battles of the wits,
With this fellow, you'll lose.
Finneus, Archive Lenny
Residing in the Archives
Of Stalwart Altador,
At home among the hoard of books,
He peers 'round oaken door.
Fluffy hair jets from his head,
Whispy, white pristine,
A subtle smile warms the room,
His friendly eyes agleam.
Ancient as the fragile tomes,
His feathers dusty grey,
Though stature's sturdy as a shelf,
His mind is far away.
Bowing low in welcome,
Flustered with formality,
This wise old bird presents himself;
"Finneus, Archive Lenny."
Total Poetry Pages : 1962
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