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Brave Draiks' Flight
On a dark eve when the moon was clothed
In the dark shadow of endless night
A sliver of silver did flash very bright
For gliding amidst a sea of stars
Gleaming Draiks did burst into flight.
Unfurling wings of luminescent green
Stretching out tails of glittering blue
Smooth jeweled hides in every possible hue
On that dark eve when the moon was dark
Yes, Draiks flying, wise and true.
Over sleeping trees did they soar
Listened to the winds, ever-sighing
And the Crokabeks, cawing and crying
Wingspread shadows sliding over the hills
Whiskers and tails intertwining.
"Listen here," they say, their murmurs hoarse
"We attack at dawn, when the sun doth rise
And may Fyora be on our side
And Luck smile on us
When into Kass's castle we bravely fly."
They nod at each other, their faces grim
And into the castle did they storm
Attack and defend, rush and reform
Did the battle go that following day
Armor was pierced and tunics were torn.
Long did the battle last that day
And at last, with victorious cry
King Skarl's troops did take to the sky
And Kass's people were finally freed
Back to home did the Draik troops fly
Elated to limit with their virtuous deed.
If you go to here-and-now
Meridell, you might hear
Victory's echo of a triumph dear
To Neopia. And when you do
Remember that dark and moonless night
And what transpired after the brave Draiks' flight.
The Glowing Wuzzle
The glowing Wuzzle has little rings,
That circle all around
Its body, where a large supply
Of chemical is found.
I try so hard to understand,
And though I ask it why
It makes a glowing light so bright,
It gives me no reply.
What light it makes will not burn up,
It will just go and go.
With every little changing spark,
A brighter one will glow.
Glowing Petpets are such fun
To watch and read about.
Perhaps someday I'll be the one
To find their secrets out.
When The Hunter Becomes The Prey
See the slime, watch the trail,
The sticky path never fails,
To lead the hunter to its prey,
Manic flair he does portray.
Innocent eyes, vague smile,
Hide in grass, wait a while,
The little slug, meek in poise,
Scoots on dirt, makes no noise.
The predator stands his ground,
More green creatures come abound,
The hunter leaps from hiding place,
More of them appear without a trace.
Before he can grab just one,
He is surrounded by a ton,
Faces now grinning, thousands stare,
With blank expressions in the air.
The mission is left, hunter retires,
Into the wild he now desires,
Slorgs gather and slime with glee
They were triumphant so easily.
Sliding home the slugs do leave,
Even the small can greatly achieve.
The Birthday Brush
The Eyrie was excited
as he lay in bed that night,
his mind was whirring busily,
and sleep was far from sight.
Tomorrow was his birthday
and today his owner said:
"I'm buying you a paintbrush -
you must be bored with red!"
To keep the gift a big surprise
she simply wouldn't say
which colour brush she'd chosen,
he'd have to wait a day.
So as he lay there quietly
in his comfy Eyrie bed,
a swirl of coloured brushes
were dancing through his head.
Would he be painted Pirate
and sail the Black Pawkeet,
and dig for buried gold dubloons
in the sand beneath his feet.
Maybe he'd be Rainbow -
purple, green and blue,
with a bit of sunny yellow
and four bright pink socks too.
Or had she picked Maraquan -
from the world beneath the sea,
so he could hunt for pretty shells
in King Kelpbeard's territory.
What if he was Royal -
with cape and crown as well,
waving to the friendly folk
as he strolled through Meridell.
If he became Tyrannian
he'd have fierce horns and claws,
or Fire he'd have a flaming tail
and two bright golden paws.
She might have chosen Starry
like a clear Roo Island night,
or even spooky Darigan -
(he'd even give himself a fright!)
She might just paint him Disco
with its bursts of orange and yellow,
or she could choose Electric,
then he'd be a "shocking" fellow!
If he became Invisible
just think what tricks he'd play,
and he'd get past the Snowager -
every single day!
If he was painted plushie,
he'd be a cuddly purple toy,
or if she bought him Baby
he'd become a little boy.
She has so many choices,
how can she decide?
"She'll pick the one which suits me best,"
he told himself with pride.
Spotted, Sketch or Yellow,
Shadow, Striped or Snow,
I know she's chosen carefully
because she loves me so.
He couldn't wait for morning
to see what colour he would be,
and if you too are wondering
check my lookup and you'll see. ;)
The Tale of Magnus
Come and listen, one and all
To the tale of a Scorchio's fall
Here's the bonfire, gather round
Seal your lips, don't make a sound.
There lived a Scorchio long ago
In a cave on the plateau
He was bold and full of vim
And Magnus they christened him.
A zealous warrior, Magnus was
He never feared, never fussed
Mighty-winged, swift of paw
His breath of fire left pets in awe.
In his village, he was a hero
Having vanquished every foe
But little did this Scorchio know
That evil was still on the go.
One dark night, a Grarrl appeared
Attacking Magnus, sharp spear reared
Magnus tossed the spear aside
He said, "Give up for you can't hide!"
The Grarrl just laughed derisively,
"You fool, I don't intend to flee!"
He pulled a vial from behind
Filled with something ground fine.
Magnus scratched his head and frowned
Soon, realization dawned
"A pepper shaker!" he yelled,
"With that, you know, I can't be quelled."
The Grarrl smiled, the vial he threw
And in the air, crushed pepper flew
To Magnus' horror, his nose was itching
In a minute, he was sneezing.
Witch each sneeze, he breathed out fire
Burning house to grass to mire
Magnus howled, Magnus cried
All was gone when his sneezing died.
And so the story ends here
Of Magnus who knew no fear
Remember now, some heroes fail
At times, evil can prevail.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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