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KACHEEK DAY SPECIAL
Thou are not lost, pesky Neopet,
Just hidden from my sight.
For days I search here and there,
Until the moon shines by night.
You can run, but cannot hide,
I will find you, fine Kacheek.
Even if thou linger in a foul musty lair,
I shall find the one I seek.
In the tree house I search first,
Each branch, carefully explored.
Should you not be found, the pirate ship is next;
In every cabin I search for you,
But thou are not aboard.
The end draws near as I pick the final place.
I travel through Terror Mountain,
Searching every pine.
No igloo went unchecked, nor forest overlooked,
The caves -- I searched those too --
But they were vacant at the time.
I feel as if all hope is lost, overwhelmed with defeat,
But then I spot the tail of you,
My dear friend Kacheek!
I jump with joy at the fact that I have not been beat!
At last, I have found you in this game of Seek.
The Spud-Counting Kacheek!
Stand at the ready, count so quick,
Potatoes by do race.
Alton Moughbry stands nearby,
A focused grin in place.
Keeper of the 'tater count,
The tracker of each spud!
This Kacheek can count so fast,
As 'taters start to flood!
A local of old Meridell,
The game held on his land.
Watching those who dare to play,
His peeler tight in hand.
His shirt is fraying at the cuffs,
Patches coat his hat.
Peaked ears do stick out the sides,
And lay there, long and flat.
The tourists think the game a breeze,
"Just 'taters!" do they brag.
Until the veggies tumble out,
From Alton's massive bag!
Potatoes tumble left and right,
They spill and topple out.
Those who play in frenzy count;
"Too slow!" is Alton's shout!
Potato peeler in his hand,
Its blade just seems to shine.
He'll tell the tale of how it's old
And passed down family line.
And when those who did lose a game
Have trudged from Alton's view,
He'll tell you 'taters left behind
Are sure good in a stew!
So when the time to play is here,
Potatoes fall in floods.
Alton, though, is one Kacheek,
Who sure does know his spuds!
A Selfless Kacheek
Under Altador's blazing sun, a small Kacheek toiled,
Day and night, night and day, simple was his life.
He did not care for luxuries nor for pirates' spoil,
Tending his crops with loving care,
raising his Petpets was his job.
Walking through town, overheard
The farmer a conversation feared,
They talked about a strange blight
Afflicting their tender crops.
Florin did ask them to show him more,
And as the field neared,
He was shocked to see nearly
A third of all the plants diseased.
Florin pondered over it,
His hard-working brain buzzing,
One good look at the ebon, wilted plants
Gave him the perfect solution.
He clapped his little hands and sped
Into the forest, jumping,
Undertaking a long, dangerous journey,
Searching for the cure.
After days and days of endless search,
He found what he wanted,
A rare plant that few knew existed,
Hidden in the depths of the forest.
Not wasting time, he went back
To town, with the cure he coveted,
Ground and mixed the herb with water
And instructed the farmers to use it.
Within days, the crops looked as good
As new, away went the blight,
The villagers were ecstatic;
They rejoiced and revelled in the joy.
But Florin's own crops wilted,
They weren't a pretty sight,
As he had neglected them to search
For a cure to the deadly disease.
Tales of his selflessness travelled
Far and wide, until at last
The great King Altador himself heard
And showered him with praise.
He made the kind Florin oversee Altador's
Plentiful farms, and fast
Did Florin find a place among the Heroes,
In Altador's coveted hall.
Albert the Kacheek
There lurks an evil, bloated beast
Beyond the trellis of gnarled bark
Called Esophagor, angry, stagnated,
Wallowing, unknown, in dark.
Friendless, the monster had no way
Of easing wicked hunger's bite
Until one Kacheek wandered astray
On a stormy winter's night.
The name of this unfortunate soul,
Albert, an ardent herbologist,
Unaware of the impending danger
Of the Esophagor's clenching fist.
One touch and Albert was transformed
Into a hideous, grovelling thing.
Poor mutant child, now solely concerned
With appeasing his new king.
His home: the famous graveyard of doom,
His hobby: etching gravestones,
His task: to fill the Esophagor's stomach
With the most grotesque ingredients known.
Dodging tentacled eyeball beasts
And watching out for Ghostkerchiefs --
Just another day on the job
From which there's no relief.
Samrin the Brave
Breeze playfully bends the grass,
Time wastes away like an hourglass,
Hurried breath and heartbeat speed
While innocent Petpets are in need.
Stalking like a shadowed wraith,
In his ferociousness you can have faith.
Balthazar snarls with pearly teeth,
Trembling Babaa, shaking leaf.
But lo! Coming to save the day,
Samrin appears to spirit away
Poor little Petpets, shivering fear
While Balthazar creeps ever near.
Then, with a roaring leap,
Balthazar, what doom does he reap?
Yet Samrin, fleet as the wind,
Knew that this was not the end.
O, Kacheek with a heart of gold!
O, Kacheek ever brave and bold
Rushed with might to the wooden pen,
Dodged Balthazar to live again.
Total Poetry Pages : 1863
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