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YURBLE DAY SPECIAL
The Miserly Yurble
Fetching glints of glittering gold
Reflecting in sparkling eyes;
If eyes are the window to the soul,
A soul of cold metal is an accurate surmise.
Hoarding every last copper coin,
Squirreling away for a rainy day,
Any cent found, to his coffers it joins --
Hidden from view, never displayed.
Only the clank of silver on silver
Brings a hint of a smile.
He preys upon paupers and aristocrats alike
To gain his wealth, however vile.
Wealth greases the gears of his ideas,
Greed turns the cogs of his mind.
A hunger and thirst for all that shines,
A sharp nose for any salary he can find.
Taxing all who come in his wake
To gain what he loves the very most.
Your money is his right to take,
Or so he believes and boasts.
Becoming known as the Tax Beast,
A title he loves and is well proud,
Since then he has never ceased
To squeeze his riches from the common crowd.
Step through the jagged, crumbling wall,
Walk inside the ancient ruined hall.
Peek through the window without glass,
Crane around the hacked-open pass.
There you might see, from a shadowed alcove,
That famed prince of mighty rogues:
The Yurble Raider.
In high form he was once, a great mighty pet,
Venturing high and low in Meridell yet;
Joining not one side nor the other, it's true,
But fighting nonetheless to make everyone rue
The day they had ever met the Yurble Raider.
Sly, clever Yurble with feathers in his hair,
Battle-axe in hand he slipped from his lair.
War-painted stripes streaked his red fur,
Sleekly and silently his enemies he'd lure
Into battle to end; that Yurble Raider.
Guards would awake in the deepest of night,
Stirred by a rattling, hastened by fright,
Into a house they would run, weapons out,
Peer into shadows, expecting a clout,
A thief of the bitterest kind stealing gold.
The guards it would fall to have the poor folk told,
Their valuables are gone. Oh Yurble Raider!
But lo and behold! No petty thief do they find,
But eyes in the dark that glow with a mind
Both cruel and dangerous, calculatingly sharp,
Jobs for him just fun, this robbery simply a lark,
The Yurble Raider.
With screams and panicked shouts,
The guards should flee this evil lout,
And run fast away lest this become their tomb,
Their ever-after resting place of coldest doom,
Felled by the hand of the Yurble Raider.
So peer deep in the shadows
And be safe in the thought
That no more this world is
That scurvy scoundrel's lot,
For he's gone to the quietest place of retire;
Grandchildren and stories, a chair by the fire,
Has he, the Yurble Raider.
And long has his battle-axe been put away,
His feathers' dye fading, and war paint array
All smeared and melting, caked and hard,
Spread by tiny curious fingers across the yard.
And so doth rest the Yurble Raider.
The Masked Yurble of Geraptiku
There is a mask, a tiki mask,
That echoes the jungles of history;
And from behind it peer the eyes
Of a witch-doctor cloaked in mystery.
He carries a staff with coloured blocks
And tramps his way through the wood,
In search of squarish coloured rocks
That carry a mystical mood.
"Red blocks here, four together,
And some green over there..."
He mutters as he arranges squares,
And watches them disappear.
He was an ordinary Neopet once,
Exploring Geraptiku deep.
Until he was caught in a fascination
That far away did him sweep.
The magic of the coloured rocks
Now takes up all his time;
He crushes them, square by square,
To feel a power sublime.
But despite the blocks, in spite of all,
He's still a Yurble in part.
And so today, on Yurble Day,
He feels a tingling in his heart.
Behind his fearsome tiki mask,
Away from the flurry of Neopia,
He wears a quiet, secret smile,
And murmurs, "Hallelujah."
And another square melts into darkness.
Autrey Fulse, The Yurble Yooyuballer
Silence in the stadium,
And let the games begin.
Haunted Woods against Shenkuu,
The question? Who will win?
Let centre forward draw your eye,
A phantom on the field.
Crimson burns in gaze intense,
Determined not to yield.
Eerie wisps embrace his form,
Like serpents coiling 'round.
Trailing, twisting to the sky,
Yet feet are on the ground.
Proudly does he bear that shirt,
In tones orange and black.
Autrey Fulse the name emblazed,
Across the Yurble's back.
Like a lightning strike he moves,
With moves one can't forget.
Flawless passes prove his worth,
Autrey's a double threat.
The Yooyu moves from paw to paw,
Until it's a mere blur.
Guarded by those ghostly whips,
That spring from Yurble's fur.
He glides between opposing teams,
That steely gaze alight.
If Haunted Woods is set to lose,
It's not without a fight.
To have a phantom play the field,
May seem a touch unfair.
He scores a goal and then he's gone,
Vanished, into thin air.
The Ghost Yurble
All's quiet by the Haunted Woods
no Neopet in sight,
Young traveller, please turn around!
Don't wander here at night!
The moon is bright and full,
and on the ground strange shadows cast,
but that small light is not enough,
don't make this day your last!
They say that something wanders here,
it's horrible to see!
I've heard it gives no warning,
and leaves little time to flee.
At first the air grows cold,
you feel a shiver down your spine,
Then wisps of sickly blue green light,
twirl through the oak and pine.
A few seconds and you see it,
you can't hold back a screech,
now race away! endeavour to
escape its spectral reach.
The massive beast comes closer,
you stare into its eyes,
two horrid, glowing, crimson spheres
lit up from the inside.
Claws flash! Fangs gnash!
Its mane waves wildly as it growls!
An awful, throaty, threatening sound,
that's followed by a howl.
Your paws churn quick beneath you
as you pelt past crooked trees,
soon miles are between you,
but you still don't feel at ease.
I suppose you shall remember,
even when you're old and tired,
that nose, those ears, that tattered fur,
the fear that they inspired.
Try as you will to fill your head
with everything that's good
nothing can erase the night,
you met the ghost Yurble in the wood.
Total Poetry Pages : 1970
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