1,900TH POETRY CONTEST

Maths Nightmare
by Miraday

The palatinate hills oppressively pour
Into the white Aisha's restless trance --
Corrupting her once pristine dreams,
Invading her phantasmagorical land.

The Babaa flock clip clops,
Cascading down in their trot,
Leaping over the clock --
In fighting a losing battle,
Imiya craves for the clock to stop.

Despite your maths endeavor,
The relentless red clock refuses to stall --
The Babaas sustain their omnipotence,
Threatening at any moment to fall.

You falter and confuse a two
Then a three, and the flock accrues!
The Babaas stumble, glancing at you --
You recover, solve and reduce --
Safely, Imiya continues to snooze.

This stressful task is a function of
Skill times practice, add an arbitrary five --
Then subtract your dwindling time.
Hopefully, these dreary clouds will divide.

Oh, Imiya's maths nightmare,
On purple hills teeming, 
Solved barely in time we seek --
No user in Neopia can be 
Hid from her dreaming.

Morning At Molten Morsels
by Meowclopspurrcat

Step right into this grand shop,
Where fresh meals are served on the tabletop!
The shopkeeper will be there to greet you,
A kindly Bruce with a lighthearted crew.

It’s a family-run business, you see,
With the Bruce and his clan who toil so busily,
Working hard to bring you the hottest meals
In Moltara, for prices that are a steal!

They use products 
That are fresh from the ground
(Lava, fire, and roots abound)
And serve up dishes 
In the most delicious ways;
They boil, fry, and sauté! 

Try the Fried Ginger or the Fire Rice
(Or the Potato Shake -- it’s very nice).
From Seared Lava Fish to the rich Root Stew,
They’re sure to have something just for you!

These Bruces don’t slack,
They’re a hardworking force
That want to brighten your day 
With their food, of course!
I’ll get Hot Magma, 
You’ll try Singed Dinner Rolls;
When we leave Molten Morsels, 
We’ll both be very full!

The Baker Of Neovia
by Swordlilly

Each day when the bell tolls eight
In the centre of the town,
The Crumpetmonger reaches up
To pull her shutters down.

Morning's always somewhat dim
In this corner of the Woods;
The Meerca deftly lights her lamps
And bakes her pies and goods.

South of her little bakery,
Her Ogrin neighbour Bart
Stands waving cheerfully to her
From his apple-bobbing cart.

Next door to her is the furniture shop
Where the Nimmo, Chesterdrawers,
Works with his jar and polishing-rag
On his tables, chairs and floors.

Her earliest guests are the newspaper boys
On their way to the printing press;
They like their scones and croissants hot
And their butter soft and fresh.

In the afternoon the paper's out,
Folks gather in the square.
Young girls emerge from the tailor's shop
To breathe the cool, crisp air.

Everyone likes a pastry warm
From the Crumpetmonger's shelves.
The shop girls, newsboys, ladies, gents,
All come to fill themselves.

From early morn to afternoon
The Meerca bakes and sells,
Her shabby dress and soft chef's hat
Abob to the tune of the bells.

The Flotato Stash
by Dreamingone

Mounds of Flotatos,
piles of Flotatos,
Jinny the Moehog stared.
They were sliced and mashed and seared;
there were Flotatos everywhere.

Who had gathered this enormous stash?
Who among us was so rash?
For what purpose had they all been gathered:
stashed away, for what purpose, so neatly
were they stacked, that it seemed impossible
that some poor Neopian did not know that -- 

at night, the Flotatos come out. 
At night, they transform.
Whatever your stash,
wherever your hoard,
they multiply. Your once-tranquil town
becomes Flotato-infested.
Flotatos will haunt your dreams --
day and night, Flotatos are all you see.

From infancy, the Neopets are taught
to never, ever wake the Snowager.
Be careful in Neovia, be kind to faeries,
don't disturb the Turmaculus...
And, whatever you do, don't disturb
or create, a Flotato stash.

Refresh At The Healing Springs
by Outlander_

Come to the Healing Springs...
Let your wounds and sickness
Be clean.
Drink the water
That is pure;
This spring is the cure.

A kind water faerie
Greets you with a smile,
Heals your 'pets
Once in a while,
Her magic is limited,
So go to her store.
Buy a healing potion
So you can be sure.

The Healing Springs
Is the place to go
When the Snowager's blast
Leaves an icy rash,
Or your health points are low
From defeating the Pant Devil in the Battledome.

Whatever ails you,
You know the place to go.
The Healing Springs can cure you,
So off you need to go.

An Ode To Wonderclaw
by Painted_dreams87

In 2011, a new game was introduced
to the NC Mall.
Bigsby Shadington's Wonderclaw it was called,
and all of Neopia stood in awe.

We rushed out to the nearest store
for a much-needed Neocash card.
We stood in the aisle and debated, because
resisting the urge to buy more was hard.

Finally, the time came to purchase widgets.
A 1-pack would never be enough.
A 10-pack was necessary
to obtain all more stuff.

We placed our widgets into the machine
and we moved the claw around.
We watched as a pod was grabbed
and, out of the slot, a prize was found.

First came fire and cloud,
but patchwork was right behind.
Months later came gothic,
soon after royal we would find.

We couldn't get enough of Wonderclaw,
and the prizes continued to come out.
Next came rainbow and pirate, and
we loved them all no doubt.

Underwater and tropical followed,
with Neovian and enchanted forest behind.
Baby, polka dot, gypsy, changing shades,
faerie, beach, and damask we would find.

It's clear that Wonderclaw
is not going anywhere.
Our 'pets will always have 
something new to wear!

A Meal Of Fruit
by Fairyxhearts

Out I go for Gadgadsbogen,
The Mystery Island festival of fruit.
Out I go to shop and shop
And home I go to survey my loot.

I hold a Flatfruit to the light --
Oh, what am I to make?
I could have a Flatfruit Slushie,
It will be a piece of cake.

My eyes scan the kitchen bench,
Fixing on quite the sight to see.
Oh my, that delicious, juicy berry!
No, I'll have a cup of Islandberry Tea.

As I think this, another berry jumps up,
But its energy's no cause for fright,
As Merryberries are sugar-filled
And can make a great Berry Delight!

I feel as though the meal's lacking.
What catches my eye next is flame?!
I see now it's a Flaming Bomberry -
The only question is: am I game?

My mind flies and cartwheels.
Cooking shouldn't bamboozle,
My common sense tells me.
Wait, I know! I'll add a Froozle.

Out I go to the dining room,
Food and drink in either hand.
Out I go to eat and sip
The fruitiest meal in all the land.

A Day At Usukicon
by Choquis

Today’s the day that average ‘pets
transform into crazy fans!
They line up outside Usukicon
with trembling hearts and hands.

Costumes, so intricately made,
cloak the thrilled young buffs.
They jump around from booth to booth,
balancing bags of stuff.

All crowd around the one shopkeep.
She avoids the groupies' raid.
She holds the rarest Usuki doll;
only one was ever made!

Thousands of toys litter the ground
as the frenzy comes to an end.
The sun dips low, the fans reflect
on the long day spent with friends.

Thousands partied all day long
since the sun rose in the dawn.
Usuki addicts, all together,
scream, “Happy Usukicon!"

Bottle Of Black Sand
by Jo_eccentric

I wonder where this came from?
This bottle that's in my reach.
It cannot be from Neopia,
For there's no black sand beach.

A bottle of the darkest sand,
It fills the glassy walls.
It's odd that someone bottles this
And puts it in shop stalls.

Faerieland is not its home.
This thing's not coloured pink.
It could have come from Kreludor
Or even Virtupets, I think. 

I'm unsure of its origins,
From which place or which land.
All I know is that it's filled
With lots of dark black sand.

The Sad Story Of Marie Scarborough
by Tj_wagner

Whispers of fallen leaves
Crackle beneath uncertain feet.
A graveyard of silence and of sleep
Hidden in The Haunted Woods so deep.
An eerie place one never wants to go,
And the final spot for Marie Scarborough.

A speckled Moehog she was in life.
The kind of gal who avoided pain and strife.
How she passed is unknown,
But she is more than dates written on a stone.
For, her resting place was disturbed,
And she was among those 
Who were perturbed.

In silence she glides among the trees.
She can go almost anywhere she might please,
Except she can never return home,
So, in sadness she will forever roam
Through the graveyard and to the bog.
She is eternally lost, this lone Moehog.

So, before you dig, remember her story.
You may be searching for fame and glory,
But if you disturbed where the past sleeps
Then they might be doomed to forever creep.
Trapped in a place where time doesn’t flow --
Just like the sad case of Marie Scarborough.