Extracts taken from The Equestrian Dead Poet’s Society.
“Anonymous Pen Pal Haiku Challenge: Talk Using Only Haikus!”
Correspondents: Kettle Corn (twelve) and Mistmane (one thousand thirty-six?).
I’m called Kettle Corn!
Writing haiku’s my passion.
Hello, my new friend.
Ponyville’s my home.
But no one loves haiku here,
Not as much as me.
I do have friends though.
Chip Cutter’s an artist too!
But in stone, not words.
Everyone’s happy,
Though they don’t understand why
I feel on my own.
I like other things:
Painting circles cheers me up.
What things do you like?
It can be so hard
Liking things no one else does.
Oh, please write back soon!
First calligraphy.
Penned thoughts: raise the rays of day!
Raze my winter heart!
First light of first day,
First time I have been dazed. Haze
Enlightens sad souls.
First warmth to melt ink
On old scrolls. What remains? Thirst:
Not for meltwater.
First year’s equinox.
Balance light and dark? I hide,
Half equine, half not.
First march of the guard
Under sun’s eye… Gods derange
March hares wanting sons.
First laughter of foals
Desiring cents? De-sire me!
End this senseless fool!
First of two gate pines
Built for souls… A sole mare pines
For gates guarding home.
Thanks for your reply!
It was very pretty, but
Kind of hard to read.
It’s a secret code?
I’m sorry, I’ll try to see
What it is you mean.
You seem very sad.
Did something awful happen?
Maybe I can help?
Like when you wrote you’re
“Half equine, half not”, you mean
You’re like a hybrid?
I’m sorry you’re sad.
Poetry lets me express
How I really feel.
Do you miss your home?
I moved here recently, so
I can understand.
Can we still be friends?
Although your writing’s tricky,
I’d love to read more.
Sweet Kettle Corn –
Nightingale – sing! Bird, evade
Old pony’s sour swings.
Miss Mistmane missed life
Lost to mists of time. Spring’s due,
But spring’s dew? Tears shed.
Half-equine, half-shell:
Empty. A failed nest, this hen
Flies in stranger winds.
Haiku comes from scrolls
Masters – long gone – write in schools…
I do right by them?
Revive their spirits,
Though drink long spilled? Rising fumes
Anger me to try!
Sip, sweet Nightingale!
For I will feed you answers
And offer lessons.
First, I use “kigo”:
Kigo means, “Speak of seasons
On our changing leaves.”
Enlist “saijiki”.
Chronicle nature with words:
Bloom, spring; snow, winter.
Add a pair. Contrast
The pear, nature’s eye, against
Pared skin, mare-made pie.
Next, “kireji’s” sword
Cleaves haikus. Through word-sawed line,
Two paired halves can cleave.
Lastly, use a pun
In mind’s cave. Then insight: my
Mind’s in sight. Aha!
That was old haiku,
Frozen snowdrops. Spring melts, steams.
Now no drops but me!
Rules break, scrolls shrivel,
Emperors are dust, rule broken.
Even I shiver.
Though spring’s skylarks sing –
As you may well, Nightingale –
Winter traps me still.
I remembered once.
Built gate pines for ancient ghosts.
Now I haunt and pine.
New traditions bloom.
Teach me, oh sweet Nightingale,
How to sing new songs?
Thank you, Miss Mistmane.
I think I understand this.
It’s like a riddle?
You do miss your home.
Wow, you’ve travelled very far!
I read about you.
You’re so amazing.
All those spells you learned, I wish
I could do magic.
I don’t really sing.
I just make haikus. Singing
Makes me feel silly.
And those funny words!
I did not know about that
Old type of haiku.
You broke a few rules,
But it’s OK. No one could
Remember all that!
I tried my own take.
See them down below, and please
Tell me what you think!
Can Feb March? No, but
April May! Wow! “Mei” means “sprout”.
I eat sprouts in spring.
Trees are cherry-full
And so am I! Cheer! Chop wood
To make warm campfire.
I am not a twit.
Ponies are a-twitter like
Birds returning north.
It is New Year’s Day
For eastern mares? I knew your
Day means feast like bears!
A new chick hatches,
Flight beyond body. Her soul?
Flies up to the stars.
On an old crow’s feet,
Weary eyes flutter, perhaps?
Yet crow in triumph.
Thank you, Nightingale!
Words warble on my old tongue.
Your strong gale knights them.
Pegasi sweep air,
Unicorns raise summer. You?
Sweet heir to new life.
I, a fair student,
Once indulged in magic’s fare…
Blooming in doldrums.
Bored by arrogance,
A haughty beauty! Soul bored
By dark woodpeckers.
Powerful as oak,
First to quote lore’s principles:
My principal curse.
Pride before a fall:
Cherry blossom falls soonest
When it blooms too bright.
Seeing far, blind white.
Walked a path up iced mountains,
Thinking them my own.
Mists hide shallow routes.
Then, tree, return to your roots!
Find the binding rot!
Then too I found one
Who’d thought she’d won all beauty.
It was her I fought.
Sable Spirit reigned,
Tears rained, her I had reined in.
She’d reflected me.
Young, proud, blind, and cold,
Perfect frost, for too long. Thaw!
What was it all for?
Trapped in my mind’s cell.
Sell them a new calendar;
Rewrite my story!
So my youth poured forth.
Though I was poor, my thawed life
Had watered new growth.
Beauty: a meadow
Returning. Amid the hues,
You would have seen me.
A bloom, sacrificed
To help others flower, I fell.
My winter, their spring.
A thousand springs pass.
Pass me more youth, Kettle Corn;
Leaves shower my bones.
But you still seem sad.
I didn’t know you hated
What you used to be.
You’re incredible!
A legendary hero!
You did so much good.
Some girls in my class,
They’re very pretty, but mean.
They teased me a lot.
They’re much better now.
Even so, their words still hurt.
They said I was weird.
Because I spoke strange
And sometimes I’d stop to think
Before haiku-ing.
They said I was dumb
And that’s why I’m bad at science
And other things too.
They called me ugly.
My mane is a bit messy,
But I try my best.
My parents tell me
That I should do my schoolwork.
I’m no good at math!
They say I’ll need grades
To get the best kind of jobs.
I don’t want a job!
I’ll be a writer
And cheer up other ponies
With lovely poems.
Only, I’m worried.
Poems don’t make much money.
They’re old-fashioned too.
I tried to write more.
I mean more haikus, of course!
I don’t think they’re good.
Did you like my ones?
I think you liked them, but I
Couldn’t tell that well.
I’m sorry, Mistmane.
I’m not much fun to talk to.
My poetry stinks.
Can we still talk, though?
You are the Pillar I love.
You’re so wise and sweet.
Your old traditions
Inspire me to try new things…
Well, old things again.
I looked up gate pines.
Then I made two of my own.
And put them outside.
I like the idea.
Making homes for ancestors.
It’s like a birdbox!
My eyes are lousy.
I couldn’t see the spirits
Nesting in the things.
I believe they’re there.
One of them’s my grandmother.
She loved my paintings.
I painted circles.
Over and over again.
Some said I was stuck.
Gran said otherwise!
She said I made impressions
With shape and colour.
She helped me see that
Circles are more than circles.
They can mean so much.
The sun, the moon, stars,
Eyes, mouths, hoofprints, body spots,
Ponds, apples, and eggs.
Chains, cups, rings, and cuffs,
Monocles and bicycles,
Millstones and windmills.
Cycles of revenge,
Roundabout speech, rounded skills,
Circles all around!
My gran passed away.
I like to think she comes back
When I let her in.
Now I’m making dolls,
Little Emperors at court
On a red carpet.
That’s from your hometown!
I did some research on it,
To try “new” old things.
Sorry this is long.
I can’t stop writing haikus.
My pen runs away.
Please don’t hate yourself.
Bad seeds grow into good trees.
Hope you write back soon!
A ghost dwells in wood,
Gracefully cut down. She would
Welcome the new growth.
One odd cultivar
Escapes the cull: rare cherries
Even the tree’s odds.
Reign, hues and flavours!
Add seven herbs to rice cakes.
Rainbow cakes my tongue.
Tadpoles, dreaming frogs,
Leap. A year with a new day:
Ponies make new things.
A Kettle hides tea,
Thinking it bitter. Shy Corn,
Because they bit her.
Worries wash away,
Receding into the mist!
Manes are no concern!
The chick prays, is prey,
And must wait for weight. Fed love,
Becomes the eagle.
Though sore, you must soar
Beyond a pegasus reach,
Or what is art for?
Old tree, pine no more!
I can be a grandmother
Welcoming new seeds.
Twigs become branches,
Branches become trees. Then wood:
Gate pines for new souls.
Words, like haiku, change.
Don’t let words axe your hopes, for
Words can’t cut you down.
Please send your poems.
Tears of joy water fresh maize.
You’ll amaze yourself.
Kettle, give me tea.
Corn, nourish me, you strong cob.
Kettle Corn, my friend.
My poems are here,
So please tell me what you think.
And thank you, Mistmane!
May flowers blossom?
Crocuses croak in the end.
But frogs still return.
Spring exams on us!
Wights of guilt haunt those who write.
School’s a gilded shrine?
Cheap little birds, cheap!
Farmers sell hens in small cells.
Mark it well, free chicks!
Saké to me, rice!
Clear liquor away, grown-ups!
Why do such foals drink?
Interesting work.
You have a knack for satire?
Odd in a haiku.
Haikus show nature,
Not the follies of ponies.
Yet you show great skill.
Perhaps instead, friend…
You have more talents elsewhere.
Haiku’s not alone.
This form I know well.
I’ll send you my senryū guide?
A pleasant surprise.
You have tried one skill
And shown me yet another.
Great discoverer!
But do not despair.
I’d love to share more haikus.
Our powers will grow.
Please respond quickly.
Enthusiasm returns
To jolt these old bones!
Thank you, Kettle Corn!
Your words return my lost youth.
Let us share beauty.
Send you some senryū?
Send swallows to swallow flies!
There’s no flies on me.
The wise sorceress
Can cast spells without magic:
Wins without fighting.
Pies wrinkle when baked.
That only means the filling
Became sweet and warm.
Thank you, Miss Mistmane!
Let’s write more poems to:
Beautiful friendship.
