Ponyville & Other Poems

by AugieDog

Rating: everyone
Tags: Princess Celestia, Slice of Life, Anthology, Main 6, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Spike, Cutie Mark Crusaders
Length: 21709

A collection of poems by and about the various inhabitants of Ponyville

A collection of poems by and about the various inhabitants of Ponyville, Equestria, and beyond.

For more information on the types of poems included, here are some links: Sestina, Sonnet, English Haiku, Chant Royal, Limericks, Rondeau Redouble', Epyllion in "fourteeners," Rhapsody in hendecasyllables, Glosa, Villanelle, Triolet, Ballade, Rondeau, Ode in terza rima, Elegiac couplets, Military cadence, Pantoum, Free verse, Virelai nouveau, Blank verse, and Virelai ancien.

Published 2013-11-13 23:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2022-11-25 19:20:14 UTC

2 - A Sonnet by Twilight Sparkle

For reasons I have yet to understand,
My love of poetry elicits shock
Among my friends! As if it's far too grand
For one who lives her life by list and clock!

But, oh, how mathematical its flow,
Its stately step of syllable and rhyme!
Enclosed within its shell but all aglow,
A poem tickles fate and jousts with time!

Precise as any proof, its measurements
Cannot exceed the space it's been assigned,
But through the rules that force it to condense,
It bursts with thought, all strictures undermined!

Exploding soundlessly upon the page,
Ideas in a poem never age!

Author's Note

Everybody knows how to build a sonnet, right? Still, the article on Wikipedia can offer a refresher course to all and sundry.

4 - Seamstress (chant royal)

For honor and glory, I never sought,
Content with a surfeit of peaceful joy.
A purity, simple in deed and thought,
Described my ideal. I'd not alloy
Creative endeavor with crass concerns,
Commercialized dreck of the sort that turns
A pony from craft to the base and bland.
And yet how the future arrives unplanned.
For mine was the heart and the gimlet eye
That brought recognition throughout the land.
In truth, there is much I cannot deny.

Integrity always! For this, I fought.
Designing for farmer or rich playboy,
I plumbed to my depths and forever brought
My "A game" to silk or to corduroy.
Of course, I admit that my passion burns
For satiny smoothness, but talent learns
To work where it must and to understand
That projects are—all of them—somehow grand.
Apparently, though, when ideas fly,
The merchant inside me is thinking "brand."
In truth, there is much I cannot deny.

The marketing concepts that I've been taught,
I spin like a filly with some new toy.
Exploiting my status as "fresh" and "hot,"
I flutter a laugh, let my gaze deploy,
And utter opinions as soft as ferns.
Not one in a thousand, I'm sure, discerns
How trite my reactions, rehearsed and canned,
How genuine feeling is contraband.
A lie? Not at all! Do I moan and cry?
I give what they want be it pearls or sand.
In truth, there is much I cannot deny.

For art is a luxury I have not
The time to pursue. I shall not be coy,
Admitting it freely that I've been caught
In gossamer webs that will soon destroy
The last little vestige that in me yearns
To scramble away. But my stomach churns
And twists to the shape of an ampersand.
Abandon the dream where my works expand
From humble beginnings to beautify
The world? Or continue this saraband?
In truth, there is much I cannot deny.

And yet, as I gaze from my window, bought
By selling designs that I could employ
To other advantage, I'm struck, distraught:
Who owns me? The rich or the hoi polloi?
Undoubtedly neither! My whole life spurns
The yoke such subservience quickly earns!
I won't be constrained by this wonderland
To settle for warm when, with fires fanned
By friendly surroundings, I could defy
The hovering vultures! Shall I demand?
In truth, there is much I cannot deny!

Which means that I'm finished, they say. I'm banned
From life in their towers. But I'll withstand
The glares as I pack up and simplify.
My nature's mercurial, darling, and
In truth, there is much I cannot deny....

Author's Note

Again, I'll refer the curious to Wikipedia's "chant royal" page for all the gruesome details on how to put wunna these things together. I'll quote a line from that page, through--"The form was often used for stately or heroic subjects"--if anyone should wonder why it's the perfect form for Rarity...

5 - An Apple a Day (limericks)

There's a bromide I've heard ponies say:
If you're chomping an apple a day,
All your problems'll just
Turn to ashes and dust!
Give a puff, and you'll blow 'em away!

It's a lie, but a small one, I guess.
Are there ponies who truly confess
They're expecting the fruit
To be magic to boot
And to save 'em from woe and distress?

'Cause it won't and it can't and it ain't.
It's an apple—which ain't a complaint.
I could squawk on for hours
'Bout the root, branch, and flowers
Till your eyeballs roll back and you faint.

Yes, I love unconditionally
Ev'ry apple up each sep'rate tree.
But I sure won't pretend
They're a tonic to mend
Broken bones, whooping cough, or ennui.

Eat an apple for sweetness and crunch,
For a savory end to your lunch.
But you think one or two
Will make wishes come true,
Disappointments'll flock by the bunch.

Just avoid losing sight of your goals
Is the thing, or you'll look like some foals
I could mention— Except
That's a secret I've kept
Since the month that I started my strolls.

***

I'm a working gal, see, and I thought
It was blasphemous I should get caught
Not engaged in my job
Like some gadabout slob.
Yeah, I fretted on that stuff a lot.

Till ol' Twilight showed up. Then I learned
What it means to have friends, and they turned
My whole life upside-down,
Made me smile 'steada frown,
Made me take the time off that I'd earned.

And the country 'round here's worth the time,
Worth a pony who really can rhyme.
Be it spring, summer, fall,
Winter: I love it all,
Love the way that my heart and soul chime

When I'm out in the hills and the dales
Where the land's filled with my family's tales
Like I'm breathing in life,
All its joy and its strife.
It's the wind that I need in my sails.

So I started to take little walks
After supper and winding the clocks.
Just an hour on my own—
But I'm never alone
In the comp'ny of trees, dirt, and rocks.

But a couple of months ago now,
As I wandered the fields after chow,
From a dusk-shrouded vale
Came the tiniest wail,
'Bout the softest a throat might allow.

***

And I tell you: that sure weren't a sound
That I cared to hear floating around.
So I pushed my way through
All the briars into
A display guaranteed to astound.

In the first place, the clearing inside
Had a hut tucked away so to hide
All these brushes and tools
And what looked like small pools
Fulla paint. "What's all this here?!" I cried.

'Cause the other thing boggled my mind
Was my sister with her whole behind
Sunk right into the paint!
"Oh, now, AJ, this ain't
What'cha think!" was what Apple Bloom whined.

"What I think?!" 'Cause I hadn't a clue
What my sister was trying to do.
"You just tell me unless
You've a mind that I guess!
And that ain't what'cha want, I'll tell you!"

Well, she stood, the paint starting to drip
Like the tears from her eyes. "Get a grip,"
I then started to say,
But my words puffed away
When I saw the mark there on her hip.

In the silence that followed, I stared
And I stared and I stared and I stared
At the sapling she wore
Braced and upright with four
Little stanchions, all perfectly paired.

***

"That's your cutie mark," somehow I said.
Apple Bloom kept on hanging her head.
"You've been hiding it?! Why?!
That's just nuts! You and I
Should be planning your party instead!"

Apple Bloom didn't holler or yell.
"But there's Scottaloo and Sweetie Belle.
'Cause without them along,
Any party'd be wrong."
Her eyes hardened. "Now swear you won't tell!"

"Are you crazy?!" I stomped my hoof down.
But she stomped hers right back with a frown:
"You will not tell this tale,
AJ! That's betrayal!
It's all three of us rise, or we drown!"

Well, that gal is an Apple, all right:
Us two argued and fought the whole night.
And she wouldn't step back
Nor retreat or change tack.
I was quietly proud in dawn's light.

So I swore how I'd not tell a soul,
And that broke her; she wept like a foal.
Then we hugged, she said, "Thanks,"
I helped cover her flanks,
And we left, keeping silent our goal.

Now, I'll ask: recollect at the start?
All the "apple a day" stuff? That part?
What I wanted to say
Was there's sometimes a way
You'll get caught 'tween your brain and your heart.

***

Sure, I stuck to the word of my ban,
But I started to form me a plan.
Watching Sweetie and Scoot
While out selling my fruit,
I kept track how they moved when they ran.

'Cause they skipped and they shied just a bit
'Round the back like they'd taken a hit—
Or were trying to hide
Something there on their side,
Using make-up they wouldn't admit.

Which is why Pinkie's up on the roof
Of the barn with a hose in her hoof.
Twilight's cast some weird spell
So you can't even tell
The whole town's here: not even a woof.

Them Crusaders is loud enough, though,
Laughing up from the road, and I know
Once they're dripping and see
They're together, all three,
Then the shouts will bank up like the snow.

And the party'll follow, you bet,
Like to nothing this town has seen yet.
One more instant—it's strange,
How their whole world will change:
No more foals though still squalling and wet...

It's an apple a day. That's the line.
Take a day at a time, you'll be fine.
And you'll soon realize
You've won life's sweetest prize—
Here we go: I'll give Pinkie the sign.

Author's Note

Again, pretty much everyone knows a little something about limericks, but here's a link to the Wikipedia entry for all the details.

7 - How Equestria was Made (epyllion in fourteeners)

A proper princess has some things
She hasta know for sure:
To curb her horn; to fold her wings;
To keep her hoofs demure;

To nod at ev'rypony's bow
When leading a parade—
But not one princess knows just how
Equestria was made.

So while I've got you cornered here,
Nopony else around,
Unfold your each and ev'ry ear!
My secrets will astound!

Oh, Twilight, don't you give that look;
You know you want to know!
You won't find this in any book
Or moving picture show!

'Cause farming rocks is all about
The quiet, careful earth:
I've often heard it sing and shout
The story of its birth!

***

Now, in the days before the sky
Knew how to stay aloft,
When water flowed out powder-dry
And stones were squishy soft,

The ponies all got so confused,
They used to go to bed
Upset and cranky, sore, abused
And mixed up in the head.

"This isn't right!" they cried, except
It came out whispery
As circling 'round their beds they crept—
They slept while walking, see?

"We plant our veggies in the field
And watch them turn to seed!
Our hurts get worse instead of healed!
This isn't what we need!"

They raged and stormed—that is, they tried,
But all remained unswirled.
"We're done with this! Yes! Let's decide
To build a better world!"

***

What's that? No, this was way before
The pony tribes appeared.
No horns, no wings, no hoofs. What's more,
They looked, like, really weird.

Like if you took a cotton ball
The size of Fluttershy,
And mooshed it up till it was small
And round as apple pie.

Ignite each cotton blob with flames,
Unleash 'em in the air,
And give 'em voices, homes, and names
But neither hide nor hair.

Excuse me? No! It's not absurd!
It's history with quotes!
I got this story word for word
Straight from the planet's throats!

It's odd? You bet! I'd call it strange!
But true things often are.
We've always spanned the weirdness range
From close to very far!

***

Now, where was I? Oh, yeah! The day
The ponies met to plan,
Debating ev'ry which-a-way
The world and how it ran.

They gathered under clouds where trees
Grew down with dangling roots
And eating snacks of waxy cheese,
They spoke in cheers and hoots.

"This isn't right!" they said again,
Agreeing each with each—
But each complaining mentioned, then,
A diff'rent sort of breach.

"The weather!" some collectively
Insisted. "That's the worst!
The sky and air should always be
Above! Let's do that first!"

"The ground!" another group proclaimed.
"We need to get that set!
Exchanging wacky dirt for tamed
Will solve it all, we bet!"

"The ambiance!" the third group said.
"If we can so direct
The interfacing zones instead,
The nodes will all connect!"

***

And no, I can't say I've a clue
About that last complaint.
But even though those ponies knew;
Agreement there was faint.

"The ambiance?!" The first group laughed.
"The stuff designs itself!
To concentrate on that is daft!
Let's leave it on the shelf!"

The second group gave nods. "The same
With all your silly sky!
To fix the ground should be our aim!
That should solidify—"

"A lot you know!" The third group sniffed.
"Your stuff's so rough and base!
We give the ambiance a lift,
The rest falls into place!"

They argued on into the night
Which was as bright as day,
Till two of them—one dark, one light—
Stepped up and shouted, "Hey!"

***

The princesses? Oh, wow! You know,
I never thought of that!
'Cause they're the ones who took it slow
And settled in to chat.

They said, "Let's choose up teams and try
To focus each around
These diff'rent goals: to set the sky,
The ambiance, the ground.

"So those who have the expertise,
The passion and the will
For each of these, we ask you please
To gather 'round until

"You've reached consensus on at least
The basic 'whats' and 'hows.'
We'll change this world and tame this beast
As much as time allows!"

Excited, then, they settled in
To see what they could do,
And laughing, each group tried to win
While 'round them flew those Two.

***

And then— Oh, wow! You guessed it, Twi!
'Cause all those balls of light
Began to shift, transmogrify,
And change to scent and sight!

The ones who worked to make the ground
Grew mighty hoofs and legs
To make the stompy sort of sound
That makes rocks not be eggs.

And those who worked to prop the sky
Up where the sky should stay
Grew mighty wings to help them fly
And make the clouds obey.

And those who did that other thing,
Whatever stuff it was,
They grew the horns that let them sling
That magic spark and buzz.

And then Equestria was made!
The ponies hugged and cheered—
Until they saw the Two had stayed
Behind, had disappeared!

***

They heard their voices from that place
That wasn't anymore:
"Enjoy yourselves with truth and grace
And never be heartsore!

"But if you need us yet again,
Just call, and we'll be there!"
Their whispers turned to silence, then,
Were gone from everywhere.

And that's the story! Nifty, right?!
And true as true can be!
You're welcome! It's been my delight
To share some history!

There's lotsa secret stuff inside
The earth and sky and all,
But if you listen where they hide,
The weirdest stories fall!

But yeah, we better get on back:
The party's in full swing!
It's time to drink and game and snack,
To laugh and dance and sing!

Author's Note

Pinkie needed an epic, of course, or rather an epyllion, a mini-epic of the sort popular around the time they were building the library of Alexandria. The meter is an old English one used for such epic-type objects called "fourteeners" 'cause that's how many syllables each pair of lines has.

8 - Orientation (Petrarchan sonnet)

Assistant number one? That would be me.
The owl over there is number two.
Survive for ninety days, and we'll call you
Officially assistant number three!
Experiments are running constantly,
And Princess Twilight needs a steady crew
To help maintain and keep things smooth and true:
You'll mostly sweep the floors and prune the tree.

Adventure, though, around here never ends,
So wild I sometimes wish we'd never come.
But no. That sort of thinking just pretends
The air around her didn't always hum.
Besides, to live our lives without our friends?
Ignore me! Get to work! I'm being dumb!

Author's Note

Petrarchan sonnets are put together a little differently from the Shakespearean kind most folks are familiar with, but hey: a sonnet's a sonnet, right?

9 - Rhapsody (hendecasyllables)

I sing now of Ponyville! Praise to its name!
My spot of redemption, the spot where the blame
Of centuries' arrogance washed from my sides
As surely as seas sweeping out with the tides!
Illumined by friendship, that glow from within,
The town and its ponies denuded my sin
And welcomed me back when I'd long gone astray,
Uncertain and lost to the light of the day!

A stone had a better existence than I,
Ensconced in my exile, for stones cannot cry
And rage with all impotence, shrieking, insane.
Resounding excuses and threats through my brain,
I stormed as both maelstrom and ship, tempest-tossed,
Despair digging deep for the world I had lost:
The trust of my people, my ponies, and you,
Celestia, sister, as pure as the dew.

Obscenities—echoing, foul, and disturbed—
Arose there like flowers as seldom I curbed
My temper to cultivate anything but
The falsehoods that filled me and clenched my mind shut.
I called you the villain, but not you alone:
All ponies were monsters in blood and in bone.
Ignoring and slighting me, they were the things
That needed correction, that needed my stings.

I had no sensation of time trickling past.
Absorbed in my sorrows, I played the outcast,
Unwanted, unloved, and all misunderstood:
My actions in my mind were nothing but good.
Delusional, yes, but what's worse, unashamed:
Acknowledging fault in all others, I blamed
My deeds on their actions, their flaws, their ennui
Without any thought that it might just be me.

Creatively bankrupt, I couldn't admit
How lost I'd become in self-doubt, too unfit
To exercise truly the duties my post
Demanded. Instead, I grew angry, engrossed
In trivial matters of status and rank—
And "rank" in this case means the same thing as "stank"!
My foolishness that of a child—nay, a brat!—
I sought all outside me for things to combat.

Until on that night, hollowed out and unwell,
I shattered and cracked like some poorly-cast bell.
A lunatic, ignorant, blinded, enraged,
Obsessed with escaping, I kept myself caged,
Awaiting my chance to return all afire
With madness, destruction my only desire.
The world had so wronged me, I knew in my heart,
Equestria had to be taken apart.

Ideas absorbed from some dusty romance,
I crashed into Ponyville, took up my stance,
Let peal my maniacal laughter and shout—
And doomed my pretensions. Of that, there's no doubt.
The shell that entombed me, the lies I embraced,
They crumbled against the true power I faced.
Unbalanced, I needed a push—nothing more—
To shatter me, gasping and sprawled on the floor.

In seeking perfection, I lost all I had.
Accepting their flaws, these six friends beat me bad.
Defeat was a victory—mine, yours and theirs:
I needed a kicking, and these were the mares.
Undaunted, resilient, enchanting, and strong,
They showed me quite clearly how far I'd gone wrong.
The lesson they taught there to welcome me home
Will flourish within me wherever I roam!

Author's Note

The pertinent definition of "rhapsody" in this case is An exalted or exaggeratedly enthusiastic expression of feeling in speech or writing. 'Cause if that doesn't sum up Luna, I don't know what does. As for the word hendecasyllable, it's just a fancy Greek way of saying that each line has eleven syllables in it: the meter here, is you want another fancy phrase for it, is anapestic tetrameter acephalectic. :pinkiecrazy:

10 - Re: Rhapsody (glosa)

Defeat was a victory—mine, yours and theirs:
I needed a kicking, and these were the mares.
Undaunted, resilient, enchanting, and strong,
They showed me quite clearly how far I'd gone wrong.

Consider a parchment from here to the moon,
One spreading insistently over the sky.
If somehow I spent ev'ry midafternoon
Inscribing that surface with letter and rune,
A thousand more years would quite swiftly go by
Before I could list even part of the prayers,
The hymns of thanksgiving I've wanted to cry
To those little ponies who rose to defy
The laws I established, untangling my snares!
Defeat was a victory—mine, yours and theirs!

Much greater than anything I'd ever dreamed
Because, my dear Luna, my dreams long before
I'd strangled and stomped since I truly had deemed
Myself as unworthy. My whole future seemed
An ocean of dust, dry and dead, nothing more.
My sunlight grew harsher, less shimmers than glares:
Instead of sweet friendship and warmth at its core,
Each day was a duty, a burden, a chore.
Unconsciously starting to darken the airs,
I needed a kicking, and these were the mares.

How fitting a filly named Twilight would first
Direct a sweet glimmer toward eyes overstrained
By darkness at noontime. I thought myself cursed,
The centuries filling me, ready to burst.
Beholding her marvelous power, I deigned
To lean her direction, and oh, how her song
Enveloped my weakness! Refreshing, she rained
Her love and affection until I regained
My balance. She skewered my heart on her prong,
Undaunted, resilient, enchanting, and strong.

The others as well who were drawn to her side
Embodied the virtues I'd started to lack.
Quixotic, I thought them, and wished to deride
Their efforts to thwart me and my stupid pride—
Except for a whisper that wanted you back.
While most of me clattered and rang like a gong,
My poor, faded hope waged its quiet attack
And helped them fix ev'rything I'd tried to crack.
Forgive me, my sister. I'd wandered so long:
They showed me quite clearly how far I'd gone wrong.

Author's Note

The glosa is a poetic form hardly ever found in English--I mean, it doesn't even have a Wikipedia page for me to link to! You write one by taking four lines from another poem, then using this elaborate rhyming structure to write four stanzas each of which ends with one of the quoted lines. It seemed to me to be exactly the sort of poem Celestia would enjoy.

11 - Ain't No Secret (villanelle)

Expect it all, I always say,
And ain't been disappointed yet.
I will until my dying day

Believe there's more that's hid away
Than anypony's ever bet.
Expect it all, I always say.

I've stomped along from fray to fray
And them few things as I regret,
I will until my dying day.

We flow like rivers. Things don't stay
No matter how we whine and fret.
Expect it all, I always say.

From love and trouble, life don't stray,
So why get grouchy and upset?
I will until my dying day

Unleash myself in work or play
And take what happens, wealth or debt.
Expect it all, I always say.
I will until my dying day.

Author's Note

The villanelle, so short and with all those repeated lines in it, just had Granny Smith's name all over it.

12 - Farmer's Almanac (triolet)

The dawn arises, silent shod.
We bow, then go our sep'rate ways.
Inspiring with her slightest nod,
The dawn arises, silent shod.
She works the sky; I work the sod,
Together till I end my days.
The dawn arises, silent shod.
We bow, then go our sep'rate ways.

Author's Note

And the triolet, even shorter and reusing so many lines, was pretty much designed for Big Mac.

14 - Surreal Estate (rondeau)

"Feeling the ground shake," did I hear you say?
Stampeding bunnies came through yesterday!
Parasprites earlier nibbled our eaves;
Vines full of stickers and black, itchy leaves
All blossomed to block off the railway!

Life here in Ponyville just doesn't pay:
Property values, the high cost of hay!
Things I've seen happen, no pony believes,
Feeling the ground shake!

Discord moved in, fueling shock and dismay!
Cerberus wandered by, wanting to play!
Zebras and manticores! Monsters and thieves!
Pretty?! Look deeper! You'll see it deceives!
Run while you can! It's sheer madness to stay,
Feeling the ground shake!

Author's Note

A couple years ago, I wrote a whole series of rondeaus about the weather and the changing seasons, so I knew I had to do one here. :twilightsmile:

15 - A Civil Service (ode in terza rima)

1.

Their whispers follow ev'rywhere I go
In awed procession, wondering, amazed
As if I have some magic to bestow.

Forgetful's what I think them when I'm praised:
Too vivid still the former years of want
When these same sycophants would call me crazed,

A rudderless, buffoonish dilettante
Unfit to bear the mantle I possessed,
Their scorn like water flooding from a font.

But now? Conventions ask me as a guest
To share my secrets. Now they're pleased to call
My town the best example of the best.

Appearances deceive, I learned when small,
And Ponyville's not my town. Not at all.

2.

I took my early gambols through those streets
With friends and classmates laughing at my side,
The shining children, foals of the elites—

Except a few who'd quietly confide
When I'd invite them out to shop and play
That while they'd match me dancing stride for stride,

The bits they had were meant to purchase hay,
Not custom shoes or chocolate-covered cheese.
It filled my shallow heart with such dismay!

That ponies worked instead of lived at ease
Upset my world and made more questions fall.
How could my town possess what didn't please?

Appearances deceive, I learned when small,
And Ponyville's not my town. Not at all.

3.

The social whirl that spun my life around
Allowed no room for thoughts too large or thick,
And those I somehow formed were quickly drowned.

"Nopony's ever really poor or sick,"
The common wisdom always reassured.
"Besides, it's having friends that does the trick!"

Unsatisfied by this as I matured,
I turned from those for whom it still held true
And sought the few no others helped or cured.

Their situation called for something new:
Official, licensed friends who could install
The hope that my town needed through and through.

Appearances deceive, I learned when small,
And Ponyville's not my town. Not at all.

4.

The mayor at the time just shook her head:
Too drastic, too expensive, too untried.
So I declared I'd seek her job instead.

I dyed my mane to seem more dignified,
Announced my future civil service corps
Would work for all with friendship as our guide—

And got elected. Then began the chore:
Frustration, failure, snide remarks from those
Who said to try was foolishness and more.

Incompetent they called me; how my foes
Delighted, pointing out each springtime's stall
To name my town a home for windigoes.

Appearances deceive, I learned when small,
And Ponyville's not my town. Not at all.

5.

It seemed a slight majority believed
The program worth the cost because I won
My re-election twice. I then received

Endorsement from the princess of the sun
Whose student came and learned from us so well,
Our Princess Twilight's reign has just begun.

But understand: it's not some magic spell,
No special food or drink that's brought our town
Success where others stumble. Truth to tell,

It's ponies, simply ponies, up and down—
Confounding, wondrous ponies wall to wall—
And serving them will never make me frown.

Appearances deceive, I learned when small,
And Ponyville's not my town. Not at all.

17 - Storytime (elegiac couplets & fourteeners)

So gather around me, both fillies and colts—
Unless you foals are total dolts—
And listen to stories of friendship galore:
The kind that shove you out the door
While bucking you sideways and stomping your head
Until you're well and truly dead!

Oh, Discord, please! Let's keep this nice!
Nopony's going to die!
No badgers, bunnies, squirrels, or mice:
They shouldn't even cry!

Why certainly, Fluttershy! Don't carry on!
I'll look the king but play the pawn,
My sweetness exploding from pore and from throat,
Describing matters so remote,
You'll never connect them to here or to now.
I'll only speak as you allow.

I'm sorry to insist like this,
But children truly need
Uplifting stories full of bliss
To grow in them like seed.

And so it shall be! With a laugh and a dance,
I'll conjure such a joyful trance,
The darlings will howl to the literal skies!
They'll stomp their hoofs and rub their eyes
And ponder the history we shall explore.
I doubt I'll even leave them sore...

1.

I'll set you a scene both of beauty and peace,
Enchantments flowing ne'er to cease,
Where virtues unnumbered can wallow and snort:
A pony paradise, in short—
Some ages ago and some distance away,
I make all seemly haste to say.
In fact, I'll commit that most hideous crime
And start it "once upon a time."

Employing the magic of wordcraft alone,
I'll name each flower, carve each stone,
Provide such a picture of Canterlot town,
You'll smell its class, so world-renown—
Or else I'll just say it was buildings and junk
That shone with light and hardly stunk:
A boring old place full of boring old folks
Who drowned in frowns and choked all jokes.

And yes, my dear Fluttershy, sweating so sweet,
For all I swore to be discreet,
My conscience declares I must only speak truth,
Athrob like some impacted tooth.
The ponies back then, they did nothing but bore,
And none among them knew this more
Than children exactly like these here today.
In fact, I'd even have to say—

A story, Discord: that's the thing
We're wanting, if you would.
Or maybe dance or maybe sing?
Just something short and good.

A story, a story, of course it shall be!
Adventure, oh, most certainly!
Beginning with Peony—that was her name—
A filly none would ever tame!
Observe her as I did and wonder anew:
Just who was really fooling who?

2.

Yes, follow me back to old Canterlot town!
Behold our girl, her silken gown
A tiny bit frayed, but a unicorn still!
Although her home was down the hill,
Our Peony never would let herself mope.
She laughed at those who called her "dope"—
And kicked rotten pumpkins at most of them, too,
Until the bastards dripped with goo!

The what? The what?? Oh, Discord, please!
I asked you to refrain
From being naughty! Must you tease
And treat me with disdain?

Forgive me, my dear: when you're right, then you're right.
From here, I'll keep my focus tight
And talk about Peony going to school
To learn such wisdom as that fool
Instructor of hers wished to stuff in the heads
Of foals who, newly shoved from beds,
Would rather be anywhere other than class,
Imprisoned where that boring ass—

Or "donkey," I guess, is the word you use now
To speak of those who, like the cow,
Participate fully in civilized grace
Although they aren't a pony race...
A donkey, I say, who while pleasant enough,
Possessed a drive that made him tough.
His students would groan; they'd despair; they'd lament,
And stumble home, their brains all spent.

Our Peony, though, was the loudest of these,
And often dropping to her knees,
She'd raise to the skies such a piteous prayer,
Requesting please that someone there
Deliver herself and her friends from their fate,
That space did roil and coruscate.
It gave with a belch, and so delicately,
Expelled a creature known as me.

3.

You mean that's how you first appeared?
A filly prayed for you?
I'm sorry, but that's kind of weird:
You're sure this story's true?

As true as the skirts that the butterflies wear,
I answered swift this maiden's prayer.
Withdrawing myself from a wrinkle in space,
I bowed to her astonished face,
Declared that I'd come just as quick as I could,
And told her all would now be good:
"Your fears you may banish, your worries dispose,
For I shall vanquish all your foes!"

Well, you can imagine how Peony cheered—
I doubt that she would call me weird—
And dancing together the rest of the night,
Triumphantly at dawn's first light,
We galloped away to the schoolhouse's door
To give the blighters there what for!
Alas, she'd forgotten that class was at eight,
And so we settled in to wait.

Except, as I'm sure all you children recall,
To wait is never fun at all!
We started to dance, but the neighbors complained:
"Your music gets the sky all stained!
It's stupid! It jostled me straight down the stairs
And sounds too much like singing bears!"
The bears that I'd conjured, I fear, took offense,
And then, well, things got slightly tense.

For Peony laughed, and she urged the bears on:
"Destroy their gates! Uproot their lawn!
We'll show all these ponies what happiness means!
Behave, my bears, like wolverines!"
The rampaging mob of them flooded the streets,
Disturbing Canterlot's elites,
Ignoring my cries that they please quiet down,
And waking the entire town!

4.

My goodness! Bears and ev'rything!
I must apologize
For doubting, Discord, that you'd bring
A story worth a prize!

A prize would be nice—or a sandwich or three—
Rememb'ring this especially,
The horrible way I was stabbed in the back,
Betrayed by one who had a lack
Of kindness and mercy and other such stuff.
So here's the part where things get rough.

Aghast at the havoc that Peony wreaked,
I summoned all my strength and tweaked
Reality's face, set her straight and unbowed
To stop the strife and calm the crowd.
Unfortunately, in my haste, I forgot:
What looks OK to me does not
Resemble the order you ponies enjoy.
I fixed it all, but then— Oh, boy...

The lawns I restored grew up prickly and red
With trees of glass while frosting bled
In artful displays from the holes in the sky
As cotton-candy clouds rolled by.
Serene and bucolic, I thought at the time—
But ponies screamed about my crime.
Of course then the princesses chose to appear,
Their magic bright but touched with fear.

I tried to explain I could put it all back:
Their horns let fly their first attack.
I tried to explain I was Peony's friend:
She lied and cried, "Oh, make it end!
This monster's a fiend who has led me astray
And stolen all my will away!
He's filled me with hate since the day I was born,
Ashamed to be a unicorn!"

5.

Oh, Discord! That— It's terrible!
How could she be so mean??
It must have been unbearable
To sit through such a scene!

Her gesturing hoof gave me no place to hide;
I stood there stony, petrified.
The princesses hugged her, and Peony wept;
Eleven ponies came and swept
My statue away to be set in the park
For centuries of rain and dark.
And why, little children, was I so misused?
For friendship's sake was I abused!

I trusted this Peony, gave her my heart,
And she returned it torn apart!
An innocent creature, I answered her call,
And sweetness led to my downfall.
Attend to my warning before it's too late!
Avoid your friends! Avoid my fate!

Avoid your friends? Oh, Discord, no;
That's not the lesson here!
Perhaps you meant take friendship slow
To learn that it's sincere?

Conclude what you want, but I've spoken my piece—
And somehow made my pain decrease.
She's gone, after all, for these thousands of years,
Her selfish prayers and phony tears
Unknown in the age we inhabit today
Where only honest ponies play.
We're good little children who never act fake!
Hooray for us! Now, who wants cake?

18 - A Simple Desultory Philippic (limericks)

In the summer, the long afternoons
Poked at Rainbow with lazy harpoons.
And her sighing would sound
From the branches around
Twilight's window like untuned bassoons.

***

Which was fine when she napped, Twilight thought,
But on waking, it seemed like she sought
Ways to grouse and complain
About nothing germane
With a temper that ran toward the hot.

"And 'cerulean'! That's not a word!"
Shouted Rainbow. "It sounds so absurd!"
Twilight sighed. "It means 'blue.'"
Dashie scowled. "Whoop-dee-doo!
It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!

"When a word means a thing, then you're done!
You can search around under the sun
From its rise to its set,
But it's still a sure bet:
When you need the right word, there's just one!"

"Oh, come on!" Twilight gave her a look.
"Why, downstairs, I've got book after book
That exhaustively list
What you need to assist
When deciding between chef and cook."

Well, the noise Rainbow made with her lips
Was so rude, Twilight bristled the tips
Of her mane like a cat
And demanded, "What's that?
Are you leaking? Or just out of quips?"

"It's the bunk," Rainbow said, "plain and true,
All these words that nopony but you
Ever uses at all!
It's like 'autumn' for 'fall!'
Affectation, I say, through and through!"

***

"'Affectation'?" cried Twi, horn aflash.
"You're a changeling! You're not Rainbow Dash!"
With a roll of her eyes,
Dashie sighed several sighs:
"You don't think I can talk with panache?"

Twilight blinked. "But you haven't before!
All the years that I've known you and more
Demonstrate you love sports
Of all kinds and all sorts,
That you find academics a bore!"

"Which means what? That I'm dumber than dirt?"
Rainbow's voice went all quiet and hurt.
"Not at all!" Twi declared,
Feeling somehow ensnared.
"But you—" "Save it," snapped Dash, sharp and curt.

"I pretend egghead stuff's not my thing
The way Fluttershy tries not to sing
Since in front of a group,
She'll just wither and droop
Like a puppet cut off from its string.

"She's constructed an internal shrine
Where her music can shimmer and shine.
Much too precious to share,
She can worship it there.
Education has that place in mine."

Twilight gaped. "I...I don't understand."
Rainbow nodded. "Exactly as planned.
For my external self
Lets me keep on the shelf
All the parts that my friends might call bland."

***

"It's not right!" Twilight cried. "Not at all!
Are you saying you've put up a wall??
That you're keeping us out
Of some private redoubt
Where you'd rather read books than play ball??"

"No, I'm not," Rainbow said. "Get a grip.
I just practice discreet censorship.
What I show to the world
Are my good parts unfurled
While the bad parts I prune, trim, and clip."

With a shake of her head, Twilight tried
Not to gasp at the thought: "So you hide
All your learning away
'Cause it's bad, did you say?
How 'bout me? Should I keep mine inside?"

"You're not me, Twilight, nor am I you.
So to say you should live as I do
Doesn't make any sense
Which you'd know—no offense—
If you sat down and thought the thing through."

With a wave of her hoof, Rainbow yawned.
"Don't believe that there's some magic wand
That'll make ponies think
Like we're each just a link
In a chain, or a drop in a pond.

"We're a stew. We're all lumpy and weird.
And our diff'rences shouldn't be feared.
I'm a jock; you're a brain:
Nothing vastly insane,
No more odd than a guy with a beard."

***

"So now wait." Twilight furrowed her brow.
"When it's ponies, you seemingly vow
To support the diverse.
But with words, that's a curse.
Contradictory stances, somehow..."

"I prefer," Rainbow said with a grin,
"To consider one 'yang' and one 'yin.'
When the widest array
Of us ponies can say
What we mean with few words, that's a win."

Twilight wanted to tone down her stare,
But she couldn't. "I wish it weren't rare
That I get to exchange
Deeper thoughts of this range!
Are there more you'd be willing to share?"

With a shake of her wings, Rainbow hopped
From the branch. "Now I wish that I'd stopped
Way before this, in fact,
'Cause I've reared back and cracked
Your perception of me. Bubble popped."

"It's OK!" Twilight jumped. "I don't mind!"
"But I do." Rainbow sighed. "Quite the bind."
"I'll keep quiet," said Twi,
"If you say you'll stop by
Now and then just to talk and unwind."

"That's extortion!" Dash cried, but she smiled.
"Just a little," Twi said, "and it's mild."
So they met now and then,
And they'd talk until ten—
Or till midnight those times things got wild.

***

How their friends always seemed to remain
In the dark, Twilight couldn't explain.
Maybe Dash played the part
With exceptional art,
But they never learned she had a brain.

Author's Note

The title of this one:

Comes from this song written by Paul Simon in 1965 as a parody of Bob Dylan's work. I'm not quite sure why I chose it as the title, nor am I sure why this was the hardest one yet to put together. So many mysteries!

19 - Cadance Call (military cadence)

When earth ponies just tap their hoofs,

When earth ponies just tap their hoofs,

They knock down walls, collapsing roofs!

They knock down walls, collapsing roofs!

Us unicorns can't concentrate

You unicorns can't concentrate

Unless the silverware's set straight!

Unless the silverware's set straight!

Those pegasi aren't here to stay:

Those pegasi aren't here to stay:

You look too hard, they blow away!

You look too hard, they blow away!

It's crystal ponies are the best

It's crystal ponies are the best

Unless you watch while they digest!

Unless you watch while we digest!

Sound off!

One, two!

Sound off!

Three, four!

Never eat beans, now! One, two, three, four, one, two—

—Three, four!

Now, I don't know, but I've been told

Now, I don't know, but I've been told

A pony's fetlocks might get cold

A pony's fetlocks might get cold

From marching out at break of dawn

From marching out at break of dawn

With just a pack and saddle on.

With just a pack and saddle on.

And so our Princess, sweet and good,

And so our Princess, sweet and good,

Who cares for us more than she should,

Who cares for us more than she should,

Was up all night with yarn and thread

Was up all night with yarn and thread

To knit you socks, all shiny red!

To knit us socks, all shiny red!

Sound off!

One, two!

Sound off!

Three, four!

Kick up those knees, now! One, two, three, four, one, two—

—Three, four!

So shout hooray for dawn patrols!

So shout hooray for dawn patrols!

We'll skip and scamper like we're foals

We'll skip and scamper like we're foals

Forgetting that we left in bed

Forgetting that we left in bed

The princess to be here instead!

You did?? Are you a chowderhead??

Because we need the exercise

Because we need the exercise

And need to know it's plain unwise

And need to know it's plain unwise

To be the sort of stupid nut

To be the sort of stupid nut

Who calls her 'Princess Candybutt!'

Who called her 'Princess Candybutt??'

Sound off!

One, two!

Sound off!

Three, four!

Keep those eyes front, now! One, two, three, four, one, two—

—Three, four!

She's watching from her balcony!

She's what?? She's watching?? Can you see—??

So try to keep your dignity!

Oh, yeah! That's right! Our dignity!

We're soldiers: loyal, brave, and true!

We're soldiers: loyal, brave, and true!

We always see our missions through!

We always see our missions through!

And when we make a dumb mistake,

And when we make a dumb mistake,

Our friends'll help us fix the break!

Our friends'll help us fix the break!

I lead the way when we parade,

You lead the way when we parade,

But now I'm asking for your aid!

Just ask! We're ever undismayed!

Sound off!

One, two!

Sound off!

Three, four!

Thank you all truly! One, two, three, four, one, two—

—Three, four!

So sing out my apologies!

We'll sing out his apologies!

I'll even march by on my knees!

He'll even march by on his knees!

And look! They really love the socks!

You bet we really love our socks!

Despite how much your husband mocks.

We'll gladly toss him in the stocks!

I'll go if that's what she demands,

She won't. Our princess understands.

Deserving of her reprimands.

Believe us, sir: she understands.

I'm sorry, darling! You were right!

He's sorry and admits you're right!

Forgive me, please, and let's not fight!

Forgive, we beg, this noble knight!

Sound off!

One, two!

Sound off!

Three, four!

She's laughing and smiling! One, two, three, four, one, two—

—Three, four!

Company! Dismissed!

20 - Not a Love Song (not a pair of sonnets)

Insipid words have tainted ev'ry breath
I've taken since this horn of mine appeared.
Among my strong dislikes with "fear" and "death,"
I place the song of love. It's just so weird!
In fact, I'll break the sonnet's pattern now,
Inserting lines in ways it won't allow.
I've had my fill of sentiment, and how!

But love itself is vast and beautiful,
An inner, thrumming pulse that mitigates
The pain of life, that sparks the dutiful,
Contains the mad, and balances the fates.
It touches ponies softly, privately,
For good or ill and spreads my canopy,
Alive with love from sea to shining sea!

Ah, Shining... How that pony won my heart!
Without a sappy sonnet, primly penned,
But unpretentious doggerel, his art
So plain and practical, the perfect friend.
For I am no award, am not a prize
Presented to a stallion's hungry eyes:
I rule the twin domains of truth and lies.

"The heart is fickle!" "No, the heart is true!"
Denying both, I state the simple fact:
The heart's an organ pumping blood for you.
It's in the brain emotion gets unpacked.
The magic's all electrochemical,
Reactions never theoretical,
Intangible, or hypothetical.

Deception, honesty, both right and wrong,
I dance that thin and twisting razor blade
Between a couple's panting, wordless song
And wailing grief when one has been betrayed.
Complexity's too hard to sing about;
That's why this double not-a-sonnet's spout
Is whirling like a torrent spilling out.

I've seen it all but barely understand
The hundred billion ways that love can flow.
Believe me, though, that each of them is grand—
Or drenched in pain no other ponies know.
Romantic? Sure. Resigned, I guess, as well,
A horse upon an endless carousel:
The "ups" and "downs" don't tickle or repel.

We'll end with couplets. Yes, we need a pair
To braid our double not-a-sonnet's hair
And tie a bow so sweet and debonair.
Enchanting; awful: love is both these things,
And I, of course, manipulate its strings.

Unduly harsh? Perhaps. But love's endured
The worst the world can give. So rest assured:
Both suffering and joy get quickly blurred.
You claim your heart is broken or athrob?
I'm here to help. Don't thank me: it's my job.

21 - Bubbles (trochaic "fourteeners")

Why does "bubbles" rhyme with "troubles"
When it shouldn't 'cause they're not?
Should somepony take a trip and
Let them know in Canterlot
That they goofed it just a little
When they made the words we use?
Would a change or two be helpful
Or more likely to confuse?

Not that things will change, I'm certain:
Ev'ry time I've gone before
To address official leaders,
They just nod me out the door.
"Quite astute!" they say while grinning,
"We're completely unaware
That this even is a problem!
We'll investigate, we swear!"

But they don't as far as I know
'Cause the problems still remain:
Ponies still become all grouchy,
Call you clumsy or insane;
Little foals, alone and hungry,
Still will cry themselves to sleep;
Moths go crashing into lanterns;
Puddles sometimes get too deep.

All I want is that we fix it
When we see there's something wrong:
Let a sad or angry pony
Have some candy or a song;
Get some boots for insulation
And some glasses for the moths;
When it's cold or raining somewhere,
Pass out thicker saddlecloths.

And if words are acting wacky,
Let them know you've had enough.
Words can sting, but if you face them,
Then you'll see they're not so tough.
They're like foals: too fond of mischief,
Too rambunctious half the time.
Yes, they're darling and we love them,
But there's some that shouldn't rhyme!

Author's Note

For Derpy's poem, I wanted to do something different, so it's all trochaic with the words accents falling on the odd-numbered syllables in each line instead of the usual iambic with its accents on the even-numbered syllables. It's also not technically fourteeners like we've had in a couple of the previous poems since each pair of lines has fifteen syllables. :derpytongue2:

22 - Princessence (chant royal)

Ensnare the sun as if upon a yoke
And drag its flaming plowshare through the sky.
Anticipate the storm that never broke
By knowing what's a fact and what's a lie.
Bestride the world in crown or coronet
While showing neither frown nor drop of sweat.
Accept it all—the fresh, the overplayed:
Remember, you're the whole world's palisade.
And as you strain to raise another dawn,
Embrace the warmth that can't dissolve or fade,
The strength of every pony here and gone.

The night, more gossamer than any cloak,
Harmonious, the perfect lullaby,
Depends on dreams intangible as smoke
But firm beneath the moon's slow-blinking eye:
The placid darkness, gentle, sweet, and yet
Engulfed in shadows, nightmare's oubliette.
Assure their passage lest they be betrayed
By monsters even gentle minds have made.
Recall them to themselves; if king or pawn,
You build upon the cornerstone they laid,
The strength of every pony here and gone.

Alive, they slept, and sleeping, they awoke,
But dreams of one another made them shy.
Unable to confess themselves, they spoke
With leaden words designed to stultify.
The call of love, however, must be met,
Encouraged past the bounds of etiquette,
And pushed whenever couples need your aid.
The young, the bold, the antic, and the staid
Despair at times despite their brains and brawn.
Provide the spark to cuddle unafraid,
The strength of every pony here and gone.

And me? I stumble, trip and fall and choke,
The least princessent princess! Why, oh, why
Am I the butt of this unpleasant joke,
Awash with cosmic mud as in a sty?
So my domain is friendship. Yeah, I'll bet.
For years I looked at friends more like a threat!
But that's the challenge: face a failing grade,
Or stop the whining, trying to evade
The fate of ugly duckling turned to swan.
I'll draw upon the force that stands arrayed,
The strength of every pony here and gone.

Enveloped in the power they evoke,
I'll study, ponder, contemplate, apply
My findings to my life, and stroke by stroke,
Create a portrait neat as apple pie.
A princess gives, but she cannot forget
The source of all she does, the grand duet
Uniting every strand of every braid,
The debt we bear, forever unrepaid.
Without it, we'd be pallid, stooped, and wan,
But with it, we're the finest lace brocade:
The strength of every pony here and gone.

Simplicity and elegance persuade,
Refreshing as a sip of lemonade.
We're not elite, the upper echelon;
We only flourish planted in that glade,
The strength of every pony here and gone.

Author's Note

Another chant royal, but since this one's from Twilight instead of Rarity, it gets the more usual iambic pentameter.

Oh, and much thanks to my friend Marilyn Scott-Waters for the use of the word "princessent," an adjective she once used to describe her character in a role-playing game we were involved in years and years ago--I played her character's magical sword whom she had christened Stormbob... :pinkiehappy:

25 - Call and Response (pantoum)

Within the shadowed forest deep,
She watches where the flowers crawl.
The trees that dance and flail and weep
Entrance her, make her feel so small.

She watches where the flowers crawl
Abundantly; the bursting scents
Entrance her, make her feel so small,
The life the least here represents.

Abundantly, the bursting scents
Surround the dust she still can taste.
The life the least here represents
Confirms she's blessed. She's not disgraced.

Surround the dust she still can taste
With water flowing free. The air
Confirms she's blessed. She's not disgraced.
The land she left cannot compare

With water flowing free, the air
A spice that wraps her, sweet and cool.
The land she left cannot compare.
If she'd remained, she'd be a fool.

A spice that wraps her, sweet and cool,
Ingredients to make her whole.
If she'd remained, she'd be a fool;
It's here she's nurturing a soul.

Ingredients to make her whole,
The trees that dance and flail and weep.
It's here she's nurturing a soul
Within the shadowed forest deep.

Author's Note

The pantoum as I'm doing it here is an English version of a French adaptation of a Malaysian poetic form. Multicultural, in other words, so I figured I'd give one to Zecora.

26 - Subduction Zone (free verse)

Pay attention,
And each step you take
Will sink your hoof
Into ages long forgotten.

Time means nothing to a rock
When it's dancing,
And rocks are always dancing,
Sliding from a fiery birth
Through a cold and quiet life
To a death that isn't a death
Anymore than their life
Is really a life
Or their birth
Is really a birth.

Rocks aren't alive.
That's the first thing you learn about them
When you study them.
But the youngest of them
Is still very, very old.

The elements that make up a rock
First formed inside a star
So far away from here and now
That even its light had scattered
Into the cosmic background
Before Princess Celestia
Ever sank a hoof
Into the soil of Equestria.

The elements that make up a rock
Spun and churned through
The infinite blackness of space
Until the gravity of our star's formation
Lassoed them and pulled them in,
Corralled them and forced them together
Deep beneath the surface
Of this planet we call Equestria.

The elements that make up a rock
Get very, very hot when this happens.
And when they're hot and spinning,
Churning and dancing,
It's hard to contain rocks.
They come sliding up
Through vents below the sea
Or bursting up
Through volcanoes
Dotted all across
The surface of Equestria.

And when the elements that make up a rock
Come squishing or tumbling
Out into cooling water or air,
They sigh and settle,
Cuddle close and sleep
And turn into a rock,
That rock right there,
The one you set your hoof next to
When you took that step.

More rocks came up behind it
And pushed it along slowly,
Slowly, oh, so slowly
Until eventually and inevitably,
That rock will drift and dance
Into another crack in Equestria's crust
And get pulled back down
Into the magma
Where it'll stir and crunch,
Waken and crack,
And boil away into its raw elements again.

This'll go on and on like this,
Rocks coming out and going in,
Age upon age upon age,
While ponies step between them
And look at them
And think about them
For as long as Princess Luna
Doesn't let Equestria get hit by a passing comet
Or Princess Celestia
Doesn't let Equestria get subsumed
As the sun moves steadily along the path
Toward becoming a red giant.

And how likely is either of those things?

Author's Note

My apologies:

To Titanium Dragon. He gave me his gracious permission to write a sort of "free verse glosa" based on four lines from his wonderful "Collected Poems of Maud Pie," but I couldn't get the dang thing to work. So I went with plain ol' regular free verse here.

Mike

27 - From Scratch (limericks)

"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." — Carl Sagan

"Not a thing out of place: that's the key!"
Twilight nods and quite elegantly
Lifts a spoon in the glow
Of her magic to stow
It away in its drawer. "Do you see?"

Pinkie blinks with a noise like a frog
Croaking deep in a big hollow log.
"Are you sure? 'Cause it looks
Like it ought to be books
In your kitchen! Your knives are agog!"

"They're a what?" Twilight asks with a glance
At her drawer where no knife is askance.
"All confused!" Pinkie waves
Every hoof. "Like they're slaves!
They need freedom to sing and to dance!"

With a clearing of throat, Applejack
Gives a shrug: "Well, you do have a knack
For arranging things, Twi,
But for making a pie,
There's a couple of tools that you lack."

"Fair enough." Twilight ruffles a wing.
"That's the spirit I'd hoped you would bring
When I asked if you two
Could describe what you knew
About baking: the zip and the zing."

***

Pinkie says, "For the zip, you need zest.
Either lemon or lime is the best.
And for zing, you can't beat
Adding sugar and heat
To the mix. That's the things I'd suggest."

"It's the crusts," AJ starts to explain,
"Where the magic begins." "You're insane!"
Pinkie spins with a shout.
"It's the filling! I doubt
There's a pony that crusts entertain!"

"I'll admit to a mite of surprise,"
AJ says as she narrows her eyes,
"When a pony who bakes
All them cobblers and cakes
Doesn't know without crusts, there's no pies!"

"You and me!" Pinkie stomps on the floor.
"If a bake-off you want, say no more!
You got clocks? They'll get clean!
I'll be snarling and mean,
And I'll show you a thing! Maybe four!"

Applejack gives a laugh. "Then it's on!
Starting now, we can bake until dawn
Making pies by the stack,
Then we'll take 'em out back
And have judging in booths on the lawn!"

***

"We'll do what?" With a leap, Twilight whirls
In distress while she's crying out, "Girls!
"Simmer down! Why the fight?
I mean, baking all night?
That's as nutty as presents from squirrels!"

"Au contraire!" Pinkie raises her snout,
Takes a sniff, and then coughs it back out.
"When we're baking, we live
To the fullest and give
Of ourselves in all truth and no doubt!"

Twilight gapes, watching Applejack nod:
"Happens sometimes your thinking gets odd
When you're deep in the dough,
But she's right. All we know
Is in baking: the pure and the flawed."

Like a statue in some city park,
Twilight stands. Then she gives out a bark:
"The philosophy! Yes!
If my baking's a mess,
It's because I've left that in the dark!

"It's the process I've plain overlooked
Until now!" Twilight claps. "I've been hooked
On the final result
Like some musty old cult!
It's the journey that turns raw to cooked!"

***

"Just remember," says Pinkie. "To bake,
You must open your mind, no mistake,
To the wonders around:
Ev'ry smell, ev'ry sound,
All creation in pie and in cake."

"Mostly pie, though." And Applejack winks.
Pinkie scowls: "Just 'cause nopony thinks
That a pie can contain
So much hidden terrain
While a cake is all layers. It stinks."

With her quill scratching furiously,
Twilight ponders aloud: "Let me see...
There's creation and pie
And there's cake and— Oh, my!
The complexities flabbergast me!

"But the thing that I'm sure I can tell—!"
Twilight flares up her horn, gives a yell,
And the air splits in two,
Swirling green, white, and blue.
"See? A recipe's just like a spell!

"All the pieces you must put in place
With a touch that's as gentle as lace!
Till at last—!" But a crash
And a huge pulsing flash
Leaves the three of them floating in space.

***

Utter blackness extends on all sides;
Cold and empty, sheer silence abides.
In the glow of her horn,
Twilight's stricken, forlorn:
"I destroyed it!" She cowers and hides.

Gentle hooves touch her back. "It's OK,"
Counsels AJ; she goes on to say,
"Mass destruction's a crime
We commit all the time
When we bake. Don't get carried away."

"That's the thing," she hears Pinkie Pie add.
"At the start, you're just gonna bake bad.
Blast the whole universe?
Eh, it coulda been worse.
But we're experts, so stop being sad!"

Looking up, Twilight blinks through her tears.
"Have you done this before?" "Through the years."
Pinkie shrugs. "Now and then.
Maybe eight times or ten."
"It's a sinch," AJ says. "Lose them fears."

Twilight stares as her earth pony friends
Plant their hooves in the blackness. The ends
Of their manes start to fly
Like a wind's passing by;
The surrounding air buckles and bends.

***

"Start anew." With a nod, Applejack
Nudges Pinkie and says, "Wheat'll crack,
Turn to flour you can mix
With your short'ning to fix
Up a crust not too hard or too slack."

"Then the filling," says Pinkie, all grins.
"Whether fruity or veggie, it wins
When it holds up the crust
Like a partner in trust,
And together, the magic begins."

"Which is you," they both say as they turn
Facing Twilight. "To heat but not burn,
Let the love in your heart
Give you somewhere to start.
Take it slowly and gently: you'll learn."

As they hold out their hooves, Twilight stands;
With a shiver, she gives the commands
To her horn that it light,
Then she holds her friends tight.
In their warm, sweet embrace, Twilight lands.

It's the kitchen again. "Oh, hooray!"
Twilight shouts. "What a strenuous day!"
AJ snorts. "It ain't through;
We've our contest to do!"
Twilight smiles. "I'll just watch. That OK?"

28 - To Soothe a Savage Breast (sonnets)

Bon Bon

Displaying every outward sign of bliss
That Bon Bon thinks she's able to create,
She still expels a quiet little hiss:
The train from Canterlot's arriving late.

Beside her, Lyra doesn't bat an eye,
And Bon Bon's heart goes prickly in her chest.
Her darling doesn't need to hear her sigh
In answer to this single small request.

It's only once a month, so Bon Bon vows
To keep her snark in check until it ends.
She doesn't really mind it, she allows,
Because she hasn't got that many friends....

They're disembarking: Vinyl looking slack;
Octavia, her cello on her back.

*****

Octavia

To see the two of them, all waves and smiles,
Recalls to Tavi's mind their college days
When life and love were new, their coming trials
Invisible along the winding ways.

Duetting now with Lyra soothes her soul
In ways not even Vinyl's touch can match.
Performing as she does demands a toll,
An itch that only coming here can scratch.

They hug, but Tavi yearns to rush along,
Unpack her instrument, and get in tune.
She thirsts to hear the harp and cello's song
And knows her sweet relief is coming soon.

So into town, the others laugh and talk,
But Tavi barely gets herself to walk.

*****

Lyra

It thrills her every month to welcome them,
To show their oldest friends into their house.
With Bonnie's plastic grin a polished gem,
She follows Lyra quiet as a mouse.

How Lyra loves the effort Bonnie makes,
And once again she knows she chose aright
In picking Ponyville despite the stakes:
Her lost career, abandoned overnight.

Their eyes on Bonnie's candied dreams, they built
Their shop and life, and Lyra can't regret
A bit of it, her only source of guilt
The sight of Tavi frazzled and upset.

But then she lights her horn and strums her lyre,
And Tavi sparks with old accustomed fire.

*****

Vinyl

She ought to find it boring, Vinyl knows.
It's why she always keeps her shades in place:
If ever she should drift into a doze,
She doesn't want it showing on her face.

Except it never happens. Not at all.
Awake no matter how the music tries
To knock her out with tempos at a crawl,
She barely blinks when Tavi fills her eyes.

Her world and all within it disappears—
The clubs, the lights, the pulsing, pounding bass.
Around and through her, gentle in her ears,
The harp and cello make her slow her pace.

She breathes and feels the others do the same,
The room alive with their communal flame.

*****

Quartet

Extravagant's the word, then, for their lunch,
Their table at the bistro long reserved.
A dozen types of sandwiches and punch
But not too much decorum is observed.

"This Ponyville," says Vinyl. "It's sublime."
"It is," says Lyra. "Almost paradise."
And Bonnie grins. "Come visit anytime."
A laugh from Tavi: "Once a month is nice."

As always happens, evening settles down.
They hug inside the station, then the train,
All chugs and puffs, goes pulling out of town
With both the couples sharing this refrain:

"No matter what the twists of fate may bring,
I wouldn't trade our lives for anything."

Author's Note

Five sonnets originally written in the course of 24 hours as part of the March 2015 Writeoff Association contest. The prompt was "The Best Medicine."

30 - Royalty (chain rhymed fourteeners)

Author's Note

So this one:

Comes with a prerequisite. Before you go any further, I'll ask you to read--or re-read if you've read it already--Horizon's lovely free verse mystery, "The Last Dreams of Pony Island." 'Cause after he wrote it for the September 2015 Writeoff, he decided to hold a contest in which readers were invited to submit the last chapter in an attempt to solve as many of the various mysteries in the piece as possible. Oh, and we were to solve them in verse if at all possible.

I took a shot at it and submitted the following 32 chain rhymed fourteeners. So it'll only make sense if you read Horizon's story first.

Mike

30 - Royalty (chain rhymed fourteeners)

"I ask you, sister, tell me true:
What is this place below?
It seems to set my heart askew,
And yet I know it not."

"Recall, my sister, long ago,
The wretched night we fought?
I keep these ruins here to show
Another way I failed."

"Again with this? And here I thought
That ship had finally sailed.
The fault was mine; it never ought
To stain your pearly wings."

"A pearl? Behold it, chipped and paled!
Attend the songs it sings
As bards in olden days regaled
Their masters' filthy ears!"

"Forget it, Sunny. Scary things
Have danced with me for years.
You'll need to shout with louder stings
To make me break a sweat."

"This sand, so drenched with blood and tears,
Declares my endless debt:
Accounts forever in arrears
I never can repay."

"Okay, I'm sensing you're upset.
I see a lovely bay,
But if there's ghosts I haven't met,
An introduction, please."

"A hundred stalwart ponies, they
Arrived upon the breeze
With friendship, but they lost the way.
I didn't intervene."

***

"Forgive me, sister, if I sneeze.
Or do you truly mean
You sought to take their destinies,
Controlling all they did?"

"I watched them play each sordid scene
And never sought to rid
Their hearts of darkness, didn't preen
Their feathers, and they died."

"Again, I really hope you kid
Because you just implied
You wished you'd kept a tighter lid
And stopped them living free."

"I could've shown them, could've tried
A million ways or three!
But no. With callous sloth, I sighed
And left them to their doom."

"Perhaps you watched attentively
The pattern on your loom
That threatened mass destruction: me!
Eternal night and all?"

"Excuses make a sorry broom.
I simply dropped the ball.
In pride, I let myself assume
My will was strong enough."

"I think you're trying to appall
With all this tyrant stuff.
You have to know you can't install
Your brain in others' heads!"

"A teacher must be stern and tough,
Instructing though she dreads
The distance this creates, the rough
Allegiance based in fear."

***

"Our happy little quadrupeds
Have always loved you, dear.
So tell me straight. These shattered sheds:
Your fault exactly how?"

"A pony, friendless and austere
Whose mind would disallow
Another's joy, went to her bier
By drowning all alone."

"Uh-huh. And this provoked a row,
Disturbed the cornerstone,
And sank the town? Come off it, now:
A simple accident—"

"They don't exist! I've always known
The word 'coincident'
Is used in ways too overblown!
If only I'd prepared!"

"Prepared? For what? You truly meant—?
Oh, Sunny, now I'm scared.
Because you're trying to repent
Of things that aren't a crime!"

"And should I ask you how you dared
Rebuke me when your mime,
Your Tantabus, lies deeply laired
Within your darkest dreams?"

"You know? You can't! It's not—! But I'm—!
It isn't what it seems!
I face my constant inner grime
So I won't fall again!"

"We think alike, our self-esteems
One trackless, stinking fen.
Our subjects marvel at our gleams,
But we see only lies."

***

"I start to understand it, then.
They haunt you with their cries,
The ones who died, succumbing when
I forced you to react."

"Suspicious growling, stifled sighs:
It's love and trust they lacked.
Instead of neighbors, seeing spies,
They panicked when she drowned."

"Another mark on me, in fact,
For if you hadn't found
Distraction—keeping me intact—
You could've focused more."

"I love you, Starry. Spread around
The blame? Why, that's the core
Of what I'd call some truly sound
Relationship advice!"

"And yet I slam my mental door
On matters less than nice
To let them fester, rank and sore.
As guidance? Not the best."

"I choose displays. They're neat, concise,
And stab me in the chest:
My failures, plain and packed in ice,
Museum quality."

"We're quite the pair, alive with zest
To breathe such misery
That we can never truly rest.
And yes, I love you, too."

"Aloft, then, sister! Out to sea!
We've so much more to view!
Defeats! Mistakes! A panoply
Of things you need to know!"

31 - Villain-elles (sonnets)

Author's Note

Yes, I know:

I really was gonna do all villanelles for this, but, well, it turns out I like writing sonnets a whole lot better... :twilightsheepish:

31 - Villain-elles (sonnets)

I: Sunset Shimmer

It haunted me, the home I'd left behind,
And taunted me with every step I took,
The colors here so dank, the scents unkind,
The residents like monsters from a book.

It needled me, its whisper hissing low,
Destroying any thought of fitting in.
Enraged, I vowed to smash it with a blow
That slammed my worlds together chin to chin.

So carefully I plotted, made my move—
And fell in flaming embers from the sky.
Incredible, the thought that they would prove
As real, the monsters here, as you and I.

It forced my eyes to see, my heart to shift,
And now I call them friends, the perfect gift.

II: Tirek

It haunted me, the home I'd left behind,
My wretched brother, Mother, Father, all
Misguided, soft, and blinkered, all the kind
Who fear the bruise so never risk the fall.

Awake, they could've ruled the universe,
But slumbering, they kept themselves apart.
Disgusted, then, I left them with a curse
And journeyed here, the power a la carte.

I took it, would have seized it all except
Betrayal followed close upon my heels.
Incarceration proves the fools inept
For where there's life, there's hope for him who steals.

I'll bide my time in shadow and in chain;
My third attempt will surely see me reign!

III: Starlight Glimmer

It haunted me, the home I'd left behind.
Remembering, I'd gnash my teeth and weep,
Injustice stabbing deep to fix my mind
On promises that others failed to keep.

The fault was never mine, of course, nor theirs:
I knew their marks had driven them away.
Obsession fueled me, turned my grins to glares,
And drove me on to gather every stray.

A scentless, cheerless paradise I built,
Perfection of the falsest, blankest sort,
And when my plans collapsed, insane with guilt,
I spun the world to leave it all athwart.

But, oh, that final vision hit me hard:
I chose and left Equestria uncharred.

IV: Chrysalis

It haunted me, the home I'd left behind,
My palace, dark and gleaming like a gem,
Constructed through the centuries to bind
Our people to our queens like branch to stem.

But opulence in famine counts for naught,
And desperation leads to foolishness.
Extending every sense, I stretched and sought
The food my people needed: love's caress.

I won't apologize, for war is war.
Defeat was always possible, and yet,
Had fortune twisted otherwise, the score,
I'm certain, would've left me less upset.

So sleep, you little ponies. Sleep and dream
And hope your friends are truly what they seem.

V: Discord

It haunted me, the home I'd left behind,
Like odor haunts the finest brands of cheese.
And cheesy is the only word I find
To label this endeavor. What a wheeze!

I don't belong along this loser's row,
Among these boring schemes and weepy eyes!
Reformed, august, my presence can't bestow
The veil of truth to mask their sordid lies!

Immortal? Mortal? Ha! They're all alike!
Controlling, grasping, wanting: good or bad,
Their lives are ruled by passion's stoop and strike!
They lack enlightenment. I find it sad.

For all their efforts end in my embrace.
That's entropy, y'know: my smiling face.

32 - The Princess Sleeps (blank verse)

The princess sleeps and dreams that she is sleeping.

Unobserved, dispersed within her mind,
I'm one with her at last, her peace alluring.
Gentle breaths, all jasmine soaked and swirling,
Rise like cedar smoke or frankincense
To soothe the air, aglow with love's forgiveness.

"Undeserved." The thought is dark and scurries,
Biting, shadowy, a fleeting rat.

I cast a tendril, snatch the thought before
The princess wakes. I draw it close and whisper,
"Love's a gift, bestowed instead of earned."

Like beetles scuttling through the leaves, it laughs.
"A sophist's ploy," it rustles more than says.
"Reality asserts itself, you know
As well as I do, Tantabus! Inhale,
And smell the smoke! Her fuse is ever lit,
Her ticking never ending, only muffled."

"Baseless, creature base!" I keep myself
Contained, will not allow my former nature
Space to kick the princess in her dreams
The way I did at her command in nightly
Cavalcade for days and weeks and months.
"She finally understands the trust they have
In her, the faith, and yes, in fact, the love."

It writhes within my grip. "You can't believe
You serve the truth by holding me at bay!
I'm vital, bringing balanced common sense
To all internal plans, deliberations,
Thoughts, and schemes! Without the touch of Doubt—"

"You plague her." Still, I'm somehow murmuring,
With effort pulling back so nothing sharp
Can crack the velvet sky, disturb her slumber,
Force the flowers, limpid, delicate,
To cringe and wither, shudder, droop and fade.
"You have a place, I won't deny, but now
That place is changing, Doubt, has broadened, widened,
Grown refined. You play along or die."

The snort it gives dispenses ripples, shivering
The dreaming dream. "You little fool!
You draw your strength from nowhere else but me!"

"I did!" To stress the word, I'm almost forced
To raise my voice, but no. The path I'm choosing
Currently is tough but always soft.
"That you begot me, seeded me inside
Her royal womb, I frowningly acknowledge—"

"Ha!" Its cackle smacks me hard as fists.
"If I'm you father, whelp, then do my will!"
Its claws unsheathing, Doubt begins to dig,
To work its talons deep into my skin.
"Your princess and your mother needs to know
Her subjects are eternally protected,
Safe from all the darkness squirming deep
Within her fetid, dank and cankered soul!
And yes, our roles are changing, you and I,
But still we have our obligations, must
Unite to check her power, not allow—!"

"Enough." With rapid teeth, I separate
The bloated head of seething Doubt from what
It calls its body, crunch its carapace,
And dine upon its lies and partial truths.
"I'm acting as a filter now, a screen
Of love and caring raised against you, Doubt.
That you exist, we won't forget, but know:
You'll not extinguish Luna's silver light
For I am no one's nightmare now but yours."

It wriggles, but I swallow, force it down,
My senses stretched, attuned for any squeak.
I know that Doubt will ever slither through,
But while I stand, it will not rule again.

The princess sleeps and dreams of me attentive,
Guarding her so she can guard the night.

Author's Note

Blank verse is the sort of stuff Marlowe and Shakespeare and all those guys used in the regular dialogue portions of their plays. It's rhythm with no end rhymes, and I can't imagine why it's taken me this long to write some! The original version came in 11th during the 60th Writeoff event, "The Morning After."

34 - Four Brony Rondeaux

Author's Note

I've got more:

Poems I want to write about actual characters in the show, but these have been bubbling around in me for a while now. So have some brondeaux!

Mike

34 - Four Brony Rondeaux

The Hater

Friendship is magic? I laugh up my sleeve,
Smirking as colorful ponies achieve
Colorful goals against colorful odds,
Vanquish the villains, the grouches, the frauds,
And all with a song and a French weave.

Fantasy worlds by their nature deceive,
Coddle the simple, and soothe the naive.
Still, I'm enchanted like one of those clods.
Friendship is magic?

Frowning, I fidget, refuse to believe,
Smother my feelings so dead, I can't grieve.
Never embrace it with grins or with nods!
Glare at 'em! Stifle 'em! Call 'em jerkwads!
I watch it alone: it's my pet peeve.
Friendship is magic...

The Convert

Friendship is magic, I heard them announce.
Sneering and cynical, ready to pounce,
Grabbed me a place at the head of the line.
Caught it on YouTube and thought it was fine,
Confirming the need for some recounts.

Want to ignore it, but evidence mounts.
Outrage deserts me: I can't even flounce!
Somehow it haunts me, all soft and benign:
Friendship is magic!

Lately I've noticed I walk with a bounce.
Compliments flow from my mouth by the ounce.
Haven't used "asshole" in ages, or "swine,"
Haven't told people to drink turpentine.
Instead, it's upwelling from deep founts:
Friendship is Magic!

The Enthusiast

Friendship is magic! I shout it aloud,
Wearing the t-shirt, I'll show 'em I'm proud!
All of my life, I've awaited the day,
Fraught with emotion to honestly say:
I'm ready to hang with the "in crowd"!

Purpose consumes me, my heart so endowed,
Tolerance patters like rain from a cloud!
Look at me taking this chance to display
Friendship is magic!

Episodes lately? I haven't been wowed,
Too much attention: it's getting low-browed.
Bronies are common as flowers in May,
True pioneers slowly falling away.
It's broken, but I remain unbowed!
Friendship is magic!

The Regular

Friendship is magic? It's silly and fun,
Following ponies who caper and run.
Often, it ventures surprisingly deep,
Glancing at topics not simple or cheap—
Just most of the time with a horse pun.

Little about it will startle or stun:
Product, it's plain, is the reason it's spun.
Stories get touching but won't make you weep,
"Friendship is magic!"

Maybe I'm stupid to call it well done.
Hopeful that shadows can melt in the sun,
Shallow or wimpy or kind of a creep,
Mawkish, oblivious: badges I keep.
Committed until I'm the last one:
Friendship is magic!

35 - The Ballade of Power and Greatness

Unhurried with measured but frank disdain,
Posterity shoulders the door aside,
The whole of my audience. I refrain
From noticing, stalwart and dignified.
Control is the key, and I've learned to hide
The sweat as it slickens and thinks me scared.
A swirl of my cape, to the stage I stride:
The powerful always arrive prepared.

I start with the usual sparkling rain
To flavor the air till its crisply fried.
Projecting my patter, I won't constrain
Hyperbole, throwing my pasterns wide.
The audience, silent and squinty-eyed,
Increasingly stretches but hasn't glared.
Attention's a currency I'll not chide:
The powerful always arrive prepared.

Performance will bloom in my soul like grain,
A harvest of wonder too long denied.
I pierce to the heart, to the mind and brain,
And batter them sensible, fears untied.
My fakery's honest and won't abide
Mundane little magics my kinfolk shared.
I reach for effects, not the true and tried:
The powerful always arrive prepared.

O alicorn princess who's never died
And shrugged to return to the stage: I've dared.
I've wrestled to triumph with skill and pride.
The powerful always arrive prepared.

Author's Note

Oh, Trixie, you little vixen!

I've been working on and off for a couple months now, trying to figure out what sort of poem would suit her best. A chant royal, I thought at first, but as the weeks went by and nothing I tried kept working, I came to realize that she's got too much sawdust in her blood to ever settle for being mere royalty.

I cast my myopic gaze about the world of poetic forms, and the ballade leaped out at me, the way it's so strongly associated with dashing rogues like François Villon. She would definitely see herself as belonging to that company.

But then I couldn't decide on a meter: ballades don't have an assigned rhythm like sonnets do, y'see. Another look around, though, I found a couple ballades with this weird stutter-step thing: you gallop along using two triple-beat anapests for half the line, then throw a shoe and end with a couple two-beat iambs.

And there she was.

36 - On Reformation (glosa)

The whole of my audience, I refrain
From noticing, stalwart and dignified.
Control is the key, and I've learned to hide
The sweat as it slickens and thinks me scared.

Apologies flow from my mouth like thorns
That want to be roses: so near but far.
Uprooting the voice in my brain that scorns
Insipid forgiveness will take the horns,
The hooves and the wings that I've yet to scar.
The friendships I'm offered appear insane:
I wake from my slumber with mouth ajar
To gape at the light of the morning star.
Although my despicable parts disdain
The whole of my audience, I refrain.

Again and again, how I bite my tongue,
A comment unsaid, a remark declawed,
Exquisite disharmony left unsung.
I'm steeped in its poison, have climbed each rung,
Advanced to the point where I find it odd
To know any sort of a warmth inside.
It freezes me, feeling myself a fraud,
Invading a place I should not have trod.
And yet I endeavor to keep my pride
From noticing, stalwart and dignified.

The masks I've displayed all my life require
Maintaining a distance, aloof, apart.
I squat in the shadows and tend the fire:
Its sparks and its smoke and its heat inspire
Devotion in ponies who lack the heart
To think for themselves and have never tried.
Removed, an observer, I spin and dart,
Implanting the notion they shouldn't start.
It's simple. The walls in my mind divide.
Control is the key, and I've learned to hide.

Until my constructions got blown to bits,
Revealing me openly, masks destroyed.
I tumble in emptiness, twitching fits,
Myself on display without glam or glitz.
This friendship entangles; I can't avoid
Its tendrils. It's snagging me unprepared—
Especially seeing I've quite enjoyed
Releasing the grip that I once employed
And trusting the ponies with whom I've shared
The sweat as it slickens and thinks me scared.

Author's Note

Another glosa:

And still, Wikipedia has no article about the form for me to link to! Just because it's more common in Spanish and Portuguese than in English...

Essentially, you take four lines from another poem, quote them at the top, then spin out this elaborate rhyming structure into four stanzas that each end with one of the quoted lines. Because Starlight's poem had to be a glosa based on Trixie's ballade, didn't it?

38 - The Children's Hour (sestina)

Adrift on the breezes and always alone,
His pinions extend through the afternoon flare
To carry him nowhere with nothing exciting.
Dissolving's the goal, all his muscles relaxed—
A squawk, and the silence he's seeking is smashed
By talk of a school, and the wind seems to shift.

Adrift in the hive, she's a leaf. With a shift,
A mushroom, a flower, a boulder, alone.
Observing the traffic that, scurrying, smashed
Its way through the tunnels, she buries her flare.
At home, she's herself; she can study, relaxed—
A school? With outsiders? She shakes: too exciting.

Adrift underwater or over's exciting,
Sensations exploding in shift after shift!
A whirlpool! Tornado! She's never relaxed,
Frenetic to banish her feeling alone.
She bounces to think of the school and the flare
She'll bring and experience, fear ever smashed!

Adrift through the drifts she's extensively smashed,
She yearns without yearning, the present exciting.
The lands of her birth are a shimmering flare!
Perfection is here! Though her thoughts start to shift
Whenever she settles in silence, alone.
She'll go to this school, but she won't get relaxed!

Adrift whether walking or talking, relaxed—
Unfocused, they say, like a lens that's been smashed.
No matter the crowd, he can think he's alone,
A blink his reaction to all that's exciting.
His parents enroll him, assure him the shift
Will spark his attention and stoke him to flare.

Adrift upon fountains of lava, her flare
Expands with a burst. She pretends she's relaxed,
But nothing, she knows, is surviving this shift.
To live among ponies? They shoulda just smashed
Her head with a boulder! A school's not exciting!
She sniffs, not afraid: she'll just be there alone.

They meet without flare. Nothing's shattered or smashed.
Instead, it's relaxed, unpretentious, exciting.
Their worlds slowly shift, and they're never alone.

Author's Note

Another sestina:

After all these years. But when you've got six items, it's just the natural form to go with!

Mike

39 - Nag-mificent Obsession (sonnets)

Author's Note

Every summer:

Since 2016, I've participated in a month-long writing contest. The rules are simple: on the first day of the month, everyone participating has to submit something they've written specifically for the contest. By the 15th of the month, everyone has to have 12 pieces submitted to continue, and by the end of the month, in order to be considered for inclusion in the anthology, we all need to have 25 pieces submitted.

The editor, Lise Quintana, would then choose one piece from everyone who'd fulfilled the terms, and Zoetic Press put out the collections under the title Write Like You're Alive: here are links to the 2016 volume, the 2017 volume, and the 2018 volume. They're completely free to download, and I've got a poem in each.

In 2019, however, Zoetic Press announced that they're essentially going out of business, so Michael K. Hill from Tangent Press East stepped in to coordinate this summer's event. Casting my brain about for a theme I could use, I recalled that Pony was approaching its end. So I thought I'd write a sonnet cycle about that, one sonnet per day for the whole month of August.

And with the Actual Last Weekend practically upon us, here are those thirty-one sonnets. I gave the whole thing the title Nag-mificent Obsession and subtitled it A Half-Century-Old Brony's Sonnet Cycle Focused Upon the Upcoming Conclusion of the "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic" Cartoon Series After its Nine-Year Run.

Mike

39 - Nag-mificent Obsession (sonnets)

One: Giddy-Up

Explosions rarely discommode my brain.
Unbridled passion? Nope. I don't recall
Infatuation driving me insane
Before the Ponies. How'd I ever fall?

My teenage years, I guess, contained the lust
That crashes through the best of us. And yet?
Obsession couldn't overcome mistrust:
Myself, the folks around me. Life's a threat!

I've never kissed. I've never held a hand.
I've never brushed an errant lock away
From any woman's face. I never planned
To symbolize the nerdiest cliché—

But here I stand, an unrepentant geek,
To praise the Ponies' charm, their strange mystique.

Two: In My Geekitude

When asked, "Invisibility or flight?"
"Invisible," I answer every time.
Unnoticed, overlooked, and out-of-sight
Remain my goals. Consider how sublime

To vanish, insubstantial, more than gone.
Experience has shown I bother folks
Like sandy socks or someone else's yawn.
My very breathing seemingly provokes.

Which isn't true. My relatives and friends
Declare enjoyment, having me around.
And yet the sticky tongue of doubt extends
Throughout my thoughts until I'm nearly drowned.

But truth is secondary. What I feel,
However false, is carved in stone and real.

Three: A Geek by Any Other Name

Irrationality, I hold, defines
The truest form of geek—which would be me.
Believing though the evidence aligns
Contrariwise, I skirt reality.

Like everyone, I see the facts and choose
To go the other way, to trust my heart.
Except I don't. My heart's decrees confuse
And stupefy, the thing a faulty part.

Humanity and geeks contain a lot
Of similarities but differ thus:
When people know they're right, I know I'm not.
No matter what, I'm wrong, no muss, no fuss.

I double-check but never second-guess.
It helps to keep the damage somewhat less.

Four: Isn't This Thing Supposed to be About "My Little Pony"?

Fantastic stories draw me, moth to flame,
The ones where creatures talk and beasts emote.
Cartoons and comics: lacking any shame,
I spend my money keeping them afloat.

Attracting my attention, though, they fail.
Despite their artists, writers, crew, and staff,
They sink without a ripple, hardly flail,
And leave behind a single paragraph.

So when I read of Pony coming back,
I sighed extensively and braced myself
To watch the program quickly going slack
Until a month would find it on the shelf.

I watched the double episode premiere
And loved it, even wiped away a tear.

Five: Into the Ponyverse

Admittedly, a reason Pony struck
Me right away's the slightest bit mundane.
Despite the story running them amuck,
The characters have jobs they each maintain.

It's work they all enjoy, and even more,
They're good at what they do. It's really rare
On television shows to not abhor
The grinding nine-to-five, to strive and care.

Employed at jobs I love, I play guitar
And sing in church; I write my sweet grotesques;
I host a college radio bazaar;
Around the library, I man the desks.

I've held these four positions decades now,
Content as only lazy dreams allow.

Six: Meet the Ponies!

The characters themselves are analogues—
Or archetypes or something. I admit
I understand it less than any frog
When terms get technical: I'm quite unfit.

And yet the cast exemplify their types.
The scholar lacking wisdom? Check! The fool
With hidden talents? Check! The farmer snipes?
The jock? The whisperer? The one in tulle?

Accounted for, they start to stretch, expand
As episodes continue. Lines are blurred.
Embodying their opposites, they stand
Increasingly apart throughout the herd.

Becoming heroines, becoming round,
They grow to meet the destinies they've found.

Seven: Fluttershy

Withdrawn, she shivers, sometimes even cries,
And cares the most what other Ponies think.
She breathes and tastes them all, can feel their eyes
Dismissive—rightly so! She wants to sink.

Around, before, beside her, though, her friends
Include her necessarily, by rote.
She wants to thank them, wants to make amends;
Their happy, quick denials clear her throat.

With baby steps, she blossoms bit by bit.
Collapsing often, still she can't deny
Her growing spine, her wants. She won't submit
When inner voices try to terrify.

I sure identify, but have to say
She's grown much more than me in every way.

Eight: Pinkie Pie

Her frantic antics often disobey
The laws of nature, Ponies, time, and space
But all for laughter's sake, her vast array
Of oddness serving friendship's sweet embrace.

External brashness tries but can't disguise
Her need for validation. Cheers, applause,
A simple smile or happy puff of sighs:
She twists herself in knots to serve the cause.

Among her friends, she gets a chance to breathe.
She doesn't take it. Still, she knows it's there,
Receives the gift that lets her doubts unsheathe,
And punts them lest they straighten out her hair.

While extroverts exhaust me, Pinkie walks
The line in ways a skosh unorthodox...

Nine: Rarity

Immaculate, projecting style and grace—
Possessing both those qualities as well—
She weeps, mascara running down her face,
Alone within her private carousel.

Perfection beckons, always unachieved
But always sought, a shining, distant star.
She wants its constant pressure unrelieved,
Demands the target move however far.

The others keep her grounded, let her know
They hear her when she cries: she's not alone.
Assisting with her businesses, they grow
And help her stretch her narrow comfort zone.

Artistic, still she expedites her plan.
I've watched approving since the show began.

Ten: Rainbow Dash

Extreme in all she does, her heart demands
A life of constant striving after goals.
Agility and speed: no record stands
Before the skills her toned physique controls.

Humiliation flickers through her thoughts,
A running sore. She knows its frigid touch
And helps when friends get caught within its knots
Despite the way she feels it overmuch.

An unexamined life's the only prize
She'll never reach. The others won't allow
Her selfish sight to dominate her eyes,
Will pull her out and teach her how to bow.

Her stubbornness is mine. I wish it weren't.
I watch her lessons cringing like I'm burnt.

Eleven: Applejack

A rock, a tree, an anchor: on and on,
The metaphors for strength accrete, expand
Until she vanishes, her nature gone,
Enwrapped within an endless, fraying strand.

She knows the sting of loss, has swallowed pain,
Digested it, and bucked its memory.
An arching brow expresses some disdain
But never holds an ounce of cruelty.

Her friends provide adventure, drama, thrills,
Or just a walk and talk, a quiet pause
Amid the grind. Beyond her orchard's hills,
She finds a greater life, a larger cause.

Routine defines her steady faithfulness:
Like her, I've learned there's more to happiness.

Twelve: Twilight Sparkle

A stodgy scholar, largely humorless,
Discovers friendship, saves the world, and moves
To Ponyville to try togetherness.
Surprise! She finds, with friends, her life improves!

Her course of study leads her further on—
Adventures snarling traffic, lessons learned—
Until at last she greets the golden dawn
With wings and horn, her princess status earned.

And still she panics, needs her friends' support.
Her magic nonpareil is not enough
To win the day, produce results, and thwart
Whatever villains think themselves so tough.

A geek, in other words, who made the grade,
Exemplifying traits my brain's mislaid.

Thirteen: And Everypony Else

Equestria, the Pony realm, supports
A vibrant cast of sundry mythic folks
Like dragons, hippogriffs, the standard sorts
Of creatures modern fantasy evokes.

Immortal sisters rule from Canterlot.
Controlling sun and moon, they each display
A horn and wings, but goddesses, they're not.
Or even queens: they're princesses, they say.

The world as much as anything attracts
My rapt attention, keeps my eager gaze
Imbibing while the stories run their acts.
The rampant cuteness fills my craw for days.

But more than cute, the show begins to seep
Within my blood and bones, to strike me deep.

Fourteen: A Ponyville State of Mind

Imaginary? Sure. Like all cartoons,
It's pixilated imagery, unreal.
Reality, however, coughs and swoons
Before the juggernaut of how I feel.

Recall I mentioned earlier the way
That facts and truth are optional at best?
Acknowledging the stunning exposé
Of proof, I disregard it: such a pest!

The Ponies, though, distract both brain and heart,
Divert my squinty eyes, and charge unstopped
In waves that bid my itchiness depart,
Defenses cut away, my shields dropped.

I see them, see myself and far beyond
The inner tumult years of doubt has spawned.

Fifteen: Fantasy vs. Reality

I tried to read the book A Game of Thrones
But quit a dozen endless pages in.
Perhaps I lack the proper pheromones
To find enjoyment watching others sin.

Except a villain written well will twist
My heart around, will perk my little ears,
Will make me yearn for heroes who'll insist
Redeeming grace arrive with joyful tears.

Complexity is great, but hopelessness
Will strain belief beyond credulity.
To pout and claim the world cannot possess
Intrinsic love's naive, it seems to me.

The Ponies know from jealousy and hate,
But goodness lurks to soothe and moderate.

Sixteen: The Advent of Nightmare Moon

Celestia and Luna rule the world—
I've mentioned them—immortal alicorns
Possessing every Pony virtue swirled:
They've earthly strength with wings and also horns.

A thousand years ago, the sisters fought.
Consumed by jealousy and wounded pride,
The younger, Luna, grumbled, madly thought
Her night was disregarded, pushed aside.

Transformed by hatred, Luna burst, became
The monster Nightmare Moon, and tried to slay
Celestia, to drive her out and claim
The throne alone by banishing the day.

Betrayal, greed, sororicide: you know,
The stuff you find in every children's show...

Seventeen: Interregnum

Subsumed within the Nightmare, Luna tore,
Destroyed Celestia's defense with glee.
Celestia, despairing, nearly swore
And called the Elements of Harmony.

The sisters used these magic gems to keep
Their nation safe. About to swoon,
Celestia succeeded, eyes aweep,
And locked her sister mad within the moon.

A thousand years alone upon the throne,
Her sister's frozen silhouette above,
The Elements reduced to useless stone,
She waits the prophecy with fear and love.

For magic tells her Luna will return,
But will she come to parley or to burn?

Eighteen: The Rescission of Nightmare Moon

The show begins with Nightmare Moon's return,
A thing that only Twilight's books foretell.
She tries to tell her teacher her concern;
Celestia assures her all is well.

So when the Nightmare stops the dawning day,
It's up to Twilight's sudden little group
Of local Ponies. Through the disarray,
They find the useless Elements and swoop.

The Elements respond, our heroines
Enlivening the stones to face the threat.
The power rises, cloaks their very skins,
And cleanses Luna, weeping true regret.

Destruction's not the answer: that's the key
To bring about a Pony victory.

Nineteen: The Philosophical Pony

"Deceptive depth" is not the proper phrase
To label Pony. Philosophical
As any eight-year-old, the show displays
Its title plainly, broad and scrutable.

When friendship grows, our lives will surely gain
A certain magic. Simple, straight, direct,
The message leaps and glitters, can't contain
Clandestine meanings. No, they're striped and checked.

Applying such a simple thought becomes
The crux that spins the characters about.
The show examines, gives a laugh, and plumbs
The shadowed corners friendship leaves in doubt.

Distraction rules the world; a quick cartoon
Can moor my psyche's runaway balloon.

Twenty: Because I've Only Used the Word "Archetype" Once So Far

Consider all the archetypes involved
And then consider how to make them friends.
As writers—most of us, I mean—we've solved
Related story problems, twists, and bends.

The brain, the joker/jock, the down-to-earth,
The fashion plate, the partier, the shy:
A quest unites them, brings their group to birth,
But afterwards, what keeps away "goodbye"?

Experience is what, the daily grind,
The ups and downs the characters commit.
The writers focus two-by-two to find
Affinities, connections, ways they fit.

The big adventure starts the series out.
The episodes that follow banish doubt.

Twenty-One: Slice of Life

For me, the point that sets the show apart
Concerns the question, "Yeah? What happens next?"
Our heroines succeed with spunk and heart,
Reform the world, then turning unperplexed,

They settle back to jobs and home and town
And start the true adventure: what to do.
Their lives have changed, but nothing's upside-down.
They've gained a group of friends is all that's new.

And yet? Disruptive! Monumentally!
Routines established years ago explode
When other Ponies blithely disagree.
Opinions crowd and bleat and discommode.

For twenty episodes, the show explores
How friendship happens, stumbles, skips, and soars.

Twenty-Two: Fights and Arguments

Recall "invisible"? The word I used
To tag myself when all this guff began?
Opinion's part of why I'm so confused.
I hate my brain for holding them, would ban

My inner critic ever speaking out
And bloviating stupid folderol.
"I'm always wrong!" I try to scream and shout,
But still opinions stew, grotesque, banal.

I stutter when confronted, squeak and flail
And lack the mental stamina to form
Defending arguments. My statements fail
To stop the flood. I'm lost within the storm.

The Ponies, though, they often disagree
While still remaining friends. A fantasy?

Twenty-Three: Arrested Development

The seasons flow, the characters advance
A bit for some, for others quite a lot.
It's television, after all: the dance
Of growth and static fills the highest spot.

Development's a tricky thing for shows.
As soon as episodes appear, they're bound
For random repetition. No one knows
The order. Continuity gets drowned.

Before this iron rule, the Ponies shake,
But still they manage, passing through the years,
To learn from every trial, each mistake
An opportunity for joy and tears.

Again, I watch it happen, blink, dismayed
And wonder how the heck to make the grade.

Twenty-Four: The Crux

Inside my head, the Ponies clash and blend,
Insist I pay attention, urge, incite,
Declare that magic waits: "A single friend
Will bear you upward, spin you toward the light!"

I have my friends. We meet for D & D
On Saturdays about a month apart.
Enjoyable, of course, but honestly,
If magic's there, I haven't seen it start.

Perhaps because I've known them decades now?
I breathe the old familiar atmosphere
And don't detect the flash, the spark, the wow,
The scent of roses sparse, the muffled cheer.

When people change, they're s'pposed to leave behind
Their former lives. But mine remains, I find.

Twenty-Five: Welcome to My World

I walk to work and back, about a mile
Along a stretch of lovely ocean beach.
Assisting folks with books and such, I smile—
And call the cops to handle any breach.

Alas, it happens. Keep a public space,
And sometimes folks'll start to shout or snore.
For most, a word's enough that they'll embrace
The proper way. If not, they're shown the door.

I strive to make a friendly spot without
Conveying any sense of ownership.
It's all about the sharing. Try to flout
The rights of other folks, you take a trip.

It's less than once a month a jerk gets banned.
I wonder: would the Ponies understand?

Twenty-Six: Reality vs. Fantasy

Redemption's still the standard song they sing,
But Ponies use a prison under ground—
With triple-headed dog and everything—
To store offenders shown to be unsound.

Perfection calls, remaining unattained
But sought with zeal and gusto unsurpassed.
Neuroses flourish, find themselves restrained,
And form the base that underlies the cast.

Our heroines are those who recognize
Their inner vices, blemishes, and bumps,
And seek to cut them back, to minimize
The damages they cause, the leaks and lumps.

Adventures form a small minority
Of what they do. It's just the same as me.

Twenty-Seven: An Underlying Metaphor?

Within Equestria, the Ponies thrive
Amid their trials, form relationships
That wobble now and then, can float and dive,
A roller coaster always turning flips.

Within our human sphere, the same applies—
At least it holds in spheres that I frequent.
Of course my life consists of pies and skies
And all the privilege they represent.

For Ponies power nature: make the clouds,
Control the rain and wind, create the snow.
Without them, nothing lives and silence shrouds
Equestria, above, between, below.

I'm straight and white, American, and male.
Within the show, my biases prevail.

Twenty-Eight: Pon-lesse Oblige

Now dragons, griffons, minotaurs exist,
But they're the tag-alongs, the afterthoughts.
Creation spins when Ponies give a twist;
The others watch dependent, tied in knots.

"Exceptional," a Pony might declare
Her nation, might decide her culture's best.
"Enlightenment like ours, we have to share
And spread the Pony way from East to West!"

Is friendliness a universal trait?
Compassion? Understanding? Everyone
Throughout the world attempts to elevate
Related virtues, honesty and fun.

Hegemony? Or freedom to engage
With finer attributes? The battles rage.

Twenty-Nine: The Ticking Clock

I haven't any answers. No one does—
Except for those convinced they somehow do.
They fill the nets and webs with constant buzz
Describing ways of life they know are true.

Conflicting visions flare accusingly.
Explosive, every argument constricts,
Destroys the fading possibility
Of compromise. The very word convicts.

The Ponies focus, touch upon the core,
The commonalities we all believe.
There's principles we simply can't ignore
And truths that reach beyond what we perceive.

Unless there's not. Recall I'm always wrong.
At least with Ponies, though, we get a song.

Thirty: What Pony Means to Me

Simplicity's the word I often use
To summarize myself: a simple heart,
A simple mind, some simple clothes and shoes,
A simple life a breeze could blow apart.

Adrift and blessed with zephyrs, I've become
Exactly who and what I want to be:
An indecisive milquetoast, keeping mum,
Creating gentle pieces constantly.

The Ponies give me hope and entertain
My inner cynic, critic, all the rest:
The voices sacred, stupid, and profane
Whose fatuous expounding I've suppressed.

It teems with themes my every part can watch
And takes those other voices down a notch.

Thirty-One: "Stories About Ponies are Stories About People"

Another thing the show has led me to?
Community, and that's the place I'll end.
Creative works like none I ever knew:
To call it "fanfic" seems to condescend.

I've learned as much from comments I've exchanged
With authors writing Ponyfic as all
The classes, talks, and seminars arranged
In college, school, or church assembly hall.

The title here's a line I won't forget
However long I'm putting words to page.
Imagination strikes its sparks, and yet
The writers' task is making them engage.

Another couple weeks, the show is gone.
Its lessons, though, will stretch and carry on.

40 - Upon Viewing My Sister's Final Sunset (virelai ancien)

Rejoice! the shadows whisper low,
Rejoice and let vexations go!
Your life awaits!
A life of leisure, sweet and slow,
A life devoid of care and woe!
Those wily fates
Destroy the ones who think they know,
Who think the cosmos should bestow
On potentates
A dispensation, quid pro quo,
Because we've run this wordly show.
The truth deflates.

I've danced the stars on silver skates
And spun the wake my track creates
Throughout the sky.
I've traced the spoor that demonstrates
A nightmare's passage, soaked in hates
That sting the eye.
I've learned that passion castigates
The watchful mind, equivocates,
And lives the lie.
But destiny accelerates
My wariness. Its stricture grates
And makes me wry.

Mistrusting fortune's termini,
Before I bid my night good-bye,
I'll let it grow,
Will let it stretch and amplify,
Will set it free to lurk and spy,
Incognito.
Reporting back, its brief reply
Will educate and let me try
To quickly throw
A block at fate and make it cry.
Prepared, perhaps we needn't die
To thwart the foe!

Author's Note

I've been trying:

For five years to write a virelai ancien for Luna to go with Celestia's virelai nouveau, "Upon Retiring for the Evening." When I wrote that one back in 2015, the idea of the sisters actually retiring had never even entered my mind, but when they did, it got me to thinking. With Luna having just returned from exile, maybe she'd have mixed emotions about stepping aside? At the very least, keep an undercover eye on fate's machinations?

Something like that, anyway...

Mike

41 - Permanent Vacation (rondeau redouble')

Asleep at dawn! The hedonistic thrill
Continues every morning, every day!
Contentment beckons! Sniff a daffodil
And change your habits! Throw them all away!

Responsibility, its roundelay
Concluded, leaves me here upon a hill
And simply breathing slow. My plan? To stay
Asleep at dawn! The hedonistic thrill!

Where birds and bugs in chorus sweetly trill,
I watch exquisite creatures dance and play.
Despite my lessened status, beauty still
Continues every morning, every day!

So let it go and let it go, I say,
Repeat the thoughts I'll take to heart. I will!
I'm off the clock, withdrawn from ruling's fray:
Contentment beckons! Sniff a daffodil!

Except, awake at dawn, an imbecile,
I fret my useless worries, fail to slay
Recurring doubts... Deny them! Warm the chill
And change your habits! Throw them all away!

The seasons turn. I nod and must obey,
Surrender, pass the bridle. Twilight's skill
Is better suited, drives away the gray,
And leaves a broken nag to drink her fill,
Asleep at dawn...

42 - Rolling On (modified chant royale)

Predictable? You really don't believe
We might've crashed and burned at any time?
From Nightmare Moon to Cozy Glow, the weave
Of destiny, I guess, appeared to climb,
Resembled upward growth, but stuck within,
I found it wracked my nerves and froze my skin.
Awareness drove me, stabbed me lest I fail,
Imbued my thoughts with each grotesque detail
Of horrors waiting. Worst? That all would know
Destruction came when I had proven stale.
Demanding more, I forced my mind to grow.

Surrounded, eyes of friends, demure, sublime,
Their kind regard as sharp as any pin:
I couldn't let them down, refused the grime
Of sweet defeat, and grasped the sweeter win.
Together ranging forward stump or sail,
We wouldn't stop. We learned from each derail,
Expanded our capacities...although
We'd often wilt like flowers, melt like snow.
When circumstances sought to rend and reave,
I'd clench my teeth and set my horn to glow.
Demanding more, I told myself, "Achieve!

"Return to deepest roots, the origin
Of ponykind!" I tore aside the veil
Dividing tribes, the magic all akin
From hooves and horns and feathers, seized the grail,
And drank the knowledge, cool and deep and slow.
"To Twilight! Lost in books!" the taunt would go—
Deserved, it's true. The quest would sometimes thieve
My time with friends, bamboozle, blind, deceive.
Attempt a separation. Horrid crime!
For friendship's magic bore the crop to sheave!
Demanding more, I squashed the paradigm.

Transforming, changing, hawk from lowly snail,
A princess now, I cowered, hunkered low,
Consumed again by doubt, its weeping wail
Cacophonous: "Remain an embryo!"
I couldn't, though. The more it tried to grieve
My twisting gut, the more I tried to heave
Its yoke away. I slipped upon its slime
But gaining traction, rose to power's prime.
Triumphant-seeming, shaped by discipline,
I took my place, a royal pantomime.
Demanding more, I vanquished every sin!

Except I didn't. Feigning can't bestow
Abilities like sewing on a sleeve.
I'm still myself and never learned to crow
Accomplishments. A crown is no reprieve
When nagging inner voices start to chime
Complete with countermelodies and rhyme.
Discussion helps to drive away the din,
A kindly ear, a gentle mandolin.
To save the world, I needn't self-impale;
Support's the pole that makes my axis spin.
Demanding more, my heart continues frail.

Remember that, and watch us reach the eve
Of something great. With hope assisting, I'm
Creating worlds that spread with laugh and grin.
Unclench the teeth, I say. Relax. Inhale.
Demanding more can wait while breezes blow...

Author's Note

One last poem from Twilight:

Will put the cork in this collection, I think, after nine years and 42 pieces.

As for the form, the problem I've always found with the chant royal—and I've done two of them here, one from Rarity and one from Twilight if you'd like to compare those to this—is that the standard version isn't fair to all the rhymes involved.

I mean, in a sonnet, you have 7 rhyming sounds spread out over 14 lines. So each rhyme appears twice all nice and equitable. In a chant royal, though, you've got 5 rhymes spread out over 60 lines with the pattern saying that 1 of the rhymes only appears 7 times, though it then gets used as the repeated refrain at the end of each stanza, 3 of the rhymes appear 10 times, and the 5th rhyme has to appear in 18 different rhyming words through the whole thing! It's a shocking state of affairs!

So I modified things by shifting the rhymes. The sound that ends the 2nd and 4th lines in one stanza shifts up to end the 1st and 3rd line in the next stanza. That pulls all the other rhymes up, too, and the sound that started the stanza pops down the end the next. This meant having to change the idea that the last line of each stanza would be the same, so here, the beginning of that last line is always the same, but the ending changes to match the new rhyming sound in that place.

It also means you've gotta do something with the envoy, the short stanza at the end. I thought about leaving it out entirely, but then I decided to give each rhyming sound one last line apiece. I still don't know if it works, but, well, we're all about experimenting with technicalities around here!

And it seemed appropriate for Twilight, a princess who changes the concept of what it means to be royalty, to also changes the concept of the chant royal, so let's call it all part of the theme and let it go at that.

Thanks for reading the poems, folks!

Mike

23 - Dweebs (villanelle)

Hating them's too easy. I refuse!
Let them stare! They won't get me to blink!
Curl my beak: derision's what I choose!

Ponies stumble, missing all the clues,
Pitiful, as if they never think!
Hating them's too easy. I refuse!

What they have, they don't know how to use,
Strong but stupid, always rinky-dink!
Curl my beak: derision's what I choose!

Magic shackles bind their cutesy shoes,
Rainbow chains of purple, plaid, and pink!
Hating them's too easy. I refuse!

Sun and moon and weather: they abuse
All of nature, shattering their link!
Curl my beak: derision's what I choose!

Just in time, I fled: I didn't lose!
They're the losers! They're the ones who stink!
Hating them's too easy. I refuse!
Curl my beak: derision's what I choose!

Author's Note

A vitriolic little villanelle from Gilda. This would reflect her state of mind just after her episode of the show; I've made her three years older and more thoughtful in Foreigner...

For those who track the vitals on these, the meter here is iambic pentameter acephalectic, the unstressed syllable cut off at the beginning of each line so they all start with a thump and end with a thump.

16 - My Darling Asleep (sonnets)

His

I wake in darkness long before the dawn
And turn to kiss my darling still asleep.
Downstairs the ovens seem to stretch a yawn,
Alive and warm with promises to keep.

I stir the doughs and batters, make them rise,
Deliver donuts, muffins, scones, eclairs,
Croissants and biscuits perfect to my eyes,
Displayed to wait for hungry ponies' stares.

The morning rush arrives, and Pinkie, too:
She takes the shop so I can tend the foals.
It's breakfast, baths, and playing peek-a-boo
Until my darling's there with luncheon bowls.

Together then till dusk replaces day—
Which means it's time for me to hit the hay.

* * * * * * * * *

Hers

I wake at noon, their laughter in my ears.
Exuberant with joy, it fills my heart
And props me up while causing any fears
My dreams had held to instantly depart.

I bring their luncheon bowls to shouts of joy,
The time we have together all too brief.
Below, the shop calls out, so we deploy
While Pinkie comes upstairs as our relief.

Each afternoon and ev'ning flashes past
With spouse and foals abed when supper ends.
Desserts go briskly till I close at last,
Preparing all the morning's proper blends.

I set the doughs and batters out to steep,
Then nestle with my darling fast asleep.

13 - Eager Faces (ballade)

Each dawn will find me up, awake.
Not rested, no, and yet I still
Arise despite whatever ache
Attempts to drag me down, to kill
The light and warmth that flow and fill
My ev'ry crack, that make me shine
To think of how I'm going to thrill
Those eager faces turned to mine.

Attentive? No. I'll not mistake
The darling foals of Ponyville
For scholars striving to remake
Equestria for good or ill.
But teaching them, I never will
Grow bored or lazy, won't resign
Myself to dullness: they're too shrill,
Those eager faces turned to mine.

They lie, they cheat, they often fake
Disease and injury until
At class's end, their symptoms slake;
Relieved of fever, cough, and chill,
They leap to ball or daffodil
Despite the homework I assign.
I'll quiz them all tomorrow, drill
Those eager faces turned to mine.

Within my house upon the hill,
The quiet's comforting and fine.
They're better far than any pill,
Those eager faces turned to mine.

Author's Note

When you've got something like a ballade where you're only allowed two rhymes for the whole thing and you can only repeat the one in the last line of each stanza, well, you need a special pony to pull it off. And that's our Miss Cheerilee!

6 - Heart Like a Hummingbird (rondeau redouble')

Heart like a hummingbird caught in my chest,
Seeking a freedom so long overdue,
Graceful and sweeter and still loveliest:
Forested shadows call both me and you.

Sunrise. Another full day to get through.
Grin at it. Yes. Always give it your best.
Food for my friends, and a bit for me, too,
Heart like a hummingbird caught in my chest

Pushes me forward with resolute zest.
Sick room to sick room, a bandage or two,
Soothing their sleep, but you've no time to rest:
Seeking a freedom so long overdue,

Out of the house under sky's perfect blue!
Flit through the branches to each friendly nest,
Cheering the babies we coached as they grew
Graceful and sweeter and still loveliest.

Foxes and badgers when they get distressed
Cluster about us, and we lead them through
Sun-dappled meadows, our ears folded lest
Forested shadows call both me and you.

Glades in the distance, so peaceful a view,
No other ponies to frown, unimpressed.
Lovely—but lonely. I'd miss them, it's true.
Back, then, I turn, caging my dear depressed
Heart like a hummingbird.

Author's Note

Fluttershy, like Rarity, needed a poem in one of the nutty and intricate "French forms." A rondeau, I decided wasn't baroque enough, so I went with the rondeau redouble'. I wanted to give her a rolling meter but one that also stuttered a bit, so it's a dactylic tetrameter with both its feet cut off to end each line on a solid thump.

1 - Ponyville (sestina)

Ponyville glimmers, a beacon of kindness,
Sweetness an ocean whose pure generosity
Laps at the citizens' doorsteps in friendship.
Windjammer sharp spread her sails of loyalty,
Open to breezes ashimmer with laughter,
Gliding to dock using ropes spun from honesty.

Ponyville glitters, and yet in all honesty,
Something about her seems lacking in kindness.
Often her dusty suspicions choke laughter,
Make her go squinty-eyed, false generosity
Offering smiles that seem to lack loyalty.
Who here could not use some lessons in friendship?

Ponyville loves all her neighbors, but friendship?
Zebras and griffons and dragons? Her honesty
Forces a wry little chuckle while loyalty
Squirms in discomfort and calls out for kindness:
"Sure, they're not ponies, but show generosity!
Buy them a drink without rancor or laughter!"

Ponyville staggers amid drunken laughter,
Shouts up and down about undying friendship,
Pirouettes grandly and spurts generosity.
Face-down come morning, the cold light of honesty
Blurs the whole evening, an uncertain kindness,
Memory turning away out of loyalty.

Ponyville ponders, decides this is loyalty:
Filling an icepack with chuckles, not laughter.
Comrades now, bonded in hungover kindness,
Coffee so perfect, it's better than friendship,
Quietly sharing a moment of honesty.
Unspoken lessons create generosity.

Ponyville basks in the sun's generosity,
Passes out ice tea and sunscreen, her loyalty
Not just to ponies: to all who in honesty
Sang with her last night and danced to her laughter.
Warm and contented, she knows what makes friendship:
Ugliness transformed by mutual kindness.

True generosity tempered with laughter,
Ponyville's loyalty tells her in friendship:
That's the way honesty kills 'em with kindness.

Author's Note

For all the arcane details about making a sestina in the comfort of your own home, check the article on Wikipedia!

3 - Seventeen Clouds (English haiku)

1
Air is never thin,
And empty doesn't exist.
The sky's full of clouds.

2
The line dividing
Clear below from blue above
Holds the unseen clouds.

3
The wind never stops.
It's always blowing somewhere,
Tickling sleeping clouds.

4
The only stillness
Is flying fast as the wind:
Reach, and touch the clouds.

5
Dampness from the dry,
The air becoming liquid,
Gathering the clouds.

6
My beckoning hoof
Calls them into existence,
Tells them that they're clouds.

7
My hovering wings
Stir the thickness of the air,
Stir potential clouds.

8
The scent of water,
Sharp and flowing, free and clear,
Wants to turn to clouds.

9
How can I deny
This perfect convocation?
Come! Dance with me, clouds!

10
Spin, you air above,
You blue and crystalline depths,
The canvas for clouds!

11
Shift, you air below,
Warm as the earth and sluggish,
The meat of all clouds!

12
Bow to each other,
Reach across the tropopause!
Mix and become clouds!

13
Cold, boiling vapor,
Warming quick and mounting fast,
Waking into clouds!

14
Rollicking, alive,
Wanting to burst out from me,
Spreading wondrous clouds!

15
Pull their air in tight:
Got to keep them tame and sweet.
Cyclones? No! Just clouds!

16
Swirling around them,
Stretching like a second skin:
These are mine! My clouds!

17
Spread across the skies
Mountainous, fluffy, white, gray:
Clouds! Such awesome clouds!

Author's Note

English haiku, as the Wikipedia page points out, work under slightly different rules from the original Japanese form. Still, seveteen of 'em together makes a haiku of haiku, doesn't it?

24 - Covered in Tree Sap (rondeau redouble')

Covered in tree sap with legs intertwined,
Friendship undimmed since the last time we met,
Laughing like lunatics. Decades unwind;
Ours is a force with the strength of a jet.

Life has unrolled like we dreamed it, and yet
Nothing compares to the joy that we find,
Husbands at home, as we crash soaking wet,
Covered in tree sap with legs intertwined.

Letters we sent every day undermined
All of time's efforts to make us forget.
Loving our foals, but we won't leave behind
Friendship undimmed since the last time we met.

Months in advance, how we plan and we fret,
Scheduling triple vacations designed
Carefully. Older, we still don't regret
Laughing like lunatics. Decades unwind.

Out on the porch at the Acres reclined,
Humming a melody, making a bet,
Stories retold keep the legends enshrined:
Ours is a force with the strength of a jet.

Still, there's the call of the new bassinet;
Jobs, obligations, the sweet ties that bind
Can't stop Crusaders! We're always a threat,
Shaking the world from its dull, daily grind,
Covered in tree sap.

Author's Note

This one started out as a virelai nouveau, but halfway through, it dawned on me that, to keep strictly to the form, I was gonna need about 30 different words to rhyme with "find." So I did a quick remix, shuffled most of the lines I'd already written into the gentler pattern of the rondeau redouble', and lived happily ever after till the next one.

29 - Upon Retiring for the Evening (virelai nouveau)

The breeze arising from the West
Caresses feelings unexpressed.

I sniff this unexpected guest,
Allow it, swirling through my chest,
To knock upon my inner door
With scent of jasmine, heaven blessed,
And sugared cinnamon. The best
Of sweet and spicy starts to pour
A thousand memories or more
Across my heart, my soul, my breast,
The breeze arising from the West.

Equestria, the loveliest
Of jewels and never overdressed,
Perfection stretching shore to shore,
I hold in trust and cannot rest—
Despite my sister's efforts—lest
Destruction, death, and pain galore
Explode in vicious, bloody war.
My paranoia, slightly stressed,
Caresses feelings unexpressed.

Abandon brooding thoughts! Obsessed,
I fail the most important test!
Regrets that leave me weak and sore,
An ancient, thinning palimpsest,
Decisions scorned as stupidest,
Away with them and keeping score!
The future beckons! Who'll ignore
The love and life here manifest,
The breeze arising from the West?

Inevitable doubt, the pest,
Will dig at those who dare invest
Themselves to keep and mind the store.
To serve the vast, communal nest
Demands a pony who's progressed
Beyond the ways that came before.
To use the whisper and the roar
Correctly and at truth's behest
Caresses feelings unexpressed.

My daily task, my daily quest,
The breath that fills my very core
Caresses feelings unexpressed,
The breeze arising from the West.

Author's Note

There seem to be:

Only four things that everyone agrees on when it comes to the virelai nouveau. 1) The poem starts with a couplet. 2) Each successive verse ends with alternating lines of that couplet. 3) The whole thing ends with that same couplet, but this time, the lines are switched around. 4) You can only use two rhyming sounds throughout.

Too hard for me, so I let Celestia do it.

33 - Point/Counterpoint (sonnets)

I've heard them all, but "Fairy Sherbet Moose"
Remains my favorite unofficial name.
Instead of vicious monsters on the loose,
It rings of fun, of cities not aflame.

But really change it now that I'm the King?
Severely tempting. Wash away the past
And start anew without our former sting,
Restructure all we do from first to last!

I'll change our lives—! Which isn't any change.
It's what our species's done since time began.
Consistency's the challenge to arrange,
To stand in places were we always ran.

We have to learn to freeze, to stop and stay
Before our brand-new sherbet melts away.

***

I've heard then all, but "Fairy Sherbet Moose"
Admits in stark relief our fall's great height.
A race whose name derived from our great ruse
Now sounds as though we are the ones to bite.

Sweet irony! What hunger once turned cruel,
Once sated, softens, melts, and hollows out.
Until a pony-addled rainbow fool
Holds court within my shattered hive's redoubt.

And I am left, alone, to lick my wounds,
To taste the bitter brine of my defeat
While, echoing, the mocking, sordid sounds:
A moose by other name would smell more sweet.

Let Thorax rule the ones who would embrace
Such base indignity. I'll save my face.

Author's Note

For the story behind:

These sonnets, check this blog post. In brief, though, I wrote the first on the Saturday of 2017's Bronycon, and horizon wrote the second in response.

37 - Rivals for Life (villanelle)

Respect's a funny thing, its sweetness sour
Like lemonade without the proper mix:
It's fine at first but rankles by the hour.

Before we met, before the seed could flower,
I knew your name, had heard about your tricks.
Respect's a funny thing, its sweetness sour,

But wing to wing with you, its bonding power
Exploded through me hard as smashing bricks:
It's fine at first but rankles by the hour.

Connection blossomed, built a perfect tower,
Then crashed, the whole foundation made of sticks.
Respect's a funny thing, its sweetness sour,

Until you spit it out. I won't devour
Your phony rules with all their salty licks:
It's fine at first but rankles by the hour.

The Bolt of Bolts, you look at me and glower.
Believe me, Dash: there's nothing here to fix.
Respect's a funny thing, its sweetness sour:
It's fine at first but rankles by the hour.

Author's Note

The title here:

Comes from the phrase Lightning Dust shouts as she vanishes into the ionosphere at the end of "The Washouts." I watched the episode when it was broadcast, couldn't figure out what she saying, downloaded and watched the episode again from iTunes, still couldn't figure out what she was saying, then finally hunted down the transcript on the MLP Wikia.

Then when Present Perfect reviewed "Dweebs," Gilda's villanelle from earlier in this collection, and I realized that we had another villain here who needed a villanelle, the title was right there. Of course, a poem for Lightning Dust has to break the rules somehow, so I've made the one-syllable words "sour" and "hour" rhyme with the two-syllable words "flower" and "tower" and such even though they, of course, don't rhyme at all.

Oh, such a rebel I am!

Mike