Dead Poet's Society.
Ode to a Silly Farm Pony.
He carries himself on pride filled hooves
The way any good farmhoof would,
He’s tough, although inherently nice:
Like, a cat who is afraid of mice.
He smells not like lavender, nor thyme
And it’s really hard to find words which rhyme,
With the smell of my silly farm pony
Which is of.....morning mist?
-Stormy.
P.S. Buck it, I tried....
Stormy Weather.
Like the weather he’s named after,
He’s careless, reckless, though wrapped in laughter
He’s the single best part of a day,
to a pony who recently realized he’s gay
For the cutest colt this side of Baltimare
And I’m glad it’s with him, my bed I share.
-Gentle Strokes.
P.S. That's how poetry is properly done, Stormy.
P.P.S. How is this your major?
Humbled Rebuttal.
Thanks again for showing me,
What it means to really be
embarrassed and humbled by
An admittedly very handsome guy
Cheesy doesn’t even begin to
Describe these poems I write to you
Seriously, If Jag ever got hooves on this
The school would forever be in fits
of manic laughter, taunts and jabs
Till I hid away like a hermit crab
….and took you with me.
--Stormy
P.S. I know it doesn't rhyme at the end, but sue me. Just call it 'Post Modern.'.
Every Morning.
I watch him turn, I watch him toss
A dreary dreamscape he cannot cross
His face is pained and filled with woe
Stormy, what troubles you so?
He says he’s fine, though soft and defeated
My wish was it were an ail that could be treated
There’s a stack of letters that go unread
From a father who gives him dread
Poor, poor, Stormy is this your trouble?
Can’t I make it never double?
-Gentle Strokes.
Family Matters.
My father’s rich, you see
and my brother successful
Which to a pony like me
Can be quite stressful
Regardless I’ve found personal wealth
with a colt who’s just my type
Better than riches and good health
Is knowing my body fits his hooves just right.
-Stormy
P.S. I changed the rhyme scheme from 'Clerihew' to 'Cinquain' because that's what we're going over in my class now. Personally, I think poetry sounds better as an 'A.A/B.B.' kind of poem, over a 'A.B/A.B.' type, but that's just me.
This Is Getting Silly.
I get you must practice for your class
But, do I really need to make an ass
Of myself all the time
By writing silly words in rhyme?
I must admit, it’s getting even harder
knowing you use writing these as barter
In exchange for sex
...um, and that’s a hex?
-Gentle Strokes.
P.S. Wanna grab dinner tonight? Or do I have to ask you out in a poem now?
Sorry, Strokes
I know it’s getting kind of lame
Playing this stupid sexy game
that I call ‘Incentive Studying’, but
Once I get an ‘A +’ from the nut
Who calls himself my poetry prof
All night long, my salad you may toss
-Stormy
P.S. Dinner sounds great. Nell’s?
Capital ‘G’ ‘A’ ‘Y’
Yeah. I’m not going to try to
Write a poem or anything
I’m just going to come outright and say it
I found your stupid poetry journal hidden
In your sock drawer when
I was going to borrow some lube
for this chick I brought home who was
really into...um, never mind
forget I said that.
Anyways..I just wanted to let you know
that it’s really, really, really
really, really, really
really
Gay.
-Jagged Horn
P.S. I ate that leftover salad from Nell's that you had in the fridge....
Response.
Shut up, Jag!
-Stormy/Gentle Strokes.