5 steps away, I didn't give the time of day.
4 steps away, I had nothing to say.
3 steps away, I attempted to delay.
4 steps past... I hadn't expected it would move so fast.

Happy Clean Friday~.

~Ooo, all the grass I am sowing, so there can be food growing,
mares and stallions eat their full, and grow larger than a bull.~

~And once their nice and juicy, what will happen, you'll see,
they'll be stuffed down again, all part of the food chain,
And soon it'll smell a lot, like, methaneeee.~

Ahem.

Also we have a poll for thie week.
What kind of Mouse do you like?

Visit my Eka's Portal or Furaffinity account for the latest story.

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Three peas in a pod laid resting,
while the morning sun laid cresting,
the pod opened a creak,
from the peas no a peep,
as the first pea tumbled through.

In their slumber, more space felt welcome,
though keeping still neither did seldom,
and so with a bump,
an impromptu jump,
and the second pea tumbled through.

The third pea had all space it'd desire,
fading off in the dream court's choir,
but without a support,
the pod would contort,
so the third pea, tumbled through.

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I dug three feet into the ground,
three feet and nothing more.
Had I went all four foot down,
There'd be gold and treasure galore.
And while some think, that fact is sad,
truth do be told,
three feet was all I had.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

A human sees flowers, all in a row, they lean in and smell them, make time as they go.
A beast sees flowers, down their list, they grasp and pick them, leaving dew in mist.
Down the list goes, the judge reads them all, passes the beast a sentence, to lay down the law.
The human keeps walking, away the judge gaze, for crime is the act of beasts, abstained the human's ways.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Those with planes reach the sky with ease, just to stare back down.

We have a new story being posted next week.
Happy Filthy Friday~.

Hello everybrony,

I just realized!
I have been making more compilation videos for FIM, but I haven't been blogging about that here! My apologies.
Here is my next compilation video-the one about Zecora's poems.

https://youtu.be/TqIcoWEJkbc

I sit on a beach, a bit mellow and sad,
when out from a burrow, scuttles a crab.
The shelled critter stares, across the sand it zooms,
it hasn't seen anyone, beset by this gloom.
It is there for a moment, then fades out of sight,
The shelled critter has no input, on my weary plight.
When out from my sorrow, bemused and, glad?
I sit on the beach, an monument to a crab.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

We keep contact brief
and hope it is leading,
to a sigh of relief,
once no one's left breathing.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

Wash your hands, 30 seconds.

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Hey, we’ve got another entry in the not-a-contest! Written by none other than AlwaysDressesInStyle, and pre-read by some guy.

Source

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Two brothers quarrel to split their family asunder,
one side grows strong while the other goes under.
Together sparks fly and the tension grows high,
but neither brother bid the other goodbye.
In but one frail moment, all was lost,
the brothers left to lament the cost.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

I was thinking now,
That I would write a poem,
But this is ramble.

Poeticism,
is rarely what we write here,
Potassium, yum.

Wishing you a happy Filthy Friday, and a Wholesome Weekend.

Closure is, perhaps, only a word.
One which is brought up and spoken to highly,
for the merits it provide is lauded as the sole justice.
But in the end, closure brings little joy.
It is a word, that has to exist.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

They say the spirits whisper,
on cold days by the fountain,
about a lonesome spirit wisher,
their existence debated, uncertain.

She once held claims of her own,
and many did she berate,
but now in the dump she's thrown,
those who believe it, do relate.

But the whispers aren't lasting,
their memories... are passing.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Once devoted, now deceased. And yet devotion outlives the devoted, as it does the cause. There is safety in the sensation, the belief of purpose and belonging, stronger than that of words or motivation.
It forges and tempers effort, though has long since lost the control over its subjects.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Ooo, I want to brew the stock of life, a bullion so fair,
for despite being full of strife, inside the bones of mares
you find marrow, and juices, and tasty treats galore,
if you let it simmer these fuses, have your patrons knocked to the floor~.
Ooo, I want to brew the stock of life, this task's myself I have wrought,
for even a single speck of trite... would spoil the whole broth.

Happy Filthy Friday~.

Thoughts malign affect those close,
expression wry and worries rose.
Infectious is the thought of ill,
inviting by mystery and promise of thrill.
Soon one thought has turned for the worst,
and the subject in question, afflicted and cursed.

Wishing you all a Happy Filthy Friday~.

There was a little circuit man,
Welded from the scraps of cards.
They built up themselves as a handy man,
Improving to escape the junkyard.

But all time spent upgrading,
oblivious to his trading,
the times which he could cherish,
for the date to which he'd perish.

Happy Clean Filthy Friday~.

When do trees become a forest? Can we put it to a number? Perhaps it i when they stop being individuals and start to become a pattern. Patterns we intersexual, we interpret, we match and decipher, though we just as easily look past it. When the chaos grows too strong, we ignore it.
Until such a time, we find ourselves lost in a forest, unable to recall the trees we passed on the way in.

Happy clean Filthy Friday~.