I wrote a poem.

Mind if I share it?

I don't think I'll be able to turn it into a story, but here you go.

The poem is MarbleMac, so hopefully you're not tired of that.

Ready?

"M.H.M"
By Soaring

"Mhm," she said.

It was the first words he heard from her.
She sounded beautiful wherever she went.
She loved rocks, they were colorful in sight.
But she loved to dance with her grey coat.
So she danced all night long.

"Mhm," she said.

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It's Better to Burn Out than to Fade Away
By FireRain

Applause sounds more like a disease the more I hear it,
Claps of thunder and appraisal scream as they cheer and chant my name.
That is the price of fame: recognition.
It comes in the form of a storm and it shakes the world around you like the wind blows a leaf.
Shock caused me to stand stock-still when it first happened, sometimes even now.

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Here are a few poems I wrote during the production of a poetry book. I later decided to remove them from the book and publish them separately, as they are about G4 and thus would be difficult for the average joe to understand or "vibe with". Added some artwork for context.

"You're all Yak"

(C) Doodle-Mark

We’re jumping up and down hard,
Staring at each other’s eyes,

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Pear had to stop, to think and wonder
As an alpha wolf tore his ass asunder
How he made such an awful blunder
Underneath the starry sky.

"What say you?" to the wolf, he said
As the beast made his anus spread
Alas, no reply, but growling instead,
Red was dripping down his thigh.

Some time later, the Pear was done.
The Big Bad Wolf had had his fun
No longer in any fit state to run
Stunned, his final hour was nigh.

-Ben "Pear" Pearce, 2016

It's raining outside
Maybe inside too
I can't tell though
Inside, I can't feel the rain on my skin

Perhaps it's just the temperature
That would explain the cold
But not why I hear the rain falling
a steady drip-drip down my nose

I'm standing in the rain, you see
It splashes from skin to shirt
And if it's not raining
Then why are my eyes so wet?

It's hailing outside
Maybe inside too
I can't tell though
Inside I can't feel the sting of my skin

Maybe it's just me though

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Wolf newman was kind enough to surprise me with a reading of my poem,

I wrote this about a time when I was happier with someone by my side. Apparently, it was the wrong person, and as such, I fell into deep, deep depression that would have actually killed me, and it nearly did. This is a look into my inner-most being and something that I wouldn't otherwise put out there for the viewing. - FireRain (Dan)

Found You Here (Working Title)

There are many words to say,
Vows, promises and secrets to keep,

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[Last edited 2020-12-17 18:11 EST]

Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, meldenyar.

Those of you who have been following me for a while may know that I have an interest in Quenya, a dialect of Elvish created by J.R.R. Tolkien and most famously used in The Lord of The Rings.

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Well i've done it again. Here's another dramatic reading of a classic poem. One of my favorites actually, "Politics" by William Buttler Yeats!

Let me know what you think in the comments section below.

without any further a due, here you go.

Freelance Writing is a really nifty website that consists of numerous links to various writing jobs and contests. There are even specific search terms for whichever genre you want to break into: fiction, non-fiction, poetry, short stories, books, screenplays, even articles for newspapers and magazines.

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In case you weren't aware[1], Bad Horse does these amazing posts regarding the history of art and criticism leavened with insightful leaps from one field of study to the next. They are great fun and not one hundredth as dry as you might suspect. He was recently laboring on this amazing post regarding the

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Dear Bronies and Pegasisters,

Recently Milo_Chalks has written out a sort of late birthday present for me. He has given permission to post it on my blog to share with you all what he has written for me. Personally, this is extraordinary as no one has ever written a poem for me before, much less of how much effort this was put into! I enjoyed this and hopefully you will too.

Signed your fellow Writer and Closeted Brony,

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IN WHICH HAPPY BOXING DAY!
I meant to post while it was still Christmas (CST) but as usual I’m late. I hope my few remaining readers had a lovely holiday! Here’s a song that’s been in my head lately.

Chuu is one of those who, according to her coworkers, really is just a ball of sunshine. Follow me past the jump.

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Everyone knows one. Everyone has read one. A lot of folks have written one; I've written three or four. Sometimes they die while we're reading and then it screeches to a halt, and like cartoon characters whose car just drove over the cliff, we hover in place waiting forever for something more that doesn't come, until we look back and finally realize what's happened. Or sometimes we find its corpse lying 45 pages into the category, a gem buried in the turds of more active but far less talented

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Shimmer, shimmer, tiny lights,
Precious flames that gives sights.
Burning brightly in our hearts,
Where dawn begins and hope starts.

Little bird on tired wings fly,
A noble giving ally.
Proud warrior fighting hard fights,
Hardy and true through the nights.

A timid clair spirits calm,
A true altruist not aplomb.
A jester brings joy to all,
More for her friends overall.

And of the dragon so fair,
With teeth, claws and mind sharp there,
one with daybreak thereupon,

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I had multiple chapters ready. The road is almost over for my currently running Sunset Shimmer story.

The road is almost at an end.

Let's get this bread.

(And by bread, I mean updates. Duh.)

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Equestriabound VOD ep 1. More episodes to come with time.

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When Little Timmy went for lunch,
He stopped, and cheerful, chose:
'The very best burrito-brunch,
Devoid of GMOs!'

He slowly paused to read the sign:
'We're proud to serve instead
Authentic food on which to dine -
Unmodified!' it said.

And so he gaily made his way
To step, content, inside.
But Timmy ate at Chipotle.
And Timmy fucking died.

- Poem for your Sprog, Reddit

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