Apple Potpourri

by bookplayer

The Party Cannon Goes Off

Author's Note:

Tags: [Poetry] [Random] [Pinkie Pie]

So, the writeoff minifics are always full of poetry, usually formal, and people analyzing the meter and form. For some reason, I was thinking about that today, and it came to me that Pinkie's poetry would be some free verse, Ginsberg type thing. And it started coming to me so I wrote it. It might be bad, I'm not sure how to tell with free verse. But it's definitely Pinkie.

The party cannon goes off.

BOOM!

Raining confetti on everypony: color, sparkle, rainbow, fun in everypony’s face like a crazy race to nowhere where it’s done and the fun is falling with no more reason than a season of joy that ends up on the ground. Until the sound

Again.

And who are we? Confetti?

Spinning, winning, losing, surrounding somepony suddenly with songs, fun, noise, joys, and sorrows. We enter and exit, bit and bit held together with string like bunting, balloons, bursting with energy or hot air. They’re there, my friends.

They’re my friends. My friends sometimes slip. Friendship, laughter, kindness, nice but not too nice. Clever but not too smart, art needs contrast, a blast of trouble, bubbles to burst, a thirst to cure for more to learn, to burn like a comet to earth with a burst of life and it’s here! Crazy care and love that’s trying, dying, reborn each morn and fights each night against monsters under the bed and in the forest before us and behind us to remind us in our memories who we are: honestly loyal generous magic ponies who only live to love and laugh and try, to fly, to run and rerun, repeat, a feat of magic nopony’s done before for the grand

Finale. Finally.

So who are they, away? From here, Owlowiscious says "who," to the moon, to the stars he flies, eyes, Surprise, out there somewhere.

Where?

Do you see them? Do they see you?

The stars outside, wide open, waiting for the next play day to watch and love. Even the sun is a star from afar, zooming in close so the Princess can lift it, drift it along until another Princess places, replaces it with the moon and soon it starts

Again.

What does this mean? Everything, nothing?

Everything means something to somepony seeing, learning, being us for us and ours and hours and stars and stares and eyes, never lies, always true to you, to the end, to my friends, to the fun and confetti and noise and glitter until the bitter end, when the party and canon goes off

Finally.

Finale.

How do I know? Who am I?

I forgot the why, the try to make sense, since I was a filly. A silly. A brain that twists and bumps and dings off things like a pinball game with holes to roll into and out of, above, below, never slow or it falls away and play is done, the fun is done. No fun.

No fun!

So I speed through the places you don’t see, where they see me but don’t hear me, because pranks are jokes are riddles and the end of the riddle is truth, but sleuthing the answer is no way to know so I just go and see and be the punchline, the rhyme, the question with no answer that everypony asks: Does she ever stop? Pop the balloon and all you get is

BOOM!

The party cannon goes off.

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

A frenetic, kinetic, and unapologetic look through Pinkie's eyes. For all that I harp about lyrical meter, this measured out perfectly. Thank you for it.

[Kitcat36]

This is awesome. I love it so much! It's really well done!

[Applejinx]

[Sharp Spark]

Awesome!

I have complicated feelings about poetry – mostly, I guess that I feel that people like to choose really rigid structures and then either kill their creativity to fit them or break the structures in ways that just feel sloppy. But I really like this. The playful twisting of language works excellently and suits your subject and point-of-view character.

[Trick Question]

This pretty poem is Pinkie Pie perfection~!

Hmm. I don't know how to work with these anthological thingies, buuuuuuut this one chapter by itself is sufficient to thumb you up!

now stop making me read wonderful things when I have wonderful things I need to read by 2pm EDT

[AugieDog]

Very, very nice:

I can see Pinkie done up in full Beat Poet garb, a black beret clinging tenaciously to the blackberry bramble of her mane as she recites this while accompanying herself on bongo drums that are actually cans full of custard.

Mmmm... Custard...

Mike

[journcy]

5766450

I want to make this vision reality.
At least on the Internet.

This poem has a really great beat to it.

[GhostOfHeraclitus]

Lovely!

I certainly agree. Pinkie would never write her poems in formal meter. Most days she can't be bothered to take the laws of physics seriously, let alone the laws of meter.

Oh and...

<Errant Pedantry>
Technically Howl does have a structure of sorts and even a kind of meter. If I remember correctly, the poem's lines are measured in 'breaths' which is something halfway between what you can say in one breath and one sort of... flight of inspiration?

That said, it's hardly a chant royal or something. :)
</Errant Pedantry>

[sopchoppy]

Very Pinkie, Very nice, Very Enjoyable: Very Bookplayer.

[Georg]

It's a multipurpose tool. It's also very useful against changelings. (snerk)

[livinthelife]

My brain couldn't decide whether it should make me hear this in Pinkie's voice or Ginsberg's. The combination had an odd effect. Really well done.

[BlazzingInferno]

It's been a long time since I've gotten a chance to analyze poetry, and checking this out was a pleasure!
This was definitely Pinkie, and with a surprising amount of depth to boot. There seemed to be a shift in what the cannon going off meant, which was unexpected but also very interesting.
Well done