At one month old, I slept Soundly in my crib, As my biological mother read me, Classic pony tales, Under the pale moonlight.
Then, worries were distant songs.
At three months old, I’d Cry all day long, For my blanket, And some crackers, To calm the pain, Of new teeth growing in.
Then, worries were distant songs.
At six months old, I’d Slurp chocolate milk, Through a long twisty straw, As I laid on a blanket, My biological grandmother quilted years ago, Smiling at the ceiling fan.
Then, worries were distant songs.
At age one, I Shared my soul, With my first best friend, At daycare.
All day we would visit the breezies and dragons, That lived in the secure kingdoms of our imaginations, Until the sun disappeared behind the mountains.
Then, worries were distant songs.
At age one-and-a-half, I Learned that friendships and family, Could be broken like a mirror; Or the heart of a lover, Desperately crying for her love, To come back from the relentless sea.
Then worries were constant songs.
At age two, I Forgot life’s beauty, When I went to live, With two adopted parents, And the darkness of regret, Enclosed my soul.
There was no light, To greet me in the morning; No comfort to wrap around my body, Like one of my biological grandfather’s famous hugs.
Then, the worries were my only song…
At age five, I Confronted the enchantress Prismia, And guided her to the path of love; My understanding transcended time and space, And I transformed into an Alicorn.
Then, worries became distant melodies, Played upon the wind like faint legends.
Today I slip through life, An explorer of new frontiers, Leaving my worries, And desolate thoughts, In the distance as I sail,
For long ago I realized, That worry is not life’s only song…
Though many still echo its melody, Quietly, hopelessly, Drowning out the song of hope life gave them;
I stand at the shore of a vast ocean, Of voices, Crashing, booming, moving like waves, And I wonder why, Some long for the ocean, When it is all around us.
Perhaps they fear they will drown, If they do not cautiously approach it, For many a sacred thing, Has been lost to the unforgiving sea.
Perhaps, that is why I feel lost; Afraid the waves will never take me home, Or to a place that feels like home.
Afraid the waves will swallow me up, And before my voice is heard, Will be swept away by the ebbing tide.
I stand at the shore of a vast Ocean, Of voices, Yelling, screaming, squawking like seagulls, And after letting my tears fall into the waves, I turn away,
Away from the faces and voices, That are so foreign to me now, I cannot remember their names.
And before I journey into the desert, Set aside for broken promises and lonely souls, I cannot help but wonder, Why some long for the ocean, When it leaves you stranded in the end.
A pegasus colt asked me, “What are you supposed to be?” I said, “A griffon.” And he gave me a look up and down, Up and down like a sea saw on a playground, And he said, “You look like a giant bird to me. Giant birds don’t have a culture.” And the pony trotted away, Up and down went his steps, Up and down like a bucket plunged into a well and pulled up again, Like the sinking feeling I felt inside me.
It reminded me of a talk with my mom, Many years ago, When I proudly spoke of my griffon identity, And she replied, “But dear we haven’t been to the Griffon Kingdom for ages. Not since your father and I moved to Cloudsdale.” Stirring her bowl of salad, Around and around like a Ferris wheel, Around and round, Like my thoughts that screamed, “But I am a griffon, I feel it in my blood! “ And my mom just kept stirring.
My father once told me, “Your grandparents were from Griffonstone.” He said this rocking back and forth in a large chair, Forward, then back, My eyes following him, Drinking in his story, And the movement of his chair.
His story told me, I had a culture, I had an identity; I was a griffon.
Cultural day at the Junior Speedsters Flight Camp, I dressed in traditional Griffonstone clothing, A pegasus colt cornered me in the hallway and asked, “What are you supposed to be?” I proudly replied, “I am a griffon from Griffonstone.” But he just scoffed and told me I’m a giant bird so I can’t have a culture.
The culture of my mom, who denies it, Stirring a Cloudsdale-recipe- inspired salad, Or of my father who defends it rocking back and forth in his chair,
The culture I embrace with all of my heart, Despite living with ponies, The culture I still remember even if others forget it,
The root of who I am, Whatever generation that might be,
The product of all the great griffon heroes, And rulers throughout time, And legendary griffon warriors, And beautifully crafted griffon literature and epic poetry, A female griffon who has culture, And loves every facet of that heritage.
I sit at the crossroads of two worlds, One of ancient chants and ceremonies, And the other of colonization and science,
And I pray that I can be part of one of them, But alas; acceptance seems like a distant sunset, That I can never reach no matter how long I run after it.
So I sit here waiting, For some hoof to grab me, And pull me up from the waves of loneliness, Closing in on each side,
But I know that I am the only one, Who can truly save my culture’s spirit, From drowning in the end.
So I sit here waiting, Between the cliff sides of two mountains,
But I know I shall never budge from my crevice, For neither buffalo culture nor pony culture, Lay the framework of my inner being,
And as much I wish for belonging, I know I shall always lay waiting between, The crossroads of these two landmarks.
“We need to listen to this song.” Vinyl says, The producer, the hip-hop master, music mare with a plan,
Writes lyrics like some ponies make glass ornaments, Pristine, precise, can break you if they drop,
And she plays five instruments or more, Better than the ones you’ve played for years,
And she has a real ear for music, a real heart for sound, A real soul for rhythm, her flesh dies with every chord progression,
And the lead guitarist Meadow Song pipes in, “No we need to practice.”
As he strums on his guitar, A gift from heaven that he plays well enough, To convince me that he has sold his soul for the skill to play it,
Because Meadow Song is a music pony too, With more of a plan in his head than Vinyl Scratch, At least in his mind,
And he plays five instruments better than most people play one, And he’s always recording the band practice sessions for fun,
And this stallion has traveled long and far, With bands across the country and the world at large,
Who are probably all more skilled than ours,
And Meadow Song just wants to play and record more material, For the next session meet,
So he looks at me and asks, “Don’t you think we should be working on that new song we came up with last Tuesday night?”
He asks this as he digs in his pockets for a carrot, Puts down his guitar and walks outside the small apartment downtown, Where we make magic, us three band members,
Who can never seem to agree when to start practice, Or when to end it, and as Meadow Song chews on his carrot outside, With the window wide open,
Vinyl turns to me and asks, “Don’t you think we should get inspiration from some bands before we start? Let these tones touch our heart to get us in the mood to play! Besides we can practice any day. Right now, we should just be inspired.”
And I’m not quite sure what to say, Because I am no music master like the other two, by any means,
Even though I write song lyrics and make the keyboard sing, And have never ran across an instrument that I couldn’t play,
And I’ll admit my voice is ok, But I am no Vinyl Scratch and I am no Meadow Song, And I’m still trying to figure out how they let me play in this band,
These two ponies with a plan and me, one mare with none.
I ponder this as Meadow walks back in, Satisfied with his small snack, ready to provoke Vinyl, With a stray comment about how band practice never really seems like practice, But Vinyl is still waiting for my answer and I’ve never been good with words,
So I shrug and start to play on the keyboard, and Meadow swings his guitar strap over his head, as he says, “I like the beat of that, keep playing,”
And I do, and Vinyl has a breakthrough, And takes out her harmonica and draws out a bluesy sound,
While Meadow and I continue to get down, Then all at once Vinyl starts to rap,
And I tap my hooves to the beat, And Meadow starts to sing as I change key and harmonize,
And Meadow brings out his recorder, And tapes the session of music that popped out of nowhere,
Like all of our best sessions do, And this continues on for three more songs,
We can’t go wrong, We’re in the groove,
And each song we play new instruments, And sing new choruses, And Vinyl works her hip-hop magic,
And Meadow continues to sing, And I continue to harmonize when I can, With these two music ponies with a plan, And me with none at all.
And then the session ends, And we all agree it turned our better than the one last week, And we eat some snacks and drinks some drinks And each one of us thinks about how our new creations would sound if we happened to play them live downtown,
And Vinyl tells us we should listen to some beats, From some hip-hop masters that came from the streets,
So we listen to the music into the night, And stop when we get inspiration and write,
Lyrics and play tunes, And our jam session carries over into the next morning,
And by this time Vinyl’s already asleep on the couch, And Meadow Song and I are still talking about the relationship,
Between chaos, evil, and good, For no other reason than to get inspiration,
For song lyrics and new songs,
And we look over and realize that Vinyl is gone, Long gone into the world of dreams,
So the two of us take our leave, As the sun starts to rise in the sky,
And I offer Meadow Song a ride home to his house, On the west side of town and he gladly obliges,
And on the way there we talk, About old television shows, movies, and songs,
Which are way better than, The ones we have nowadays,
With action, more action, no story, No plot, no characters to fill the plot, No music to carry the action, story, or plot The way they did way back in the day,
And then we reach Meadow Song’s place and he gets out, And says goodbye and I’m left alone in my ride,
To drive back to my origin on the east side of town, And face the reality of work that I must go to,
In five long hours, Five short hours, Five hours I wish were not hours, But were days,
And as I drive home I wish for fame, To make a name for myself that will take, Me away from those long days at my job,
As the sun is rising, And I’m driving
To my origin on the east side of town, I wish for more jam sessions, Listening sessions, Arguing sessions, Talking sessions,
To get my mind off of the grind of daily life, As I head to my origin on the east side of town; Toward my room that holds a crucifix I hang on instead of sleeping, Calmly in a bed,
The crucifix of routine that’s so estranged, From the way I make music, Or write lyrics, Or get inspired by two musician ponies with a plan, Every Tuesday and me with none at all,
Hanging on this crucifix of obligation, At my origin on the east side of town, Waiting for next Tuesday’s jam session, Where I can get down to the sound of creation, Liberation, from this crucifix I lay on, Freedom of the soul.
Every Tuesday at band practice, Jam sessions, My obsession, Freedom of expression.
If you could dream a marvelous dream, Of Phoenixes or Minotaurs or anything, And that dream could grow silver wings, Just think of all you could achieve!
If you dreamed a dream to fly, You’d soar with eagles up in the sky!
If you dreamed of lots of snow, You’d sink an inch or two below, The mystical blanket of sparkling rain, That froze just as you went out to play.
If you dreamed a dream to know, Where the allusive blue whales go, Each time they migrate across the sea, You’d be taken there front row seat, Upon a ship that sails out far, Where all the whales and sea things are.
If you dreamed of lots of cake, Chances are you’d have to make, A lot of room in your upstairs den, Because a nine foot cake would be delivered in!
If you dreamed a dream of peace, There’d be no fighting on the streets, And the most you’d hear on the news, Would be how orphans came in twos, To claim a house full of clothes and shoes.
If you dreamed of the dragons up high, And wished to see one with all your might, The littlest one would come down to play, And you’d skip and sing and play all day!
If you dreamed a dream to see, Princess Celestia or Luna on their royal seats, They’d welcome you home with open arms, And protect you from all the world’s pains and harms.
You could dream a dream today; Don’t let your ambitions fade away, For if you truly believe your dreams will come true… Then chances are they’ll come to you.
The world has changed young one, From the paradise it was at the dawn of the first sunset, For no longer do the doves sing out to the skies, To let them know that our world has hope and peace.
But run past the rains of uncertainty, Look past the mists of doubt, ‘Cause here in this world we still have dreams, And on great swans of silk, They will lift our spirits to the horizons!
The world has changed young one, From when I was a small filly, Growing up in a faraway land.
There, things were as simple, As waiting for the ice cream stallion, To come around the bend, and Serve my favorite flavor, raspberry nut swirl, To me in a great waffle cone!
But now, no ice cream stallion hums, The tune “Blue Bell had a little lamb.” And no foals come, To get their favorite ice cream cones; They’re all too busy listening to the radio, As if it were life or death, Waiting for the news reporter, To solemnly speak of another disaster in Equestria.
But young one, Run past the rains of uncertainty, Look past the mists of doubt, ‘Cause I’m telling you, Here in this world dreams still exist,
And if you can grasp just one in your hooves, You will fly above the clouds, On the back of a griffin, And be brought to places you've never been.
So, come young one! The world is not the same, But your dreams are,
So keep them alive, Like you keep alive the memory, Of a falling star!
They say Las Pegasus’s streets are paved with gold, So I walked down the main stretch of road, And looked for that gold,
But I found Glass and asphalt and dirt and Plastic and t-shirts and discarded gum wrappers And dead ravens and flattened squirrels with the eyes popped out And loose screws, tires, and orange fragments of mesh construction markers A landfill of items that were discarded And no gold among the trash heap treasures
But walking in a casino parking lot I did find a silver bit for my thoughts, To make a wish on, to choose my destiny,
Heads or tails,
This tiny piece of silver, worth all of the gold, Worth all the miles of highway I traveled, Gold I panned in hidden rivers, Gold I searched for with metal detectors,
Long nights of shoveling in the back yard, Treasure hunts I went on to find the Lost Gem Mine, And all that gold stashed somewhere at the Mirror Pond stamped AJO.
This one-bit marker was my salvation, My answer, my promise, A new luck addition to my highway purchased wallet,
A wish maker; I wished “Can I win a few rounds of Blackjack? Win it for me, lucky silver bit, please!”
But instead I found another silver bit, Another one-bit diamond in the rough And this time I pocketed it for luck.
And the more I walked the more silver bits I found, Two bits. Then five bits. Then ten bits. Then 20. Then 50. But still no gold.
Just luck and some gems when I really needed them, And a silver bit in my pocket for my thoughts.
The birds chirped, The wind Sung, As the moon went down, And Celestia raised the sun.
The trees whistled, The flowers waved their thistles, As a bear went “Thump,” Upon a stump.
The toads moaned, The bob-cat groaned, As I sat and listened, On an ancient stone.
The Mountains bowed, I sung out loud, As the old oak tree, Strummed on a cloud!
The river flowed, Toward the cliffs below, As the willows blew, On their leaves, gold and yellow,
And with one huge tap and hullabaloo, I joined in the beat of the meadow.
Night soon came, And song died out, As all animals tall and stout, Left swiftly to sleep in their dens, Followed by the whistling winds.
The oak snored loud, The flowers ne’er swayed, As night swiftly replaced the day, And home I went whistling the tunes, The summer forest had taught me that afternoon.
Did you ever wonder how life might be, If everypony took the time to believe, In all of the wonders of the world we live, Like magic, dreams and the love we give?
Did you ever wonder about the past, And why each of the legends faded fast, Replaced with logic to help explain, The magic surrounding our world, like rain?
Did you ever wonder how life might be, If we all sat down with a cup of tea, And looked over an old book that contained The answer to all of life’s mysteries, unexplained?
Did you wonder what the present would be like, If we let all of our ambitions take flight, Guiding us through jagged rocks of doubt, Keeping all of our true faith out?
Did you ever wonder how life might be, If everypony followed their deepest dreams, And always looked to their heart to find, The answers they’ve lost to the tides of time?
Did you ever wonder what the future would hold, If the small and meek learned to be bold, And took a stand for the lesser pony, Standing tall, hoof in claw?
Yes I wonder indeed how life would be, If ponies could finally see, The wonders that life has to give, In this short time we have to live…
But there’s no need to wonder where, We’ve misplaced the thousand and one magic lairs, Of phoenix’s and dragons in this world of blue… Because finding the magic is up to YOU.
So hold your dreams close to your heart, And surely they will never part, For all you need to do is believe… And the magic you seek will be there to receive.
This poem has no verse, Only rhymes when it gets the time, Has none of those fancy metaphors, Which open scholar’s minds like knobs on doors.
It has no rhythm; Heck, it doesn’t even have a drum, To help it keep the beat with!
It has no lines, and no name, Just reading it will drive you insane, ‘Cause it was written to relieve some stress, But all it is, as you can guess, Is a mixed up verse, a pig pen mess!
It’s got no similes, or metaphors, Like bears ridding tricycles, To escape the elephant mafia;
It has no deeper meaning, That you have to pull out a metal detector to find;
It has no useful information, Like the number of ponies in Las Pegasus, Or how many licks it takes, To get to the center of a sugar pop;
It don’t even make much sense grammatically!
It’s not a promotion of world peace, Or a cure to the Canterlot University Student’s, “Graduation anxiety;”
In fact, it has no purpose, Other than relieving some stress, ‘Cause this poem is just one jumbled up mess!
If this poem were alive, I wouldn’t be surprised, If it jumped off a cliff,
Because this poem has the intelligence of a Dodo, Is one taco short of a combo plate, Doesn’t even know how to open a gate!
This poem indeed is a mess, Kind of like spaghetti on a dress; You don’t want it there, But there it is.
It’s waiting for a punch line, But it’s too slow to figure it out;
It’s too busy trying to think of the next stanza, Or line, or gopelty goop to say!
It’s not an intelligent work; Heck, I bet it has an I.Q. of three, Because it’s as useful as underwear on a tree!
In fact, it has no point at all, Except for proving to the large and small, That staying in school is a good thing.
This poem is really just slop, And other than being cleaned up with a mop, It doesn't have a meaning or name;
Just reading it will drive you insane, Because it was written to relieve some stress, But this entire poem is, as you can guess,
Is just one big, fat, pig pen, jumbled up mess!
19 A Valentine Heart Turned Sour By Queen Chrysalis
It’s the end of the first year Since I invaded Canterlot With my Changeling army, And I’m still single.
I don’t know what it is About me that drives My boyfriends away.
It can’t be the fact that I Go to the potion store with My changeling drones and spend a Disturbing amount of time Goofing around in The dark arts section.
Come on; Everpony does that.
It couldn't be the reason I had trouble with my first boyfriend Who just so happened to cheat on me With my three of my best friends, Who all turned out to be Professional boyfriend stealers.
Then again, He was a professional boyfriend So I shouldn't have let it hurt my feelings As much as it did.
A changeling has to do What she has to do To receive the love she deserves.
It can’t be The small detail that I sit in the Advanced Magic Studies section of The Canterlot Royal Library And read dark magic spell books For hours on end.
That isn't enough To do what my Second boyfriend did; Leave me for his one true love.
Let’s let this sink in For a moment.
He left me… For his ONE TRUE LOVE.
No, they weren't just ordinary lovers; They were a hundred percent destined to be.
Just because I go to the local Sub Hay and have The ‘sandwich artist’ Behind the counter Make me their favorite sub, There is no reason to leave me For a destined lover.
Sure; I might have kidnapped the bride, And her bridesmaids, And put her fiancé under a spell So he would marry me instead,
But a changeling has to do, What she has to do, To receive the love she deserves.
Of course the spell was broken, And I was left single once more.
Then there was boyfriend Number three.
To put it simply, He had a lying problem.
When I say lying, I mean that he lied… About EVERYTHING.
He even lied about being single.
He was still dating another mare, When he chose to date me.
He made me into a cheater, Without me even knowing it!
So what if I Sit alone in a downtown café Just to see if somepony Will be curious enough To join me at my table;
Is that enough of an excuse To tell me I’m hot And then date four other Mares at the same time?
I was just part Of his great special somepony Collection.
I guess some stallions Collect mares The same way other ponies Collect baseball cards.
I am no stallion’s Personal belonging So I said goodbye to Mr. Liar and hooked Up with a guy I met who Was visiting from Baltimare.
I told Mr. City Stallion (AKA Boyfriend Number Four) That I drive to places in my chariot I am not familiar with Just to see if I can find My way home.
He told me that He listens to the radio Just to see If they’ll play His favorite song.
Pretty sweet, I thought, I've finally met someone Just like me; Somepony I can relate to.
I thought that I had found The One.
He told me a lot of things… Especially about his last girlfriend.
About how much he missed her, And how he was sad that she left the country, And how I was just filling, The empty spaces in his heart.
I was cool with it; I mean, at least he was honest with me, Which is more than I can say for boyfriend Number three.
I was honest too.
I told him that I sing and dance In the shower And I don’t care Who hears.
He laughed and told me That he spends so much Time on the computer That he feels weird When he’s not holding The mouse or keyboard In his hooves.
We kept up the show For a year and a half…
Until his girlfriend Suddenly returned from abroad And I was dumped on the spot.
Fate can be so cruel.
I wish that long lost lover of his Would have just stayed With those stupid kangaroos.
I thought at the time That it must be karma For visiting people I haven’t talked To in years Just to see if they Remember me.
I was about to dedicate The rest of my life To playing online RPGs And completely forget About this whole dating business When boyfriend number five Came along.
I met him In one of those Online chat rooms.
Now hold on there; Don’t give me that look.
It’s not quite as weird as You might think.
He was a student At Canterlot university, A regular contributor To the Magical Arts Club forum Where I’d talk to him On my lunch break.
I told him that I read online Journals and leave Threatening messages To ponies I Barely know.
He thought that was cool; He was a first class internet nerd, Much like yours truly.
He told me that He often gives away Everything he has Just to appreciate The good things that Life has given him.
I found that cool; It was very generous of him, Although later I found out He wasn’t really kindhearted, Or any other positive thing for that matter.
In fact, it so happens that He didn't like uplifting things in the least.
We met two times Outside of Canterlot Library And never spoke again.
It was one of those Mutual break-ups where I realized that the stallion in question Was too much like me To enjoy any future dates Without throwing said stallion Outside a two story window.
I guess that said pony thought along the same lines, Because we made a two time date agreement, And left any future engagements on a purely, ‘My ponies will call your ponies,’ Need to know basis.
After that, I decided it is Better to stay single.
No matter what excuses I give for broken Relationships it never adds up.
Sure, I admit that I tell people I've just met A little too much About my life.
I admit that There are times I just can’t think of The right words To say.
There are moments, That I wish I could Tell all of this To the ponies In my life that Really matter.
Is that any reason to lie, Cheat, steal, or make me Believe that love is nothing more Than a valentine heart turned sour?
It’s the end of the first year Since I invaded Canterlot With my Changeling army, And I’m still single.
You may think it is Mean of me to say That there is no such thing As true love;
That I have never Been happier in my entire life Than on this day, which I have set aside to celebrate the fact That have managed to remained faithfully SINGLE for an entire year
But honestly, After reviewing my track-record On dating (or the lack thereof) Can you really blame me For feeling the way I do?
I was once told that I write too much about myself, And less about more important ponies, Like the mares and stallions reading my poems for example, Which I tended to agree with,
So I tried writing poems from my friend’s point of view, Or my mom’s perspective, Heck, I even tackled getting inside the head of the neighbor’s dog,
But each poem was blank, Void of thought or feeling, A grey on grey space of hollow, Because I found it hard to speak for other ponies, When the only pony I've ever spoken for is myself.
So I go on writing the poems I know, The ones about my life, Which include all the stories I’m familiar with, The legends I know so well because they are crafted by me, But shaped by all the ponies in my life,
Even by the mares and stallions reading my poems, Who are definitely more important than me, And certainly have more interesting stories to tell than the ones I publish,
Stories like the one printed here in these words, Captured by me, from my perspective, A quiet ventriloquist for their need to protest.
Once I was a river, That ran through a great forest, Until I fell off a cliff side Into a pond below,
Then I became a pond, One who let thirsty ponies, Drink my water, And allowed small fish, To make their homes inside of me,
But when the sun dried me up, I turned into a thick mist, That watered a nearby tree,
And then I became a tree, One that gave shade and oxygen, To weary travelers, And grew fruit on its branches, To feed all of the hungry ponies, Who happened to pass by,
But one day I was cut down And I fell upon a tiny fox,
And then I became a fox, One who was sly and quick, And also a master thief; No one could run faster than me,
But one day a monster, Hunted me for my fur, And my spirit went, Into a little pony,
Who was connected with nature, And now our spirits Live together in harmony.
22 A Mother's Day Gift By Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake
When you look through your bedroom mirror, Listen close and you will hear, A whole new world on the other side, That will boggle your tiny pony mind!
For here, in this land far away, Day is night and night is day!
The summer is winter, The winter is fall, And as for the spring; They don’t have that at all!
And should you want to take a nice swim, Do not look to a pool or a clinical gym, For swimming to them means diving in sand, Or splashing in lakes filled with oats and plants!
So be grateful my friends, That we live here, Away from the crazy world of Lere; The land which quietly lies beyond, The boundary of your mirror!
Stallions in white suits assemble in a large corridor, Beside mares in crystal gowns; A cake with topper sits elegantly on a glass table ahead.
The crowd walks forward with the bride in front, Hair curled and eyes shining bright; Her love walks beside her with a gentle smile upon his lips.
Celestia stands above in royal dress and guides the ceremony, Two souls are joined today among friends; Family and friends look on and weep tears of joy.
Young and old are joined in holy sanctum; White bells adorned with ribbon hang from rafters, Pearlescent wine glasses tower over two large wine bottles.
Camera flashes go off in harmony like bolts of lightning, As the new husband kisses his wife and the two are joined forevermore; Guests cheer and then dance with wine in hoof.
The newly weds glide down the isle like king and queen, Adorned in gold and jewels that reflect light off the chandeliers above.
A mare looks on with happiness in her eyes and solace in her heart, As she watches the newly weds embrace under the setting sun.
It is as essential as a wool jacket in the Frozen North; A cornerstone in technological advancement, Helping ponies become lazier since the dawn of its invention.
It is as smooth as blue whales blubber; A random collection of buttons and gizmos, Half of which don’t even work, (Or at least are too complex to figure out).
It is like the manna of life, The food of the gods, The elixir of continuance.
It is like the phasers on Star Trek, Minus the ability to kill people or set it on stun.
It is the only way human beings or ponies Can operate their television in these modern ages; Heaven forbid they get off the couch And press the minuscule buttons on the front of the tube.
If aliens ever wanted to take over the planet, All they would have to do Is take every remote control from every household in the world, And watch the chaos ensue.
And I just realized that I forgot my sustaining pedal and amp, and microphone, and keyboard stand, and probably my nerve, and all I have is a notebook filled with cruddy song lyrics and poems, but I do have a keyboard and my voice and some of my wits about me so I go up on stage, a bit afraid, because
This is my first live in a long time, maybe ever,
And the ponies in the crowd don’t know me from Tom the Rock, and most of them aren’t listening anyway; they’re engrossed in talk or thoughts, or way too much apple cider, and the open mic sound pony is drinking apple cider too, but he’s pretty cool and brings me a table to sit my keyboard on and a chair that takes the place of a bench, and he plugs my keyboard into an amp, and gives it power with a spare power cord, and he sets me up with a mic, dims the lights, and sets me free to create – something – and the audience below kind of responds but is mostly busy with the things mentioned before and I feel alone, sitting at this keyboard I play every day, I know every note to except when I’m at open mic night at Charley’s so I give a brief introduction and start to play – in the wrong key, and I apologize and start playing in the right one and my song seems contrived because I don’t have my pedal drawing out the notes, but at least my voice is ok and I still have some of my wits about me and I think it’s going pretty well, considering
This is my first live in a long time, maybe ever,
And the song ends and the mares and stallions clap their hooves out of obligation, and the sound pony tells me to play another song, so I pull one out of nowhere and start to play, but it is obvious that is isn’t finished and not even I know where it is going and the audience stops talking or drinking because even they know I have no idea what I am doing and most of them probably think is intentional because they laugh or they clap, or just scratch their heads trying to figure out the deeper meaning, but there is no deeper meaning, I’m just unprepared, but still I think I’m doing pretty good, considering
It is my first live in a long time, maybe ever,
And when I get to the end of the song, more ponies clap because they figure it was a comedy act and everyone needs a good laugh, and the sound pony asks if I want to do one more song and I ask if I can read a poem instead and he says, sure why not, and is probably thinking you can’t mess up a poem, but oh how wrong he is, because for the first five minutes I can’t find the poem and then when I finally find it there are only a few minutes left so I start reading it fast, like a Trenderhoof radio broadcast, and some ponies see the connection and aren’t amused, but I keep reading the poem as fast as I can; I figure I’ve got to preserve this live somehow and this poem is the best I’ve got, and even though it’s spit out faster than a trademark Pinkie Pie rap, the content is good and powerful, and I’m hoping will save my failed attempt to be a piano goddess, something I always am except when I’m playing live at Charley’s on Tuesday night and my nerve is not here, and all of my equipment is missing except for my voice, an old keyboard, and a notebook filled with cruddy song lyrics and poetry and I get to the end of the poem and it touches some hearts, and some ponies are still trying to figure out what I said. And others are too drunk on apple cider to know I’ve stopped reading the poem and still listening and the sound pony tells me my time is up and I thank him for letting me perform as I gather my keyboard, notebook, and wits and leave the stage, and the audience claps out of obligation, and as I walk away from the disaster I get bitten with the bug, the performance bug, the open mic night at Charley’s bug, and I think to myself, that didn’t go so bad.
It was my first live in a long time, after all, maybe ever,
And considering I had no equipment or nerve, I think I did rather well. I’ll have to come unprepared more often I think this as I walk away from the bar I performed in, in front of ponies who are all too drunk on cider to remember me and all the faults I brought to
My first live in a long time, maybe ever, that certainly won’t be my last.
A circle of musicians gather, Play their fading tunes, Things that won’t be remembered, Except by those who play the blues,
And the ponies in the circle, Will carry on the songs, Every Monday in the town square, Of Appaloosa’s downtown scene,
Played out to the throngs, Of tourists who wander by, Wondering why these ponies are here, Playing like they’re preserving time,
Signatures in every lyric written, A passing soliloquy, Then the ponies in the circle, Start to sing,
In unison and their music fills the air, And their guitar strings echo off the stairways, Encircling the Town Square,
And I sit there and I listen, In wonder and in awe, And at that moment I realize, I need to be a part,
Of this circle of musicians, So I come and sit a spell, And listen to the works in progress, That the ponies are willing to tell,
Through whistles and through stomps, And through guitar harmonies, And each song that plays, I get swept up in the melody,
I put my rubber chickens on the ground, And ask each stallion and mare to charge them, And the ponies gladly oblige, And pass their chords right through them,
And the music fills my rubber chickens, Just like a sea pony sings, And when the circle stops its round, I’m bursting at the seams,
With new ambition to take these fake chickens, Charged by this meeting of fate, With me on my journey to spread laughter, With each new event I make.
It is true that these musicians, Have truly made my day, And I thank each pony for their contribution, Before I go on my way,
And the circle breaks up into a crystal, Of many shattered lines, As I gather all of my belongings, And leave the ponies behind,
You can never relive, A moment like this, So I sit down at the saloon, And reminisce.
I write, have a drink of apple cider, And dance into the night, That circle of musicians, Fresh in my mind,
Fresh in that moment of time, That place when I met those faces, Singing rounds in a circle, Lyrics in a round of a Square of Town,
In downtown, Appaloosa, Monday night, A jazz bands plays in dimming light,
But my adventure’s, Barely starting, So I leave the saloon, And go a walking,
To the corner where I meet, A witch doctor and his apprentice, And he shows me all of his art, Gives me a flute to play a part, In my next adventure,
We walk together, Us artists of a different feather.
We find a punkish band, With three stallions playing on the street side, And my new group joins in,
Banging on anything that we can find, At the time like a trashcan lid, Or a guitar case, or the sides of our face, Or the sides of our thighs,
And we create a new circle, That lights up the town, And we dance and get groupies, And get the tourists to join in and sing,
In this circle, new circle, square of a, Circle near the center of town, We are all getting down, To the groove,
And then mid-move, I take out one of the rubber chickens I charged, In my first circle of art,
And I give it to the witch doctor, Who has a heart for this fake chicken, knew right away, That his destiny was to receive it that day, On his way to Dodge Junction, to learn more,
As he skateboards away, I am captivated by the lore, I’m creating with this circle of friends, I’ll probably never meet again,
And after a while of jamming downtown, I decide I've had enough and I leave the circle, Of a circle, growing with more circles of, Groupies and bar hoppers as the evening gets darker,
And I go on my way, a lone wanderer, Away from that circle of music made friends, Who I will probably never see again.
But a circle is endless, You can’t break the song, So my journey will meet, With more of them before long,
A circle within a circle of musicians, Playing here and there, Songs that probably will never air,
On the radio or TV, But only in the circles, Of ponies they meet,
And these circles within circles overlap, Change the world with, Every stray lyric that might escape, And touch the souls of those who stay,
And listen for a spell to the circle within a circle, Changing, rearranging, transforming, reforming, Building, molding, holding a place in the, Circle of song, dance, and art, As well as in the hearts of those, Who are willing to be part of the circle, Of song.
PONY Jeans, I heard you are making a return, I am seeing ads for you at every turn, The last time you were around was when I was in my early teens, Looking back now, I realize that those pants were quite obscene.
I think I lost a cat in them, And perhaps some random toys, Yet I still owned a few pairs, So I can't really be annoyed.
Now that I'm older, I must confess, That these days I really wouldn't mind to dress, In those baggy PONY jeans to hide my winter fat; So now come to think of it I’m thankful that they’re coming back.
Oh Manehattan Fashion College, I just can't agree with you, With your steep parking prices, Expensive tuition, And grumpy administration too.
Yeah, Manehattan Fashion College, I just can't agree with you, So I won't attend you, And I'll never send you, Anyone to visit you.
It's not like I didn't try, To like your campus, I'll admit that's nice,
That is until you realize, That all that landscaping, Comes at a price,
At the expense of the poor ponies, Who work three jobs just to attend, And spend the rest of their lives, Paying off loans that you provide.
Oh Manehattan Fashion College, I just can't agree with you, With your steep parking prices, Expensive tuition, And grumpy administration too.
Yeah, Manehattan Fashion College, I just can't agree with you, So I won't attend you, And I'll never send you, Anyone to visit you.
Meanwhile graduates can't get hired, Because you never teach them, How to not to get fired,
So they have to come back, Spend more money, For more degrees that will leave them hungry,
And that's why these days you'll find, A beautiful soul with a brilliant mind, Working in fast food, Flipping burgers, When they could be out in the world changing many lives.
Oh Manehattan Fashion College, I just can't agree with you, With your steep parking prices, Expensive tuition, And grumpy administration too.
Yeah, Manehattan Fashion College, I just can't agree with you, So I won't attend you, And I'll never send you, Anyone to visit you.
Yeah singing,
Oh Manehattan Fashion College, I just can't agree with you, With your steep parking prices, Expensive tuition, And grumpy administration too.
Yeah, Manehattan Fashion College, I just can't agree with you, So I won't attend you, And I'll never send you, Anyone to visit you.
