In Search of a Metaphor
"Hey, Dad, can I get some advice?"
Shining Armour immediately puffed up. His fatherly instincts kicked in. He drilled in on the problem like a golfer aiming for the ball.
"Is it about a colt?"
Swing and a miss.
"What?" Flurry said. "No, it's about a poem." She waved two sheets of parchment she'd been holding in her magical grasp.
"Oh." He deflated a bit.
They were in one of the nicest sitting rooms in the palace (one out of one-hundred and seventy-four; two-hundred less than Canterlot Castle).
Flurry was sixteen now, and she was going through a phase. Said phase mostly consisted of black mane dye, black eyeliner, black dresses, a dislike of authority figures (concerning, considering she was one), and a recent interest in poetry.
"Well, I guess I can help with that," Shining said. "I did study poetry while I was in school."
"You did?" Flurry asked, looking curiously at him.
"For a little while."
"I didn't think you were the type. Can I read it to you then?"
Shining smiled. "Of course!"
So Flurry began to read.
When she'd finished, she looked up at Shining expectantly.
"Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"
"That was terrible. Absolutely horrible. Worst poem I've ever heard in my life."
"...Oh." Flurry shuffled the papers awkwardly. "Do you... have any specific criticisms, or...?"
Shining nodded. "Yes. For one thing, it didn't rhyme."
"Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, though," Flurry said.
Shining looked aghast. "What are they teaching you in school these days? Of course poetry has to rhyme! That's the whole point! If it doesn't rhyme, it's not a poem!"
"Well actually," Flurry replied, "free verse poetry has been pretty widespread for about two centuries now. Most credit the style's fame to a poetry collection called Leaves of Grass, by—"
"Don't care," Shining said. "Poetry doesn't count if it doesn't rhyme. This is common knowledge, Flurry."
"...Right.” Flurry was already beginning to regret this. "Do you have any other... ideas of how I could improve it?"
"Sure do!" Shining said, grinning. "For one thing, you need to make it happier."
Flurry blinked. "But... that's the point?"
"It's a bad point," Shining said. "Poems should be about love, flowers, that sort of thing. Y'know, happy stuff! No one wants to read a dark poem. There's just no appeal. I mean, who wants to feel bad on purpose?"
Flurry tugged on the black spiked choker around her neck. "Uh..."
"You should write a poem about love, Flurry!" Shining continued. "Your mother is the Alicorn of Love, I bet you'd be really good at it!"
"I'm not really into that," Flurry said. "With my poems I'm trying to express the beauty in the darker parts of the world, the ones we all push out of our minds every day, try to ignore so we can keep going about our normal lives." She smiled. "I think that's really interesting."
"Nope," Shining said. "Write about love."
"Oh."
"You know, your mother and I exchanged love poems all the time, back in the day—"
Flurry held a hoof up. "Okay, I think I get it. I'll just... go show it to mom, and—"
"Oh, and I really didn't get what you were going for," Shining said. "I mean, it was just confusing. All those metaphors and things—If I can't understand it, no one will. You have to make your poetry easy to read. Otherwise what's the point?"
"Can I... go now?"
"Oh, but you should also make it kind of vague," Shining said, continuing on like an out-of-control freight train barrelling towards an unfinished bridge. "That way all the poetry snobs will go nuts over it! Of course, the common pony will understand what you were really going for."
"Bye, Dad," Flurry said, turning to leave the room.
Shining wasn’t done, though. He was on a parenting roll; Flurry didn't come to him for much these days, so he needed to make it count. "You should use some common expressions in your poetry! I love a good "you light my soul on fire" or a "gazing into my soul". Those would be great in your next love poem!"
"Dad, where exactly did you study poetry?" Flurry asked him.
"Where?" He replied, with some confusion. "In elementary school, same as everypony else."
"Yeah that's... about what I was expecting, actually," Flurry said. "Well, uh, thanks, Dad. I'll... take it to heart."
She walked out of the room. Shining watched her go, his face plastered with a wide grin.
"Score one for dad!" he said to himself, once she was gone.
He paused.
"Ooh, I have a great idea!" He went off in search of a quill.
"Hey Mom."
"Hello, Flurry," Cadance said. "Oh, is that another poem?"
They were in another of the palace's one-hundred and seventy-four sitting rooms; this one had a chaise lounge in it, which Cadance was currently sitting in, drinking a cup of tea.
Flurry nodded. "I showed it to Dad, but he didn't like it."
"He didn't like it?"
"He said it was terrible. Absolutely horrible. Worst poem he'd ever heard in my life."
"Well, I'm sure it can't be that bad," Cadance said. "Your other poems were lovely, if a little... depressing. Can I take a look?"
Flurry nodded, and handed the parchment over. Cadance quickly scanned it.
"I think this is great, Flurry," she said, once she was done. "I don't see what offended your father so much."
"He was upset that it didn't rhyme. Among other things."
"Oh. Well, you know how your father is."
Flurry nodded. She did know.
It was at that moment the doors to the room burst open, and Shining strutted inside.
"Hello, Shining," Cadance said.
"Hello, Cady!" he replied; he sounded smug, and he had a matching look on his face. "Flurry, I'd like you to read this. I wrote it myself, and I think I did a pretty good job."
He held out a piece of paper, upon which something had been written in chickenscratch scribbles. It was stained on one edge. Flurry eyed it as if it were diseased.
"Is this... a poem?" she asked.
He nodded. "I thought I'd give you an example to work off of. What a real poem looks like."
Carefully, Flurry took it. Read it. Stared at it for a while.
"Can I see?" Cadance asked. Flurry silently handed it to her.
Cadance read it. Stared at it.
It read:
Roses are Red
Your mane is Purple
I gazed into your eyes
and Loved you Alurple
"...Alurple," Cadance said.
"Stroke of genius, I know."
"Alurple," Flurry repeated.
"One of my better poems, wouldn't you agree, Cady?"
"Well, I do have to admit," Cadance said, "it is that. Flurry, you should have seen some of the stuff he wrote to me when we were younger."
"Sweet Celestia," Flurry said.
"So, what do you think, Flurry?" Shining said. "Now that you've seen what a real poet can do, do you think you can measure up?"
"Yeah, dad," Flurry said. "I think I can."
Shining smiled. "That's my daughter! Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to do. You can keep the poem, by the way."
He turned and left the room. His wife and his daughter looked at one another.
"You married an idiot," Flurry said.
"I know," Cadance replied.
"Why?"
"He's smoking hot."
"Oh. Fair."
And outside, as Shining trotted down the hallway, he said to himself, quite pleased:
"Best. Dad. Ever."