Ponyville & Other Poems

by AugieDog

First published 13th of November, 2013

A collection of poems by and about the various inhabitants of Ponyville

A collection of poems by and about the various inhabitants of Ponyville, Equestria, and beyond.

For more information on the types of poems included, here are some links: Sestina, Sonnet, English Haiku, Chant Royal, Limericks, Rondeau Redouble', Epyllion in "fourteeners," Rhapsody in hendecasyllables, Glosa, Villanelle, Triolet, Ballade, Rondeau, Ode in terza rima, Elegiac couplets, Military cadence, Pantoum, Free verse, Virelai nouveau, Blank verse, Virelai ancien

1 - Ponyville (sestina)

Ponyville glimmers, a beacon of kindness,
Sweetness an ocean whose pure generosity
Laps at the citizens' doorsteps in friendship.
Windjammer sharp spread her sails of loyalty,
Open to breezes ashimmer with laughter,
Gliding to dock using ropes spun from honesty.

Ponyville glitters, and yet in all honesty,
Something about her seems lacking in kindness.
Often her dusty suspicions choke laughter,
Make her go squinty-eyed, false generosity
Offering smiles that seem to lack loyalty.
Who here could not use some lessons in friendship?

Ponyville loves all her neighbors, but friendship?
Zebras and griffons and dragons? Her honesty
Forces a wry little chuckle while loyalty
Squirms in discomfort and calls out for kindness:
"Sure, they're not ponies, but show generosity!
Buy them a drink without rancor or laughter!"

Ponyville staggers amid drunken laughter,
Shouts up and down about undying friendship,
Pirouettes grandly and spurts generosity.
Face-down come morning, the cold light of honesty
Blurs the whole evening, an uncertain kindness,
Memory turning away out of loyalty.

Ponyville ponders, decides this is loyalty:
Filling an icepack with chuckles, not laughter.
Comrades now, bonded in hungover kindness,
Coffee so perfect, it's better than friendship,
Quietly sharing a moment of honesty.
Unspoken lessons create generosity.

Ponyville basks in the sun's generosity,
Passes out ice tea and sunscreen, her loyalty
Not just to ponies: to all who in honesty
Sang with her last night and danced to her laughter.
Warm and contented, she knows what makes friendship:
Ugliness transformed by mutual kindness.

True generosity tempered with laughter,
Ponyville's loyalty tells her in friendship:
That's the way honesty kills 'em with kindness.

Author's Notes:

For all the arcane details about making a sestina in the comfort of your own home, check the article on Wikipedia!

2 - A Sonnet by Twilight Sparkle

For reasons I have yet to understand,
My love of poetry elicits shock
Among my friends! As if it's far too grand
For one who lives her life by list and clock!

But, oh, how mathematical its flow,
Its stately step of syllable and rhyme!
Enclosed within its shell but all aglow,
A poem tickles fate and jousts with time!

Precise as any proof, its measurements
Cannot exceed the space it's been assigned,
But through the rules that force it to condense,
It bursts with thought, all strictures undermined!

Exploding soundlessly upon the page,
Ideas in a poem never age!

Author's Notes:

Everybody knows how to build a sonnet, right? Still, the article on Wikipedia can offer a refresher course to all and sundry.

3 - Seventeen Clouds (English haiku)

Author's Notes:

English haiku, as the Wikipedia page points out, work under slightly different rules from the original Japanese form. Still, seveteen of 'em together makes a haiku of haiku, doesn't it?

4 - Seamstress (chant royal)

For honor and glory, I never sought,
Content with a surfeit of peaceful joy.
A purity, simple in deed and thought,
Described my ideal. I'd not alloy
Creative endeavor with crass concerns,
Commercialized dreck of the sort that turns
A pony from craft to the base and bland.
And yet how the future arrives unplanned.
For mine was the heart and the gimlet eye
That brought recognition throughout the land.
In truth, there is much I cannot deny.

Integrity always! For this, I fought.
Designing for farmer or rich playboy,
I plumbed to my depths and forever brought
My "A game" to silk or to corduroy.
Of course, I admit that my passion burns
For satiny smoothness, but talent learns
To work where it must and to understand
That projects are—all of them—somehow grand.
Apparently, though, when ideas fly,
The merchant inside me is thinking "brand."
In truth, there is much I cannot deny.

The marketing concepts that I've been taught,
I spin like a filly with some new toy.
Exploiting my status as "fresh" and "hot,"
I flutter a laugh, let my gaze deploy,
And utter opinions as soft as ferns.
Not one in a thousand, I'm sure, discerns
How trite my reactions, rehearsed and canned,
How genuine feeling is contraband.
A lie? Not at all! Do I moan and cry?
I give what they want be it pearls or sand.
In truth, there is much I cannot deny.

For art is a luxury I have not
The time to pursue. I shall not be coy,
Admitting it freely that I've been caught
In gossamer webs that will soon destroy
The last little vestige that in me yearns
To scramble away. But my stomach churns
And twists to the shape of an ampersand.
Abandon the dream where my works expand
From humble beginnings to beautify
The world? Or continue this saraband?
In truth, there is much I cannot deny.

And yet, as I gaze from my window, bought
By selling designs that I could employ
To other advantage, I'm struck, distraught:
Who owns me? The rich or the hoi polloi?
Undoubtedly neither! My whole life spurns
The yoke such subservience quickly earns!
I won't be constrained by this wonderland
To settle for warm when, with fires fanned
By friendly surroundings, I could defy
The hovering vultures! Shall I demand?
In truth, there is much I cannot deny!

Which means that I'm finished, they say. I'm banned
From life in their towers. But I'll withstand
The glares as I pack up and simplify.
My nature's mercurial, darling, and
In truth, there is much I cannot deny....

Author's Notes:

Again, I'll refer the curious to Wikipedia's "chant royal" page for all the gruesome details on how to put wunna these things together. I'll quote a line from that page, through--"The form was often used for stately or heroic subjects"--if anyone should wonder why it's the perfect form for Rarity...

5 - An Apple a Day (limericks)

There's a bromide I've heard ponies say:
If you scarf down an apple a day,
All your problems'll just
Turn to ashes and dust!
Give a puff, and you'll blow 'em away!

It's a lie, but a small one, I guess.
Are there ponies who'll truly confess
They're expecting the fruit
To be magic to boot
And to save 'em from all life's distress?

'Cause it won't and it can't and it ain't.
It's an apple—which ain't a complaint.
I could squawk on for hours
'Bout root, branch, and flowers
Till your eyeballs roll back and you faint.

Yes, I love unconditionally
Ev'ry apple up each sep'rate tree.
But I sure won't pretend
They're a tonic to mend
Broken bones, whooping cough, or ennui.

Eat an apple for sweetness and crunch,
For a savory end to your lunch.
But you think one or two
Will make wishes come true,
Disappointments'll flock by the bunch.

Just avoid losing sight of your goals
Is the thing, or you'll look like some foals
I could mention— Except
That's a secret I've kept
Since the month that I started my strolls.

I'm a working gal, see, and I thought
It was blasphemous I should get caught
Not engaged in my job
Like some gadabout slob.
Yeah, I fretted on that stuff a lot.

Till ol' Twilight showed up. Then I learned
What it means to have friends, and they turned
My whole life upside-down,
Made me smile 'steada frown,
Made me take the time off that I'd earned.

And the country 'round here's worth the time,
Worth a pony who really can rhyme.
Be it spring, summer, fall,
Winter: I love it all,
Love the way that my heart and soul chime

When I'm out in the hills and the dales
Where the land's filled with my family's tales
Like I'm breathing in life,
All its joy and its strife.
It's the wind that I need in my sails.

So I started to take little walks
After supper and winding the clocks.
Just an hour on my own—
But I'm never alone
In the comp'ny of trees, dirt, and rocks.

But a couple of months ago now,
As I wandered the fields after chow,
From a dusk-shrouded vale
Came the tiniest wail,
'Bout the softest a throat might allow.

And I tell you: that sure weren't a sound
That I cared to hear floating around.
So I pushed my way through
All the briars into
A display guaranteed to astound.

In the first place, the clearing inside
Had a hut tucked away so to hide
All these brushes and tools
And what looked like small pools
Fulla paint. "What's all this here?!" I cried.

'Cause the other thing boggled my mind
Was my sister with her whole behind
Sunk right into the paint!
"Oh, now, AJ, this ain't
What'cha think!" was what Apple Bloom whined.

"What I think?!" 'Cause I hadn't a clue
What my sister was trying to do.
"You just tell me unless
You've a mind that I guess!
And that ain't what'cha want, I'll tell you!"

Well, she stood, the paint starting to drip
Like the tears from her eyes. "Get a grip,"
I then started to say,
But my words puffed away
When I saw the mark there on her hip.

In the silence that followed, I stared
And I stared and I stared and I stared
At the sapling she wore
Braced and upright with four
Little stanchions, all perfectly paired.

"That's your cutie mark," somehow I said.
Apple Bloom kept on hanging her head.
"You've been hiding it?! Why?!
That's just nuts! You and I
Should be planning your party instead!"

Apple Bloom didn't holler or yell.
"But there's Scottaloo and Sweetie Belle.
'Cause without them along,
Any party'd be wrong."
Her eyes hardened. "Now swear you won't tell!"

"Are you crazy?!" I stomped my hoof down.
But she stomped hers right back with a frown:
"You will not tell this tale,
AJ! That's betrayal!
It's all three of us rise, or we drown!"

Well, that gal is an Apple, all right:
Us two argued and fought the whole night.
And she wouldn't step back
Nor retreat or change tack.
I was quietly proud in dawn's light.

So I swore how I'd not tell a soul,
And that broke her; she wept like a foal.
Then we hugged, she said, "Thanks,"
I helped cover her flanks,
And we left, keeping silent our goal.

Now, I'll ask: recollect at the start?
All the "apple a day" stuff? That part?
What I wanted to say
Was there's sometimes a way
You'll get caught 'tween your brain and your heart.

Sure, I stuck to the word of my ban,
But I started to form me a plan.
Watching Sweetie and Scoot
While out selling my fruit,
I kept track how they moved when they ran.

'Cause they skipped and they shied just a bit
'Round the back like they'd taken a hit—
Or were trying to hide
Something there on their side,
Using make-up they wouldn't admit.

Which is why Pinkie's up on the roof
Of the barn with a hose in her hoof.
Twilight's cast some weird spell
So you can't even tell
The whole town's here: not even a woof.

Them Crusaders is loud enough, though,
Laughing up from the road, and I know
Once they're dripping and see
They're together, all three,
Then the shouts will bank up like the snow.

And the party'll follow, you bet,
Like to nothing this town has seen yet.
One more instant—it's strange,
How their whole world will change:
No more foals though still squalling and wet...

It's an apple a day. That's the line.
Take a day at a time, you'll be fine.
And you'll soon realize
You've won life's sweetest prize—
Here we go: I'll give Pinkie the sign.

Author's Notes:

Again, pretty much everyone knows a little something about limericks, but here's a link to the Wikipedia entry for all the details.

6 - Heart Like a Hummingbird (rondeau redouble')

Heart like a hummingbird caught in my chest,
Seeking a freedom so long overdue,
Graceful and sweeter and still loveliest:
Forested shadows call both me and you.

Sunrise. Another full day to get through.
Grin at it. Yes. Always give it your best.
Food for my friends, and a bit for me, too,
Heart like a hummingbird caught in my chest

Pushes me forward with resolute zest.
Sick room to sick room, a bandage or two,
Soothing their sleep, but you've no time to rest:
Seeking a freedom so long overdue,

Out of the house under sky's perfect blue!
Flit through the branches to each friendly nest,
Cheering the babies we coached as they grew
Graceful and sweeter and still loveliest.

Foxes and badgers when they get distressed
Cluster about us, and we lead them through
Sun-dappled meadows, our ears folded lest
Forested shadows call both me and you.

Glades in the distance, so peaceful a view,
No other ponies to frown, unimpressed.
Lovely—but lonely. I'd miss them, it's true.
Back, then, I turn, caging my dear depressed
Heart like a hummingbird.

Author's Notes:

Fluttershy, like Rarity, needed a poem in one of the nutty and intricate "French forms." A rondeau, I decided wasn't baroque enough, so I went with the rondeau redouble'. I wanted to give her a rolling meter but one that also stuttered a bit, so it's a dactylic tetrameter with both its feet cut off to end each line on a solid thump.

7 - How Equestria was Made (epyllion in fourteeners)

A proper princess has some things
She hasta know for sure:
To curb her horn; to fold her wings;
To keep her hoofs demure;

To nod at ev'rypony's bow
When leading a parade—
But not one princess knows just how
Equestria was made.

So while I've got you cornered here,
Nopony else around,
Unfold your each and ev'ry ear!
My secrets will astound!

Oh, Twilight, don't you give that look;
You know you want to know!
You won't find this in any book
Or moving picture show!

'Cause farming rocks is all about
The quiet, careful earth:
I've often heard it sing and shout
The story of its birth!

Now, in the days before the sky
Knew how to stay aloft,
When water flowed out powder-dry
And stones were squishy soft,

The ponies all got so confused,
They used to go to bed
Upset and cranky, sore, abused
And mixed up in the head.

"This isn't right!" they cried, except
It came out whispery
As circling 'round their beds they crept—
They slept while walking, see?

"We plant our veggies in the field
And watch them turn to seed!
Our hurts get worse instead of healed!
This isn't what we need!"

They raged and stormed—that is, they tried,
But all remained unswirled.
"We're done with this! Yes! Let's decide
To build a better world!"

What's that? No, this was way before
The pony tribes appeared.
No horns, no wings, no hoofs. What's more,
They looked, like, really weird.

Like if you took a cotton ball
The size of Fluttershy,
And mooshed it up till it was small
And round as apple pie.

Ignite each cotton blob with flames,
Unleash 'em in the air,
And give 'em voices, homes, and names
But neither hide nor hair.

Excuse me? No! It's not absurd!
It's history with quotes!
I got this story word for word
Straight from the planet's throats!

It's odd? You bet! I'd call it strange!
But true things often are.
We've always spanned the weirdness range
From close to very far!

Now, where was I? Oh, yeah! The day
The ponies met to plan,
Debating ev'ry which-a-way
The world and how it ran.

They gathered under clouds where trees
Grew down with dangling roots
And eating snacks of waxy cheese,
They spoke in cheers and hoots.

"This isn't right!" they said again,
Agreeing each with each—
But each complaining mentioned, then,
A diff'rent sort of breach.

"The weather!" some collectively
Insisted. "That's the worst!
The sky and air should always be
Above! Let's do that first!"

"The ground!" another group proclaimed.
"We need to get that set!
Exchanging wacky dirt for tamed
Will solve it all, we bet!"

"The ambiance!" the third group said.
"If we can so direct
The interfacing zones instead,
The nodes will all connect!"

And no, I can't say I've a clue
About that last complaint.
But even though those ponies knew;
Agreement there was faint.

"The ambiance?!" The first group laughed.
"The stuff designs itself!
To concentrate on that is daft!
Let's leave it on the shelf!"

The second group gave nods. "The same
With all your silly sky!
To fix the ground should be our aim!
That should solidify—"

"A lot you know!" The third group sniffed.
"Your stuff's so rough and base!
We give the ambiance a lift,
The rest falls into place!"

They argued on into the night
Which was as bright as day,
Till two of them—one dark, one light—
Stepped up and shouted, "Hey!"

The princesses? Oh, wow! You know,
I never thought of that!
'Cause they're the ones who took it slow
And settled in to chat.

They said, "Let's choose up teams and try
To focus each around
These diff'rent goals: to set the sky,
The ambiance, the ground.

"So those who have the expertise,
The passion and the will
For each of these, we ask you please
To gather 'round until

"You've reached consensus on at least
The basic 'whats' and 'hows.'
We'll change this world and tame this beast
As much as time allows!"

Excited, then, they settled in
To see what they could do,
And laughing, each group tried to win
While 'round them flew those Two.

And then— Oh, wow! You guessed it, Twi!
'Cause all those balls of light
Began to shift, transmogrify,
And change to scent and sight!

The ones who worked to make the ground
Grew mighty hoofs and legs
To make the stompy sort of sound
That makes rocks not be eggs.

And those who worked to prop the sky
Up where the sky should stay
Grew mighty wings to help them fly
And make the clouds obey.

And those who did that other thing,
Whatever stuff it was,
They grew the horns that let them sling
That magic spark and buzz.

And then Equestria was made!
The ponies hugged and cheered—
Until they saw the Two had stayed
Behind, had disappeared!

They heard their voices from that place
That wasn't anymore:
"Enjoy yourselves with truth and grace
And never be heartsore!

"But if you need us yet again,
Just call, and we'll be there!"
Their whispers turned to silence, then,
Were gone from everywhere.

And that's the story! Nifty, right?!
And true as true can be!
You're welcome! It's been my delight
To share some history!

There's lotsa secret stuff inside
The earth and sky and all,
But if you listen where they hide,
The weirdest stories fall!

But yeah, we better get on back:
The party's in full swing!
It's time to drink and game and snack,
To laugh and dance and sing!

Author's Notes:

Pinkie needed an epic, of course, or rather an epyllion, a mini-epic of the sort popular around the time they were building the library of Alexandria. The meter is an old English one used for such epic-type objects called "fourteeners" 'cause that's how many syllables each pair of lines has.

8 - Orientation (Petrarchan sonnet)

Assistant number one? That would be me.
The owl over there is number two.
Survive for ninety days, and we'll call you
Officially assistant number three!
Experiments are running constantly,
And Princess Twilight needs a steady crew
To help maintain and keep things smooth and true:
You'll mostly sweep the floors and prune the tree.

Adventure, though, around here never ends,
So wild I sometimes wish we'd never come.
But no. That sort of thinking just pretends
The air around her didn't always hum.
Besides, to live our lives without our friends?
Ignore me! Get to work! I'm being dumb!

Author's Notes:

Petrarchan sonnets are put together a little differently from the Shakespearean kind most folks are familiar with, but hey: a sonnet's a sonnet, right?

9 - Rhapsody (hendecasyllables)

I sing now of Ponyville! Praise to its name!
My spot of redemption, the spot where the blame
Of centuries' arrogance washed from my sides
As surely as seas sweeping out with the tides!
Illumined by friendship, that glow from within,
The town and its ponies denuded my sin
And welcomed me back when I'd long gone astray,
Uncertain and lost to the light of the day!

A stone had a better existence than I,
Ensconced in my exile, for stones cannot cry
And rage with all impotence, shrieking, insane.
Resounding excuses and threats through my brain,
I stormed as both maelstrom and ship, tempest-tossed,
Despair digging deep for the world I had lost:
The trust of my people, my ponies, and you,
Celestia, sister, as pure as the dew.

Obscenities—echoing, foul, and disturbed—
Arose there like flowers as seldom I curbed
My temper to cultivate anything but
The falsehoods that filled me and clenched my mind shut.
I called you the villain, but not you alone:
All ponies were monsters in blood and in bone.
Ignoring and slighting me, they were the things
That needed correction, that needed my stings.

I had no sensation of time trickling past.
Absorbed in my sorrows, I played the outcast,
Unwanted, unloved, and all misunderstood:
My actions in my mind were nothing but good.
Delusional, yes, but what's worse, unashamed:
Acknowledging fault in all others, I blamed
My deeds on their actions, their flaws, their ennui
Without any thought that it might just be me.

Creatively bankrupt, I couldn't admit
How lost I'd become in self-doubt, too unfit
To exercise truly the duties my post
Demanded. Instead, I grew angry, engrossed
In trivial matters of status and rank—
And "rank" in this case means the same thing as "stank"!
My foolishness that of a child—nay, a brat!—
I sought all outside me for things to combat.

Until on that night, hollowed out and unwell,
I shattered and cracked like some poorly-cast bell.
A lunatic, ignorant, blinded, enraged,
Obsessed with escaping, I kept myself caged,
Awaiting my chance to return all afire
With madness, destruction my only desire.
The world had so wronged me, I knew in my heart,
Equestria had to be taken apart.

Ideas absorbed from some dusty romance,
I crashed into Ponyville, took up my stance,
Let peal my maniacal laughter and shout—
And doomed my pretensions. Of that, there's no doubt.
The shell that entombed me, the lies I embraced,
They crumbled against the true power I faced.
Unbalanced, I needed a push—nothing more—
To shatter me, gasping and sprawled on the floor.

In seeking perfection, I lost all I had.
Accepting their flaws, these six friends beat me bad.
Defeat was a victory—mine, yours and theirs:
I needed a kicking, and these were the mares.
Undaunted, resilient, enchanting, and strong,
They showed me quite clearly how far I'd gone wrong.
The lesson they taught there to welcome me home
Will flourish within me wherever I roam!

Author's Notes:

The pertinent definition of "rhapsody" in this case is An exalted or exaggeratedly enthusiastic expression of feeling in speech or writing. 'Cause if that doesn't sum up Luna, I don't know what does. As for the word hendecasyllable, it's just a fancy Greek way of saying that each line has eleven syllables in it: the meter here, is you want another fancy phrase for it, is anapestic tetrameter acephalectic.

10 - Re: Rhapsody (glosa)

Consider a parchment from here to the moon,
One spreading insistently over the sky.
If somehow I spent ev'ry midafternoon
Inscribing that surface with letter and rune,
A thousand more years would quite swiftly go by
Before I could list even part of the prayers,
The hymns of thanksgiving I've wanted to cry
To those little ponies who rose to defy
The laws I established, untangling my snares!
Defeat was a victory—mine, yours and theirs!

Much greater than anything I'd ever dreamed
Because, my dear Luna, my dreams long before
I'd strangled and stomped since I truly had deemed
Myself as unworthy. My whole future seemed
An ocean of dust, dry and dead, nothing more.
My sunlight grew harsher, less shimmers than glares:
Instead of sweet friendship and warmth at its core,
Each day was a duty, a burden, a chore.
Unconsciously starting to darken the airs,
I needed a kicking, and these were the mares.

How fitting a filly named Twilight would first
Direct a sweet glimmer toward eyes overstrained
By darkness at noontime. I thought myself cursed,
The centuries filling me, ready to burst.
Beholding her marvelous power, I deigned
To lean her direction, and oh, how her song
Enveloped my weakness! Refreshing, she rained
Her love and affection until I regained
My balance. She skewered my heart on her prong,
Undaunted, resilient, enchanting, and strong.

The others as well who were drawn to her side
Embodied the virtues I'd started to lack.
Quixotic, I thought them, and wished to deride
Their efforts to thwart me and my stupid pride—
Except for a whisper that wanted you back.
While most of me clattered and rang like a gong,
My poor, faded hope waged its quiet attack
And helped them fix ev'rything I'd tried to crack.
Forgive me, my sister. I'd wandered so long:
They showed me quite clearly how far I'd gone wrong.

Author's Notes:

The glosa is a poetic form hardly ever found in English--I mean, it doesn't even have a Wikipedia page for me to link to! You write one by taking four lines from another poem, then using this elaborate rhyming structure to write four stanzas each of which ends with one of the quoted lines. It seemed to me to be exactly the sort of poem Celestia would enjoy.

11 - Ain't No Secret (villanelle)

Expect it all, I always say,
And ain't been disappointed yet.
I will until my dying day

Believe there's more that's hid away
Than anypony's ever bet.
Expect it all, I always say.

I've stomped along from fray to fray
And them few things as I regret,
I will until my dying day.

We flow like rivers. Things don't stay
No matter how we whine and fret.
Expect it all, I always say.

From love and trouble, life don't stray,
So why get grouchy and upset?
I will until my dying day

Unleash myself in work or play
And take what happens, wealth or debt.
Expect it all, I always say.
I will until my dying day.

Author's Notes:

The villanelle, so short and with all those repeated lines in it, just had Granny Smith's name all over it.

12 - Farmer's Almanac (triolet)

The dawn arises, silent shod.
We bow, then go our sep'rate ways.
Inspiring with her slightest nod,
The dawn arises, silent shod.
She works the sky; I work the sod,
Together till I end my days.
The dawn arises, silent shod.
We bow, then go our sep'rate ways.

Author's Notes:

And the triolet, even shorter and reusing so many lines, was pretty much designed for Big Mac.