I’ve always wanted a horse, for as long as I can remember.
A red male horse, with a long, red mane and tail.
I would call him Ponyboy, named after the protagonist in the book, “The Outsiders.”
He was a one-trick-pony. And the trick wasn’t even that good. I snickered to myself as I thought about it. Downing my whiskey, I put my hat on and stood up from the stool. I staggered a bit as I began to walk to the bathroom. Woah. I guess I drank more than I thought I had. The floor was really close all of a sudden.
Sleep is like a magical carpet
floating beneath you,
as your roll along the clouds
in the sweet night sky.
Birds held up
in trees,
going into a deep slumber,
falling like a feather
onto a bed of grass.
Looking at the stars
as they graze past us
at the speed of nothingness.
Motionless.
one day,there was a pony.the pony was small and beautiful.everyone loved its fur.everyone was willing to buy it for more then a hundred bucks.one day,the pony met an accident.no one cared about it.they all just ignored it and left it on the road.the pony’s spirit haunted them and killed them all
All she wants is a pony for her birthday, but she’ll never get one. She dreams big, digging deeper into her mind. As others around her pull themselves out of their minds, she is still living in her head.
Buy me a pony. Then I know you truely care. By me a pony so I’ll never forget to remember you’re there. Something to support me and show me each day. Buy me a pony. There’s no other way.
I once met a beautiful pony named skey. Skey had a really nice mane and could trot very nicely. One day, i couldn’t find Skey anymore… I don’t know where she went. She was officially gone, officially…. not mine anymore.
Everyone speaks of getting a pony… well i had one.. but not anymore.
i loved ponies when i was a kid – pony rides were what i wanted to share with my kids. i remember going horse riding and being given a horse that was small like a pony and i was humiliated. i wanted a big horse. today when i thinke of a pony i think of those little horses.
Bronnies. Kid in my class is 100% bronnie ’cause I saw him watching a My Little Pony episode on the computer. Honestly, who raised this kid so he can have an attraction to some stupid little girls show not intended for mature audiences?
I’m a glutton.
I like any kind of sweets,
I love sour candy,
and dark
as dark chocolate can be.
I like red meat
and if I could eat it
raw without a consequence
I would do so easily.
I don’t drink,
and I don’t smoke,
and I don’t assume
copious amounts of Coke.
I have a problem
and I know it.
But it’s better than getting
lung cancer
or driving while I’m drunk,
or getting run over.
I know I’m a hypocrite
to some extent,
but at least I know it.
And even though I’m bad at writing,
at least I know I’m a poet.
I had this pony in my backyard. He died once my father fed it carrots and whiskey. God, he was such a drunkard. But I had loved that pony–in all its white hair and brown legs. I would take him everywhere… until dad killed it. I remember there was rain while I was riding my pony up the moor to see my grandmother. She was dying. But dad didn’t care about her, nor about me.
Lenga. Shoam’s pony with a star illuminating her forehead and white socks round his ankles. Breath steaming, coat gleaming, the moon lit the path ahead of us threaded through the Andes like stitches of silver leading to the star named Cassiopeia.
Ride ze pony first, boys and girls. Take it easy now. We’ll get to gallop soon enough. Let’s start with the trot first. I promise these first moments; these first steps will make a difference. Enjoy the trot for now, you’ve got eternity after all.
I am not a fan of ponies. I know some people are very attracted to horses and such but I have never had that inclination. I don’t now, nor have I ever wanted a pony. I’ver ridden horses a few times but don’t really care if I ever do that again.
I wouldn’t dare ride such a sensitive child of nature. I will just want it to accompany me for a walk in the valley, until we find our own Giving Tree, the Fountain of Youth–whatever it is that will make us happy. Let’s take our leave. Hopefully soon.
“Daddy, can I have a pony?” Tyler looked back in surprise at Tessalee, who sat on the ground, playing with the dancing ball of light, which she had molded into a little horse.
“Sure, Tess,” responded Tyler tiredly. “If Daddy can find a pony.”
“Mommy had a pony, didn’t she?” asked Tessa. “She had to. She was rich!”
“Yes, she was rich,” replied Tyler quietly. “But she didn’t have a pony, Tessa. Her mother didn’t like ponies.”
“That’s sad,” replied Tessa. “Grandmother Duleaux didn’t like anything. Not even Mommy. That’s what Matthew says.”
A small tear formed on the edge of Tyler’s eye, and he wiped it away. He smiled over at his daughter.
“Yes, Tessa,” he murmured. “That’s right.”
They were gone. The two people I loved most in the world. I would now never hear her say, “Dad, can I have a pony?” I will never hear my wife say, “I love you.” ever again. I will have my revenge.
“Oh I love him!” the little girl bounced happily over to the chubby Shetland, and the pony made a wuffling noise as she petted his nose. His mane and tail were almost fluffy, and flopped over his eyes in a roguish way. “I’ll call him…. Blackie! How do you like that, boy?” She kissed his nose and hugged his neck.
i once had a pony. he was small and cuddly. but that pony turned out to be nothing else but a giant horse in a land of over ambitious ants. and soon, he would meet his downfall.
Food was nearly nonexistant, and at the moment she was starving. Her dog, chickens, and even her neighbor’s palomino pony were long gone. Now she was little more than skin streached over pointed cheekbones and ribs with a gaping maw of sharp teeth, frustrated that there was nothing left to sink them into. She had already tried to eat her left shoe, but leather was so unsatisfactory in her hollow stomach when faced with the memory of fresher foods.
But her hunger-dimmed senses now told her she hadn’t long to wait.
After all, good samaritans always tasted the best.
I jumped up and down, mimicking he little girl. She wanted to ride “the horseyyy.” I wanted to go home. But, her mom was the one paying for this little trip to the festival, so I let her get in line. I sighed as we waited for her turn. It was worth it when I saw who the horse handler was.
my little pony, friendship is magic. i don’t like pinkie pie as much. fluttershy is cool, but obnoxiously shy sometimes. i don’t remember the vain one’s name. OH! rainbow dash is pretty cool, she has wings. apple jack? is that her name? she’s a hick country pony. i hate country.
the american south is the largest eugenics project in history, those racist traitors have been selectively inbreeding ever since we kicked their asses to the curb, and it shows.
I’ve always disliked it when people use “cute” names smaller or younger versions of animals. And then I developed more of a relationship with my favorite horse, and, before I quite realized what I was doing, began to walk out to his paddock and chirp “Hello, pony!”
“Pony up,” he said. “You lost.”
I hadn’t even played yet. Why do boys do this? They push and push, nag and nag. Everyone’s attention must always be on them, even when it is not their turn.
“Let me finish before you decide that,” I replied, putting down my hand. “Don’t you have anything to say now?” I asked after the moment of silence had passed.
Ponies are fragile. They’re butter yellow and caramel brown; they prance and blow in the wind. They are small. I don’t understand them; they are delicate creatures, surprisingly for they are the beasts of our earth.
Pony up. Pony for your daughter? why? which all this excess. Let the animal be free and the human be humble…pony. Be free pony. Be free human. It’s the wisest way to be for both.
“… stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni.”
Um… what? I’m going to have to look that up. There must be a story behind it.
* Ok got it: In the 18th century, “Macaroni” was British slang for a type of overdressed high society person. The Yankee Doodle song was meant to insult colonists by suggesting that Yankees were so clueless and backwards that they could stick a feather in a cap, and believe that simple addition would elevate the cap (and themselves) to a level of high fashion comparable to the “Macaronis.” Rather than take offense, colonists embraced the song and sang it with pride.
My guess is the colonists did that to annoy the British during battle. It’s kind of funny if you think about it. Imagine the insult was something more relatable to today. Imagine a warring country called the other side a bunch of clowns. Then imagine that other side dressed themselves up as clowns as they pummeled their opposition!
It was coming down to the wire. I’d known ahead of time that in the end I’d have to pony up for what I’d borrowed, but two months sounded like such a long time when I’d made the agreement.
i like pony. the are very sweat and most of the girls in the world love ponys. but i dont want to have a pony. i like other animals like monkeys. i would love to have a monkey like aladdin and i would like to be jasmine! oh small ti
I’ve always wanted a horse, for as long as I can remember.
A red male horse, with a long, red mane and tail.
I would call him Ponyboy, named after the protagonist in the book, “The Outsiders.”
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He was a one-trick-pony. And the trick wasn’t even that good. I snickered to myself as I thought about it. Downing my whiskey, I put my hat on and stood up from the stool. I staggered a bit as I began to walk to the bathroom. Woah. I guess I drank more than I thought I had. The floor was really close all of a sudden.
Sleep is like a magical carpet
floating beneath you,
as your roll along the clouds
in the sweet night sky.
Birds held up
in trees,
going into a deep slumber,
falling like a feather
onto a bed of grass.
Looking at the stars
as they graze past us
at the speed of nothingness.
Motionless.
one day,there was a pony.the pony was small and beautiful.everyone loved its fur.everyone was willing to buy it for more then a hundred bucks.one day,the pony met an accident.no one cared about it.they all just ignored it and left it on the road.the pony’s spirit haunted them and killed them all
All she wants is a pony for her birthday, but she’ll never get one. She dreams big, digging deeper into her mind. As others around her pull themselves out of their minds, she is still living in her head.
Buy me a pony. Then I know you truely care. By me a pony so I’ll never forget to remember you’re there. Something to support me and show me each day. Buy me a pony. There’s no other way.
I once met a beautiful pony named skey. Skey had a really nice mane and could trot very nicely. One day, i couldn’t find Skey anymore… I don’t know where she went. She was officially gone, officially…. not mine anymore.
Everyone speaks of getting a pony… well i had one.. but not anymore.
Pony is an animal that kids just loves to see. it’s an animal that we love to ride.
i loved ponies when i was a kid – pony rides were what i wanted to share with my kids. i remember going horse riding and being given a horse that was small like a pony and i was humiliated. i wanted a big horse. today when i thinke of a pony i think of those little horses.
Bronnies. Kid in my class is 100% bronnie ’cause I saw him watching a My Little Pony episode on the computer. Honestly, who raised this kid so he can have an attraction to some stupid little girls show not intended for mature audiences?
I’m a glutton.
I like any kind of sweets,
I love sour candy,
and dark
as dark chocolate can be.
I like red meat
and if I could eat it
raw without a consequence
I would do so easily.
I don’t drink,
and I don’t smoke,
and I don’t assume
copious amounts of Coke.
I have a problem
and I know it.
But it’s better than getting
lung cancer
or driving while I’m drunk,
or getting run over.
I know I’m a hypocrite
to some extent,
but at least I know it.
And even though I’m bad at writing,
at least I know I’m a poet.
I had this pony in my backyard. He died once my father fed it carrots and whiskey. God, he was such a drunkard. But I had loved that pony–in all its white hair and brown legs. I would take him everywhere… until dad killed it. I remember there was rain while I was riding my pony up the moor to see my grandmother. She was dying. But dad didn’t care about her, nor about me.
Lenga. Shoam’s pony with a star illuminating her forehead and white socks round his ankles. Breath steaming, coat gleaming, the moon lit the path ahead of us threaded through the Andes like stitches of silver leading to the star named Cassiopeia.
ok
Brown small horse. It’s very cute. Looks like a horse but miniature…. It’s a four letter word…. Starts with P and ends with Y…..
Ride ze pony first, boys and girls. Take it easy now. We’ll get to gallop soon enough. Let’s start with the trot first. I promise these first moments; these first steps will make a difference. Enjoy the trot for now, you’ve got eternity after all.
The pony was a new one. Nimble on his legs. He frolicked about, happy to be. Smiling and free. How cute he was , brown and white and grey.
I am not a fan of ponies. I know some people are very attracted to horses and such but I have never had that inclination. I don’t now, nor have I ever wanted a pony. I’ver ridden horses a few times but don’t really care if I ever do that again.
A pony is a little horse that are really pretty.
I wouldn’t dare ride such a sensitive child of nature. I will just want it to accompany me for a walk in the valley, until we find our own Giving Tree, the Fountain of Youth–whatever it is that will make us happy. Let’s take our leave. Hopefully soon.
“Daddy, can I have a pony?” Tyler looked back in surprise at Tessalee, who sat on the ground, playing with the dancing ball of light, which she had molded into a little horse.
“Sure, Tess,” responded Tyler tiredly. “If Daddy can find a pony.”
“Mommy had a pony, didn’t she?” asked Tessa. “She had to. She was rich!”
“Yes, she was rich,” replied Tyler quietly. “But she didn’t have a pony, Tessa. Her mother didn’t like ponies.”
“That’s sad,” replied Tessa. “Grandmother Duleaux didn’t like anything. Not even Mommy. That’s what Matthew says.”
A small tear formed on the edge of Tyler’s eye, and he wiped it away. He smiled over at his daughter.
“Yes, Tessa,” he murmured. “That’s right.”
They were gone. The two people I loved most in the world. I would now never hear her say, “Dad, can I have a pony?” I will never hear my wife say, “I love you.” ever again. I will have my revenge.
The pony had a coat of many colors.
“Oh I love him!” the little girl bounced happily over to the chubby Shetland, and the pony made a wuffling noise as she petted his nose. His mane and tail were almost fluffy, and flopped over his eyes in a roguish way. “I’ll call him…. Blackie! How do you like that, boy?” She kissed his nose and hugged his neck.
i once had a pony. he was small and cuddly. but that pony turned out to be nothing else but a giant horse in a land of over ambitious ants. and soon, he would meet his downfall.
but still, he always enjoys a good lollipop
she picks up the brush and begins the chore. Atleast she finally had something of her own. Something to call ‘mine’.
Food was nearly nonexistant, and at the moment she was starving. Her dog, chickens, and even her neighbor’s palomino pony were long gone. Now she was little more than skin streached over pointed cheekbones and ribs with a gaping maw of sharp teeth, frustrated that there was nothing left to sink them into. She had already tried to eat her left shoe, but leather was so unsatisfactory in her hollow stomach when faced with the memory of fresher foods.
But her hunger-dimmed senses now told her she hadn’t long to wait.
After all, good samaritans always tasted the best.
Pony up!
My little ponies
Pony party
I had a pony when I was a little girl. Bitsy. I would ride her while my mom and dad rode their horses.
Wandering, wandering.
Thinking about the moon,
how the sun is the only thing that illuminates it..
It rays flutter down upon me,
I look up.
I it’s light, I see a small, white creature.
It stole my breath and I whispered to it..
“Majestic…”
I jumped up and down, mimicking he little girl. She wanted to ride “the horseyyy.” I wanted to go home. But, her mom was the one paying for this little trip to the festival, so I let her get in line. I sighed as we waited for her turn. It was worth it when I saw who the horse handler was.
my little pony, friendship is magic. i don’t like pinkie pie as much. fluttershy is cool, but obnoxiously shy sometimes. i don’t remember the vain one’s name. OH! rainbow dash is pretty cool, she has wings. apple jack? is that her name? she’s a hick country pony. i hate country.
the american south is the largest eugenics project in history, those racist traitors have been selectively inbreeding ever since we kicked their asses to the curb, and it shows.
I’ve always disliked it when people use “cute” names smaller or younger versions of animals. And then I developed more of a relationship with my favorite horse, and, before I quite realized what I was doing, began to walk out to his paddock and chirp “Hello, pony!”
“Pony up,” he said. “You lost.”
I hadn’t even played yet. Why do boys do this? They push and push, nag and nag. Everyone’s attention must always be on them, even when it is not their turn.
“Let me finish before you decide that,” I replied, putting down my hand. “Don’t you have anything to say now?” I asked after the moment of silence had passed.
Ponies are fragile. They’re butter yellow and caramel brown; they prance and blow in the wind. They are small. I don’t understand them; they are delicate creatures, surprisingly for they are the beasts of our earth.
Pony up. Pony for your daughter? why? which all this excess. Let the animal be free and the human be humble…pony. Be free pony. Be free human. It’s the wisest way to be for both.
Pony
“… stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni.”
Um… what? I’m going to have to look that up. There must be a story behind it.
* Ok got it: In the 18th century, “Macaroni” was British slang for a type of overdressed high society person. The Yankee Doodle song was meant to insult colonists by suggesting that Yankees were so clueless and backwards that they could stick a feather in a cap, and believe that simple addition would elevate the cap (and themselves) to a level of high fashion comparable to the “Macaronis.” Rather than take offense, colonists embraced the song and sang it with pride.
My guess is the colonists did that to annoy the British during battle. It’s kind of funny if you think about it. Imagine the insult was something more relatable to today. Imagine a warring country called the other side a bunch of clowns. Then imagine that other side dressed themselves up as clowns as they pummeled their opposition!
So… completely un-pasta related. Who knew?
A pony, really? What am I supposed to do with this?
It was coming down to the wire. I’d known ahead of time that in the end I’d have to pony up for what I’d borrowed, but two months sounded like such a long time when I’d made the agreement.
i like pony. the are very sweat and most of the girls in the world love ponys. but i dont want to have a pony. i like other animals like monkeys. i would love to have a monkey like aladdin and i would like to be jasmine! oh small ti