Pony Poems and Prose

King of the Horses

A front hoof strikes a challenge. I hold my breath as the stallion made from puffy white clouds tosses his head.

My mount, a shifty old bay, leans away from the stallion, telling me he wants no part of the battle the stallion is signaling.

I take in every rippling muscle, every tensed tendon.

His tail swishes in annoyance. He wants a fight. He wants my mount to make a move to take his harem of mares. I know that if we give him that, he will surely fight to the death with my horse. Surely, he will win.

His seven girlfriends, all grazing behind him, take no notice. The horse is like a defendant boy, protecting all the girls he likes. Except for the fact this boy is a fierce stallion on the range and all his girls are mares. His daughters and even his mother graze behind him as well. His only sons, two long legged gawky yearlings, stare at their father trembling before him.

He screams another challenge. The stallion isn’t a bloodthirsty beast; he is a simple range stallion, wanting to be the only dominating male. To do that, even my old stallion must fall.

“Goodbye.” I call. “Goodbye, King of the Horses.”

Horse Poll

Old Pony

Old Pony

Pony

BY PONYPERSON

He stands in the crossties.  His unruly black hair is long. His large brown eyes scan the scene before him. This horse, no, it’s a pony, has had a long life, I decide. This pony has seen many things.

I walk past the scene. A groom has spilled a water bucket and the stable manager is yelling at him.

The pony gazes lovingly at me, even though it’s the first time the little black equine has seen me.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” I whisper.

“Get away from that pony unless you’re buying it.” The stable manager growls, still upset about the water bucket.

“I will buy him.”

“He will be cheap, I suppose. After all, the ancient thing was given to us. We shall give him to you.” The stable manager snaps a lead rope onto the pony’s rope halter.

“Thank you. What is his name?”

“Black Pony.”

The poor thing may as well have been named Equine.

I lead the pony from the barn. With some work, he will be beautiful.

I turn the pony out in our field. He is deadly thin and dirty.

I go into the barn to get some brushes. I feel as if I know the pony in a strange way.

Suddenly I hear hooves behind me. I spin around to see the black pony, proud as a shiny new penny, standing behind me. No gates are open. He jumped the five foot fence!

I know who this pony is. It is Black Jack, the champion pony, the only pony to make it nationals and win. This is an old fourteen hand champion.

My Final Review of Mr. Heinz’s Class

The Best thing about this class has been taking a break from normal classes! Me and my friend Katie can chat as we work on some fantabulous iBook G4 laptops.

The only thing that could be improved: NOTHING! THIS CLASS IS AMAZING!!!!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!

I am best at creating posts, I think. I am good at typing things and I loved ComicLife. I think I was good at it, too.

I could probably do better at the Pages project. I don’t understand it that well, and I don’t remember it! AHH!

I think Mr. Heinz’s teaching is great! The stupid zoo trip does NOT matter all!

Okay, time for a AWESOME POLL! ANSWER TRUTHFULLY!