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Literature
Haiku at Night
Dark.  Eyes snap open
melt into your beating heart
secure in your arms
:iconwhoapony:whoapony
:iconwhoapony:whoapony 1 10
Literature
Natalie
wild precocious heart
always moving at full speed
eyes sparkle mischief
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Title Number Two by whoapony Title Number Two :iconwhoapony:whoapony 1 12
Literature
Dastardly
like a wolf
he surveys the flock,
chooses his prize
target selected
he advances
confident, cunning
weaving his web
with poison tongue
nothing dissuades
this hunter from
claiming his prize
a would be protector
vanquished with his sword
cries of his quarry
her pleas for reprieve
unheeded
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:iconwhoapony:whoapony 4 23
Snow Dogs by whoapony Snow Dogs :iconwhoapony:whoapony 23 13 Too Much Snow by whoapony Too Much Snow :iconwhoapony:whoapony 0 2
Literature
Irish Eyes
When you smile your eyes
smile with you,
flecks of light cavort
across their limpid surface.
I cannot resist
the pull of their gravity,
my heart buoyed
by their reflected luster.
In clandestine moments
your eyes transform,
piercing arrows of desire
sharpened by carnal hunger
penetrating into my veiled depths,
arousing sensations
never before known.
Sometimes your inner turmoil
overwhelms you.  Your eyes
betray your agony.
Pools of heartache.  Years
of bearing anguish for others.
Let me plunge into
your torment, help carry
your ponderous burden
'til your eyes find their
luster once more.
:iconwhoapony:whoapony
:iconwhoapony:whoapony 0 16
Literature
Running
Cement blurs beneath pounding feet,
shoes crunching on brittle ground,
chilling breeze nips ruddy cheeks,
rushes into heaving lungs,
ponytail bouncing in rhythm with
pumping arms, churning legs,
racing heart.
Freedom found
on this open road,
legs moving faster
than racing thoughts.
Temporary relief.
:iconwhoapony:whoapony
:iconwhoapony:whoapony 5 51
Literature
Angst
I prowl the rooms of this empty house
heart throbbing, mind screaming
no respite on the horizon.
If I knew what I needed I would
do it, get it, find it.  Instead
my soul overflows with
Everything and Nothing
all at once.
:iconwhoapony:whoapony
:iconwhoapony:whoapony 3 25
Literature
Empty
all that's left
when the anger is spent
the sadness hasn't yet arrived
and the love has nowhere to land
:iconwhoapony:whoapony
:iconwhoapony:whoapony 7 27
Christmas Joy by whoapony Christmas Joy :iconwhoapony:whoapony 0 2 Cousins by whoapony Cousins :iconwhoapony:whoapony 0 4 Hang Ten by whoapony Hang Ten :iconwhoapony:whoapony 0 6
Literature
Tolerance
You hate that I'm always late
but you can get used to it.
You hate that I always
have a million things going,
but you don't complain too much.
My perpetual singing disturbs your solitude.
You grit your teeth and say nothing,
just another annoyance to bear.
But I don't deserve your indulgence,
tongue clamped between clenched teeth.
I deserve someone who loves
my roller coaster ride, someone
whose face brightens and heart
skips a beat when my music
floats over the air.
Take your superiority, your
Tolerance and get out.
I deserve better than you.
:iconwhoapony:whoapony
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Puppy Christmas by whoapony Puppy Christmas :iconwhoapony:whoapony 3 28
Literature
Tea Time
The sharp whistle of the teapot sent the little girl running into the kitchen.  Her blue eyes danced as she gazed up at the smiling, wrinkled face.  “Grandma, it’s time, isn’t it?”
Gentle eyes smiled their answer.  The grey haired woman took a star crunch out of the package.  She sliced it into quarters and placed the pieces on a plate already half filled with gingersnaps.  Grandmother always cut the star crunch in pieces because she said that way you could feel like you could take several cookies without eating too much.  
The little girl carefully removed the diminutive blue glass pitcher and bowl from the cupboard and brought them over to her grandmother.  Grandmother poured milk into the pitcher until the cool liquid lapped at the scalloped edges.  Then she scooped sugar into the small glass bowl.  Her granddaughter was ready with the tiny silver spoon.  Tarnish l
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:iconwhoapony:whoapony 3 10

Random Favourites

Literature
gems
walking in a light shower
water collects on my skin
my body beaded in moisture
rubies of rain
diamonds of dew
sapphires of stream
pearls of pool
medallions of mist
stones of storm
bejeweled, I lift my
face skyward, smile,
and walk on
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 5 2
Literature
Interchangeable
You used to tell
me that I’m an
affectionate kisser.
I am, in fact,
as you once knew,
affectionate in most things.
You don’t talk to
me like that anymore,
smiling, tender.
For too long now,
I’ve been little
more than
Slot A to
your Tab B,
an easily replaceable
accessory in your
oh-so-busy and
successful life.
I apologize for
the inconvenience
of a break-up,
but I don’t
feel inclined to
spend the next
twenty or thirty
years wasting
my affectionate
kisses on you.
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 4 6
Literature
Touch Me
I don’t know that it’s accurate
to call what I feel for you love.
Goodness - I don’t even
know you; you don’t me.
I guess it’s just plain
old-fashioned lust.
I want to feel your body
on, in, over, around mine.
I suppose that doesn’t
really involve our hearts
though, in honesty,
I’m afraid mine’s
become completely engaged
in the wanting of you.
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 6 2
Literature
Laid Open
I once hurt myself
stringing barbed wire,
the roll unwinding so
fast that I didn’t feel it
scrape my bones.
Life’s like that sometimes.
You don’t realize how
deeply you’ve been cut
until you start to bleed.
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 14 22
Literature
Show Me
show me what it’s like
to throw off the
reins of their
expectations
run
show me what it’s like
to throw off the
meaningless
labels
thrive
show me what it’s like
to throw off the
constraints of my
inhibitions
sing
show me what it’s like
to throw off my
fear of the
dark
dance
show me what it’s like
to throw off my
unwillingness to
accept
trust
show me what it’s like
to throw off the
lies I’ve been
told
believe
show me what it’s like
to throw off my
need for
assurance
love
show me what it’s like
to throw off my
immoderate
modesty
enjoy
show me what it’s like
to throw off the
shackles of my
past
escape
show me what it’s like
to throw my heart
after all I've never
known
risk
show me what it’s like
to throw myself
to the beckoning
winds
fly
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:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 3 10
Literature
Watching
You sleep
and
I watch.
The contours
of your face
please me.
Dark lashes
lay upon
your cheeks.
A five o’clock
shadow shows
itself at noon.
Your lips,
still red from
mine,
are parted
slightly as
you breathe.
The skin
jumps at the
base of your
throat, the
pulse steady
and strong.
I love you.
Your chest
rises and falls
in slow,
deep breaths.
My hand rests
on the firm
muscle as it
moves up and
down without
thought,
involuntary in
its beauty.
I love you.
My fingers
skim softly
across the
warmth
of you, my
eyes drifting
south. The
sheets cover
you, but I
can see
all that
lies hidden
because
I know you,
all of you.
I know
you
so well.
I love you.
Sleep,
yes, sleep,
rest.
Then, when
you awaken,
you’ll love
me again,
love me
as if
you’ve never
loved me
before.
But you have
and you will,
always.
I love you.
Love me, too.
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:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 2 5
Literature
Tintypes
Men and
their women
long dead -
antique
patinas,
black and white,
sepia -
gaze at me
and I weep.
Their eyes
are so deep,
so sad,
so alive
long
after there's
nothing left
but these
faded
images.
I would
that they
yet lived
and could
speak
beyond
the warning
of their
forlorn eyes
that life
ends
too soon.
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:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 16 21
Literature
Rooted
In my front yard, at the corner
where two fence lines meet, sits
a tree - a giant White Oak known
simply as “the oak” despite
its numerous kin nearby.
This tree is big.
As children, my brother, sister,
and I would stand around it,
embracing its roughness
as we felt for each others’
hands, lost in its compass;
it was too much
for us.
Still, we liked hugging it,
its size, its simple existence
so solid and permanent,
made us feel secure.
It refused to be climbed,
rising straight out of the ground,
its girth and smooth,
proud surface free of finger holds,
rendering shimmies to the lower
branches impossible.
Its sheer magnificence
silenced such childish ambitions.
Twice was it topped, its
majesty frightening to small-minded
mortals who feared that a
storm might bring it down
and turn the A-frame to
matchsticks. Even maimed,
nothing could touch it, its
limbs branching out in
calm tranquility, the
accoutrements of a
benevolent potentate.
The years now gone,
everything is change
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Literature
Friends
It’s been a long time
since we had cattle, our
herd sold off when
our prize bull banged out.
But I still remember
those days - happy
times of hard work and
good friends - friends
named Snow White, Blackie,
and Colonel. Colonel - a ton of
Charolais with one curled
horn - answered only to
me. At twelve, I had him
wrapped around my little
finger. I offered range cubes,
and he offered his neck for
a few pats before raising
his head regally and turning
away. No one touched
Colonel but the little girl
with the long blonde hair.
When Satan, a giant Brahma
tame as a dog, came to the
farm, I hated him because
he was so big and bloodied
Colonel up when they fought
over the ladies. I didn’t understand
that the fight was mainly for show -
nothing broken - just superficial
wounds inflicted and taken
as they divvied up their women.
I cried from behind splayed fingers as my
Colonel and his new rival tore at each other
while they tore up the bean field
- the blood plain on his old white coat
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Literature
shattered
a dropped tumbler,
an old favorite -
hand blown bubble glass, blue
disintegrating modestly,
almost noiselessly,
as it kisses hardwood
my breath stills
as I see my heart
reflected sliding away
in cornflower shards
beyond repair
none will drink of it
or me again
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 3 20
Literature
left behind
the house -
gutted by fire,
stand still the walls,
gaping door
the dog -
muddied by rain,
stands in the road
stopping traffic
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 3 22
Literature
Piano Lessons
I used to visit on Thursday afternoons.
Her house smelled of the ‘50’s gone sour,
her baby grand sitting among genteel
antiques in a formal parlor.
The sun fell in the room around
tired blinds, the floating dust glowing
in the silence - the silence of widowed
loneliness on a quiet street.
Painted porcelain and old oils
inhabited the room, our audience
as she tried to train my toneless
fingers the ways of the piano.
Three years she tried without success
to lead me to proficiency; unable to
read the notes, I proved unmusical
but enjoyed our time just the same.
I would watch her hands on the
yellowed keys; veined and spotted,
they still moved with magnificent grace,
solid and sure as they danced through
Beethoven, Chopin, and Joplin.
I continued to walk the path to
her house long after I’d given up
on the piano, and she was ever
glad to see me - reason enough
for me to love her, always.
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
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Literature
She
How is it that we forget who we are?
It should be impossible;
I am the only person who knows me -
really knows me.
That I could forget myself seems
incomprehensible,
but that’s what I did.
How many years might I have continued
denying myself,
the me that had ceased breathing,
had I not had a soft, unexpected brush
with mortality - my life brought instantly into
focus - a sudden tightening, a close-up
of a bleached existence.
Kissing the reaper’s
scythe as it whispered past,
I looked back, seeing the
remnants of myself that littered
the trail; long had I been lost - music,
dance, writing, thought itself…all gone.
I backtrack now, fighting resistance,
growing storms, deepening darkness,
but I struggle on down old roads,
gathering the lost pieces to myself,
breathing myself in,
rebuilding she who once was,
she who will be again.
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 5 12
Literature
Blue Night Skies
Alone, I stand in the
cool evening air, leaning
against the slatted
fence with its peeling paint,
and watch the sky fade
into moonless night.
My favorite time of day, this -
the sun fallen away,  
the stars unborn -
nothing left but
the boundless blue
unique to a night sky.
Deeper than dark water,
seductive as a lover’s eyes,
it reaches for me,
caresses my tired mind
with glimpses of beauty
hidden, brushes my
waning spirit with hopes
of different tomorrows,
stokes the dying embers
of a small life into
a quiet hungering.
And in the azure
silence of twilight, I can
believe its promises.
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Literature
Two Fingers
Old friends are indispensable
to survival - as necessary as breathing.
When times are hard, they
make it possible to go on.
My truest friend offered a room, shelter
should I ever need it, said his wife
would understand.
I smiled.
No, she wouldn’t,
but the offer itself, the knowledge
that I have a place…it’s enough.
He speaks to me of mayflies, of
lives too short, wasted.
He urges caution, practicality, while demanding
that steps be taken, progress, egress out
of the grave I’ve created for myself.
I did a good job (but, then, I always do);
my tomb is comfortable, cozy even,
my dirt as pillowed as freshly turned earth,
a hazy brown softness that blocks
out most of what I don’t want to see.
But he won’t allow it, insistent that
I return to myself, the real me.
He plunges his hands into the
dimness and grabs me by
the shirtfront, dragging me
slowly, surely out of the
pit into which I've fallen.
Layers of life unkind fall
away as he lifts me inch
by inch toward
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Literature
Forsaken
Dying houses
make me sad.
Abandoned, empty,
peeling, falling,
scraps of torn
wallpaper, weed-choked
flowers the only
color left in their lives.
My mind always
pauses over their
beginnings, the pride,
affection, warmth
of the first families
who lived within
when the walls were
stout and the paint fresh.
Now empty, their broken
windows stare out like
traumatized eyes
from dark places, their
cracked foundations and
sagging roofs slowly
giving up, going as
their loved ones
have gone on before them.
:iconBlueskye27:Blueskye27
:iconblueskye27:Blueskye27 5 24

Activity


deviantID

whoapony
I'd rather be riding
United States
Current Residence: Mt Vernon, Iowa
Favourite genre of music: Just about anything
Favourite photographer: Do I have to pick?
Shell of choice: Hermit Crab
Skin of choice: Better not say...
Favourite cartoon character: Bugs Bunny, Road Runner, Kermit the Frog
Personal Quote: "Hope springs eternal. Apparently hope is a slow learner" - Melinda Wichmann
Interests
Does anyone else feel like they can't get as much done as they used to?  I swear I used to get a lot more stuff done in less time.  I must be slowing down in my old age  :lol:

It's been a good spring.  I went to Montserrat, Missouri to watch the Montserrat Poetry Festival.  It was wonderful to meet dA friends I already knew and to meet some new friends as well.  I hope the festival will be able to continue and I can go back again and again.  Thanks so much to :iconmarzguy: for all of his work on the festival and his wonderful hospitality.  Thanks as well to :iconhamletspants: :iconalecbell:  :iconblueskye27:  :iconfrazzled-mage:  :iconcorvidae65: for making the trip to Missouri extra special.  I hope we can all meet up again in the future.

The next big adventure took me to Farmington, IA for a colt starting competition.  I drew a 4 year old, sort of halter broken filly in random draw.  Then I had three hours to start her under saddle on Saturday.  On Sunday I had 45 minutes to work with my filly before riding her in an obstacle course.  It was a really interesting challenge.  I thought I did pretty well with the filly I got.  I'm looking forward to giving it another try next year.

Many thanks to River Valley Lodge www.rivervalleylodgeandcampgro… for their wonderful hospitality and horses.  Also, a huge thank you is in order for :iconhamletspants: for his help, support, and picture taking skills.  Maybe next year I'll bring along a horse of my own so I can use the Horse Wash.  :giggle:

The horse business is slowly picking up.  My horses are making huge strides in their trainng.  School is out so I get to spend almost every day at work with my daughter.  It's wonderful to spend so much quality time with her.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  I love her because she's my daughter.  I like her because she's just a great kid and a lot of fun to be with.  

Anyway, I'm off to work.  I've procrastinated too long already. :)  I will be catching up slowy but surely on dA if it kills me.  :lol:
  • Listening to: The voices in my head
  • Reading: On Hilter's Mountain by Irmgard Hunt
  • Watching: Spongebob. Sigh
  • Playing: with my daughter
  • Eating: cereal
  • Drinking: Mountain Dew soon

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconfiregold:
firegold Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2010  Professional Photographer
Thank you so much for the watch :+devwatch:
Reply
:iconhamletspants:
hamletspants Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2009
Thanks, my DA stalker lady :D

Stalkers is fun.
Reply
:iconwhoapony:
whoapony Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2009
Stalking is fun :rofl:
Reply
:iconhamletspants:
hamletspants Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2009
Thanks for faves, comments, modeling and sense of humor. You rock.
Reply
:iconwhoapony:
whoapony Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2009
:aww: Thanks darlin'.
Reply
:icon1001g:
1001G Featured By Owner Jul 6, 2009
:blowkiss: ty for the fav
Reply
:iconwhoapony:
whoapony Featured By Owner Jul 10, 2009
You're welcome, Edie :heart:
Reply
:icon1001g:
1001G Featured By Owner Jul 10, 2009
:iconmypleasure:
Reply
:iconpoetrymann:
Poetrymann Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2009  Professional Writer
Thanks for taking the time to view and fave my work. I really appreciate it!
Reply
:iconwhoapony:
whoapony Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2009
You're most welcome, Brendan!
Reply
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