Ponies of the Pocket Veld

Also read about Birds, Snails, Owls, Bees, Foxes and Vultures.

Shy Shinned Pony
Walks on its knees because it doesn’t want you to see its shins.  Avoids any situation where it might have to stand so don’t invite one to anything formal.  Dances are most certainly out.

High Harrumph
Can self-esteem be too high?  Yes.  The high harrumph proves this.  There’s nothing it won’t gallop over.  In fact, you should just roll yourself under its hooves so it doesn’t have to waste any energy on you.

While gallopers tend to prefer open areas so they can get up to speed quickly, the wysterkal insists on the deep, dim woods.  The slower, more carefully one has to go the better.  You miss less and there is much to miss.

While ponies are rather famous for giving rides to people, very few actually seek out such attention.  Ponies are proud.  The dishka, however, is eager to be mounted.  It lives to throw people off.  Hop on.

Holds all manner of smallish things:  pens, salamanders, paper clips, snacks, pencils, quail eggs, mushrooms.  Might be a pocket.

Wrinkle Hoofed Pony
Its broad, grooved hooves give it a good grip on sand.  As you might expect, it thrives in beach and desert environments.  It is also highly prized for arctic expeditions as its hooves have been found to be excellent over ice and snow.  Sled dogs do not care for this development but polar bears are enthusiastically for it.

Low Larrumph
The high harrumph in disguise.  Why don’t you go ahead and roll yourself around under its hooves.  Get yourself nice and trampled.  Why must you make it work for it?  Does it not deserve this honor?

A Place to Start

A question good to live by
Is often better than an answer.
Losing all is worth the try
Of life as take-a-chancer.

For some a pair of dice is paradise
But I don’t go that far.
The dice are cast and will suffice
As a place to start.

But not to end!
If not the day, you have the night!
If neither, then the twilight bend!
To try is what makes right.


Trees aren’t known for growing stones
But one was done with leaves.
It sank its roots in iron bones
And broke from greener trees.

Sand grains grew on every branch,
Becoming pebbles then full grown rocks.
Every breeze chanced avalanche
Or at least a few hard knocks.

This tree grew best on dusty days,
Thrived in lifeless winter.
A living fossil in all grays
That bloomed when hardship entered.

As years gave way to ages
Tree grew a mountain with it at top.
Its Book of Life held stony pages
That were strange and asked – “Why stop?”

Gunk and Grunge

Every child’s born divine,
Let’s please keep that in mind
As I tell you of young Brrine,
Covered in so much slime and grime
He looked to have gone and climbed
Out the chimney of a mine.

Brind was perfectly polluted.
Dumpsters stood up and saluted.
He never walked a pristine path,
His mind a mess of mucky math
On how to gain dull Sterile’s wrath –
Of course he’d never known a bath.

Bryn got grabbed by lucky lunge!
Into the soap and suds he plunged!
They scrubbed for days, weeks, on and on,
They drubbed his grubby gunk and grunge!

If you’ve followed all along
And are clever far beyond
These cleaner people then it’s dawned –
He was gone!

But he hadn’t been expunged.
Brn was now the filthy sponge!

Lay Down in the Woods

Lay down in the woods.
Laid down all her shoulds.

Listened for bird songs.
Loosened absurd wrongs.

Life stirred in the leaves.
Laughter came when she breathed.

Delighted by furred and feathered.
She lightened and was treasured.

The sky’s color poured.
Disguised herself no more.

Forest was there for her.
For us forever after.

Hers and Theirs

Taff fed the birds every day,
Seeds and nuts, honey, pears,
She even grew them flower chairs.

They were hers and she was theirs,
Every day birds flocked to Taff
To sing for her and hear her laugh.

Each were whole in their own half,
Birds did not come to her for seeds,
Taff had no sing-song needs.

Each joyed in the other’s deeds,
Each had perfect parts to play,
Till one day, with them, she flew away.