twilightpony: Big tree with windows and door, fall foliage (Default)
Last spring I quoted a passage from The Hayloft Song of J. Alfafafed Poolrock. It was Hearts and Hooves day which may be why I felt the need to quote poetry.

Chemistry.

The point is that I promised Borglord that I'd find a copy and write it out for him (or her). Well, here you go!

The Hayloft Song of J. Alfalfafed Poolrock By T.S. Celerybit

Let us gallop, you and I,
When Celestia has painted up the sky
Like a red dirt appaloosian in too small a stable;
Let us trot, to where pastures and forest meet,
Grass whispering at our feet
Of uneven ground hiding pitfall wells
And grazing soured by wood sorrels:
Errant trees with branches bent
On shade making commitment
To doubt and your hesitation...
Neigh, do not shy or fidget
Through the brambles let's go visit.

In the clearing the stallions go
Talking of Mare. E. Angelo

The gentle breeze that perches in your mane
The gentle breeze that rustles gently in your mane
Licked the brambles to judge their seasoning
Lingered over flowers still wet from the rains,
Carried the dust that falls from evergreen trees,
Slipped from the forest, just for a small peek,
And seeing the night sky where the stars sparkle bright
Nestled in behind your ear, so small and meek.

And indeed there will be room
For the gentle breeze that's such a treat,
Riding gently in your mane;
There will be room, there will be room
To graze the grasses and choose the grasses you can eat;
A place to bite and a place to bait,
And place for bridles, bits and rope
That lead you blinkered toward your fate;
Room for you and room for me,
And room yet for jostling for position
And for incursion and recursion
Before rejoining the company.

In the clearing the stallions go
Talking of Mare E. Angelo.

And indeed there will be room
To wander, a little here, a little there
Backing away from too dominant a mare,
With an eye twitch and an ear droop from her stare--
[They will nicker: "She will never fit in!"]
My glossy coat, my mane fixed with a silver pin
My rich aroma of crushed lavender, freshly rolled in--
[They will nicker: "Her flanks are too thin"]
Am I mare
Enough to be adverse?
In a space there is room
For notions and motions both forward and in reverse.

For I have roamed them all already, roamed them all;
Have roamed the roadways, forest paths, avenues,
My steps wear a rut along the path that I choose;
I roam the scents that crawl to their owners' call
Beyond the leaf curtain with their perfume.
So what rank dare I assume?

And I have roamed the words, roamed them all--
The words that lead you pursed lipped into a maze,
And when I am roped, trapped and penned,
When I am penned and cribbing on my stall,
Then through the yoke how do I tend
To signaling my experience and my worth?
And what rank dare I assume?

And I have known the necks already, known them all--
Necks that are arched and delicate and fair
[But with manes that cascaded with extended hair!]
Is it sight of a braided tress
That wills me to confess?
Necks that lie of home and stable, or drape on one and all.
And a rank dare I then assume?
And whose friendship do I win?
. . . . .

Shall I say, I have breathed the musk where grass and forest meets
And watched fireflies rise in blinking flights
On lonely twilight eves, weaving through the shadows?...

I should have been a pair of blue skin wings
Fluttering silently in the night breeze.
. . . . .

And the earth, the soil, beckons so invitingly!
Powdered to dust,
Soft... clingy... or it turns all to rust,
Stamped out in the glade, here beside you and me.
Should I, after teasing and styles and perms,
Kneel down and roll in the castings of worms?
But though I have stamped and mingled and stamped and displayed,
Though I have had my back (sagging slightly) piled high with blather,
I am no mule--and it's not what I'd rather;
I have seen my pace slide behind mares who were quicker,
And I have seen them look back in amusement, and nicker,
And left back, I obeyed.

And would it have been worth it, to stand tall,
After the jostling, the looks, the glee,
Among the fancy hats, who look down long noses at you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have summoned false charm and guile,
To kick down the door to my stall
To fling it toward the court in session,
To say: "I am Equus, the mare in red,
Come back to lead you all, I shall lead you all"
If one, with a dismissive toss of her head,
Should say, "You are not fit to lead at all.
Not fit to lead a herd, at all."

And would it have been worth it, to stand tall,
Would it have been worth while,
After the brambles and the clearing and the woodland meets,
After the baubles, after the gossip, after the long eyelashes that I wore--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to neigh just what I mean!
But as if by magic my desire were laid bare like a Changeling Queen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, with a dismissive toss or in a mocking drawl,
And turning to the meadow, should say:
"You are not fit to lead a herd at all,
Not fit to lead, at all."
. . . . .

No! I am not a Princess aspirant, nor was meant to be;
Am an attentive mare, one that will do
To widen the path, test that what is new
Write to the Princess; clearly, on rule,
Deferential, quill of a goose,
Blue ink, no fuss, and luxurious;
Full of flourish, but not too loose;
Strong, succinct, almost spurious--
Almost, at times, the mule.

I grow old... I grow old...
I shall trim my mane and wear it rolled.

Do I share my mind? Do I dare to teach?
I shall linger in the taller grasses, and sample some of each.
I have seen the pegasi hovering, just out of reach.

I do not think they will land for me.

I have seen them riding clouds toward dawn
Combining the white clouds with the dawn at their back
When one horizon is silver and the other is black.

We have lingered in the wild meadows of the Everfree
By untamed things and giant weeds of red and brown
Till Celestia leads us, back to town.

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