Your Poetry Dot Com - Hoar Frost And Wild Ponies.

Array ( [sid] => 164584 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Hoar Frost And Wild Ponies. [time] => 2011-02-04 03:16:40 [hometext] => On a walk one morning last week I spotted the wild mountain ponies gathered at the edge of a field. The frost was penetrating and harsh. While there a small piece of ice broke on the lake. This is that morning. [bodytext] => Hoar frost and wild ponies conspire
To drain the moor of all resistance.
Flared nostrils and steaming rumps
They gather at the fields edge
And graze the blistered grass.
Through all the silent valley there comes
A pop pop popping sound,
A sound like a gunshot rebounding off the hills.
A piece of the lakes ice puzzle breaks away,
The fractured opening inviting the day to enter
The dark deep water
And the wide yellow stetson of the sun
Takes flight on a hundred slivers of broken ice.
Ears raised, hind hoofs tilted, the ponies murmur,
Their breath etched silver on the advancing day.
Hoar frost loosens its grip, slowly, slightly,
The landscape sighs and the ponies shift
And one by one they edge away into the distant sun.
A snorting, steaming procession,
They follow their shadows, wizened and wearied
By the hoar frost.

[comments] => 3 [counter] => 265 [topic] => 27 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => Corrected spelling as requested ~ Moderator_18 Feb 4, 2011 [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => NaturePoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Hoar Frost And Wild Ponies.

Hoar Frost And Wild Ponies.
Date: Friday, 4th February 2011 @ 03:16:40 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: cashfan1

Hoar frost and wild ponies conspire
To drain the moor of all resistance.
Flared nostrils and steaming rumps
They gather at the fields edge
And graze the blistered grass.
Through all the silent valley there comes
A pop pop popping sound,
A sound like a gunshot rebounding off the hills.
A piece of the lakes ice puzzle breaks away,
The fractured opening inviting the day to enter
The dark deep water
And the wide yellow stetson of the sun
Takes flight on a hundred slivers of broken ice.
Ears raised, hind hoofs tilted, the ponies murmur,
Their breath etched silver on the advancing day.
Hoar frost loosens its grip, slowly, slightly,
The landscape sighs and the ponies shift
And one by one they edge away into the distant sun.
A snorting, steaming procession,
They follow their shadows, wizened and wearied
By the hoar frost.

This poem is Copyright © cashfan1

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