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January Story & Poem Entries Note: Winning stories and poems will be published in Pony Pals Magazine. All entries must be original, meaning that the member who enters them must have written the text. To be eligible the story or poem must have a horse or pony in it someplace. Stories should be suitable for all ages, including younger members. All entries published in the Magazine will earn 500 Wiggins Bucks, the best stories and poems will earn 3000 Wiggins bucks and trophy for the writer.

January Story & Poem Entries Note: Winning stories and poems will be published in Pony Pals Magazine. All entries must be original, meaning that the member who enters them must have written the text. To be eligible the story or poem must have a horse or pony in it someplace. Stories should be suitable for all ages, including younger members. All entries published in the Magazine will earn 500 Wiggins Bucks, the best stories and poems will earn 3000 Wiggins bucks and trophy for the writer.	Jane Crandal & JB
2014-12-31 19:21:48
True Friendship; Never Broken by Roncy A galloping horse with a mane so fine; A coat that gleams and shimmers and shines. She runs so freely; Nothing can stop her; Except for one thing that brings her much sorrow. She never grows weak until her mind goes to the friend she wants to take through meadows. Even she gets sad and sometimes wants a friend; A friend to stick with her, all the way to the end. Then she sees a shadow over there by the gate! She looks slightly closer; It's not the man that she hates! A young girl stands watching as the horse greets her kindly; She smiles and says, "You are mine, finally!" If horses could cry, she would now and here; Not out of sorrow, but out of great cheer. The man that had owned her never really cared; He just wanted the money that he'd get from that mare! The horse remembered the day the girl came through the door of the farm; She jumped up and down, and said, "Please, I've waited so long!" "Oh, I want her, Mom! Please? I'd care for her!" "She's too expensive," the mom said as they walked along. She kept going back and begging some more, but the mom shook her head sadly, and they walked out the door. Many times they returned, and the girl said "hi", but in the usual manner left. They never had enough money to buy. "What about this one?" the mother would say, but the girl's answer was the same: "No. I only like that one, the one by the hay." Finally, oh, finally, she was led out of her stall; Into the trailer covered by the leaves of Fall. Off they went, as the man counted the money as happy as the horse and girl that day; They knew they were meant to be together, and through God they found a way.	Roncy & Bertone
2015-01-03 20:22:09
I would like to Gallop on a Beach By: Emma Puppypaw I would like to see, the emptiness of the beach around me, like the emptiness of a black hole. I would like to hear, the screeching calls of seagulls telling us to gallop faster, like the crowds at a football game. I would like to touch, the silky and tangled enchantment of my horse's mane, like the tangled enchantment of tree branches. I would like to smell, the salty breeze whipping through my hair, like someone walking towards a giant fan. I would like to taste, the wildness or the horse beneath me, like the wildness of the salty spray of sea.	Emma Puppypaw & Snowbird
2015-01-04 17:59:18
NOTE: Does not mention horses or ponies, sorry. This is an inspired poem and means a lot to me. =) Title: The Little Fairy Bugs By: Horsesforever12 When the sun decides its time to set And the pools of gold upon the ground All melt away and no longer beset And the breeze hardly dares to make a sound A moment of rapture and unutterable elegance Seems to overtake the forest realm; Even the daunting dusk pauses in hesitance And every being watches...from the shrub to the elm They are so still and so very severe It is as if they are all holding their breath For if they exhale they somehow fear That the glorious moment would be dead. Then, all at once, the hour arrived The forest shivered with anticipation As the dainty creatures specked the skies What they are or what they do, I have no notion I call them little fairy bugs For if they could talk I think they would Every time they appear my heart gives a tug To go out and stand in the shadowy wood. They wear little blue gowns fringed with white The lightest blue ever thought of or made Like the azure sky before the night Or a mirror-like pool in which you dare not wade Their wings are delicate like the drop of dew Or a breath of breeze or a ladybug sigh The details and the beauty I cannot share with you But no matter how small, they make themselves fly I know not if they're smart or even keen, But something makes me wonder Of why they're never seen Or why people don't wake from their blind slumber And go outside to see The little fairy bugs flitting here and there, Not a care in the world and almost filled with glee. They do not wonder if they're ugly or fair They only do what they know to do, And that is to simply exist. Why this is their destiny, I cannot tell you But their small little lives are but vapor or mist One moment their tiny hearts are beating The next they are dead and soulless Am I saying their lives have no meaning? No, nothing in God's creation is worthless But it triggers the mind to contemplate And to brood and even contradict Of why God would create a being just to wait And watch it flutter along only for His benefit. Every day and every hour, All around the entire world People hold the chosen power To tell a tale and make a story told Of what they saw out in the wood And of the little fairy bugs And of how they learned and understood That it never helps to be smug And take life for the granted. For just like the winged creatures Who's main purpose is just to intend To let God know that He is greater and they are meeker Is how we should act each and every day Because we also are meant to exist We have a purpose and an ordained pathway But like the little fairy bugs, our lives are but a mist. ~This poem was based off of a small blue, winged creature I saw flitting about during the dawn and dusk. If you go outside and look about during this time, you might just see them yourself.~	Horsesforever12 & Jedi
2015-01-04 21:18:10
Hi, Can I post more than 1? Thanks! ~Emma Puppypaw	Emma Puppypaw & Snowbird
2015-01-05 03:35:20
By Nat2 The moment I enter the stable I know something is wrong. Chase stands by the tack room with a confused expression on her face. Chase is short for Madeline Rose Ann-Marie, which isn't even her full name. I know, I know. The name Chase has nothing to do with a long moniker like Madeline Rose Ann-Marie, but she was so desperate for kids to stop calling her Maddie that in second grade she flipped the dictionary open and pointed to a random page. Chase meant to pursue, she told me later, but it was also short for "steeplechase", which was her favorite race of all time. I still call her Maddie to embarrass her in front of Alyss, the popular girl at the lesson stable we go to. She's tripped me countless times when she was seeking revenge for a particular name-calling streak. "Chase, what's wrong with you?" I ask as I sidle up behind her and flip her blond hair, which is tied up with a frayed blue ribbon. She turns and stares at me. "Morning, Lou," she says very slowly, almost as if she's worried she'll forget how to talk if she speaks too fast. Lou is short for Lucy Susan-Grace, which isn't MY full name either. If we have one thing in common, it's eccentric parents. "You know that buckskin we got in yesterday? Lady Lucia?" "Yeah," I respond slowly, watching her every move. She's tall and thin and has these long fingers on a pair of hands too big even for her 17-year-old frame. Those fingers twist around in complex knots while she fiddles with the braided hay-string belt that keeps her too-big work jeans up. "Well, it seems Lady Lucia's handlers are very kind," she says carefully. "They supplied her with her tools and a blanket and leg wraps and all sorts of wonderful things. . ." "Yes?" I say, urging her on. Her big green eyes stare into my brown ones. She forms her next words with even more care. If that is even possible. "They are very nice people, the Andersons," she says. "Very nice to their children - their son Scott got a full college scholarship and he hasn't even finished high school yet, and their daughter Andrea got her own car for her birthday, and she's not even finished with college - so they must be nice to their animals too. . ." "Chase!" I say in exasperation. "What's wrong?" She bites her lip and gives me an unimpressive grin. "They forgot Lady Lucia's tack." "Shoot," is all I can manage to say at the moment. Then I glance into the tack room. "Well, she can borrow some of Georgia's tack, she's about the right size. Or Lupa and Dallas Dude-" "Dallas Duds," Chase corrects me, impeccable despite her frazzled expression. "Yeah, him too," I reply. "Or maybe the twins, Jolt and Bacie. They're Lady Lucia's size, aren't they? Jolt isn't using her Organdy tack, and Bacie can't be ridden until her leg heals." "That's all well and good," Chase says while she shakes her head. "But the Andersons have left us very specific instructions so we know how to take care of Lady Lucia-" she tugs a crumpled sheet of paper from her pocket and squints at the top of it. "'Correctly and gently because of her fragile health.'" She hands the paper to me. For a moment I stare at it, wondering if this thing in my hand is a reality or a dream. She must have her own tack. Her own tools. Her own brushes, her own feed, her own stall, her own blanket, her own hay, her own paddock, her own course, her own rider, her own trailer, her own. . . "She can't share the other horses' tack because of fleas?" I sputter. "Our horses don't have fleas!" "Unfortunate, because they're withdrawing their in-advance payment on the first of May if we don't make sure Lady Lucia has everything and anything she could possibly need or want," Chase says primly, her lips tight with annoyance. I give the sheet of paper back to her. "We can't afford that," I spit out, mad at the Andersons, not at her, though the way I look at her makes her think otherwise. "Well, sorry, Lou, but it's that or close down all summer, when business booms cuz school's out," she says slowly, one eyebrow raised. "Which will it be, Lou? Call the Andersons, chew them out, and ship off Lady Lucia with a good-bye to your current troubles? Or do we resolve this by breaking open our rainy-day fund?" For once I can't help glare at the devilish grin on her face while she watches me squirm.	Nat2 & The Price of Valor
2015-01-05 04:05:32
A Brumby Tale ~ Part One: Crystal’s POV By Starlitluna Born free, run free. ~Crystal *** I am Crystal, a wild brumby born in the mountain prairies of Australia’s wilderness. I have a palomino coat, a rare coat colour amongst my own kind. It is because of my coat that I am frequently presented as a target for those greedy horse-hunters. I call them stinkers, since they stink of unwashed skin and dead coats. Yes, seriously. I think of my coat as both a curse and a blessing, since I cannot blend in fully with the environment like the bays and blacks, yet in the herd I stand out from the other fillies because of it. I like standing out and be the special one. I was born smaller than most foals. It was only by sheer miracle that I survived my first year, where a few foals perished of various reasons, and the three years afterwards. Luckily, as time passed, I grew up as strong as a regular sized foal would. The only sign that I was born smaller was that I was more delicate-sized, with smaller bones. It proved an advantage sometimes; I could squeeze into narrow passages if a few pig-headed colts suddenly decide to bully me, where they cannot follow. My dam, a buckskin mare with a black marking on her forehead, often said that I was a little bit of a miracle — and that I must run faster than others if I wish protect myself. There’s where my name came in. My dam loved the swift-flowing river, with its crystal depths, so she named me Crystal. She told me this many times before I could nibble a grass — my coat is as pretty as the river with its crystalline pebbled depths, but I must run as swift as it if I was to avoid being caught for my coat. Ah, but I must admit, life in the wilds is good (when the winter passes). We graze the fresh new stalks of grass that had just emerged, which had a delicious crispness to it. The freezing winter that had plagued us for two months had ended a week ago. The river is thawing, bit by bit, and we (by ‘we’ I mean the fillies and colts, of course) are playing at ‘nibble the ice’. It is fun to snatch up a piece of melted ice between the teeth as it floats by. I find it refreshing as the ice melts on our tongues, and it has a sharp, well, ‘icy’ tang to it. It is too hard to describe it with words, so I am content to let you imagine how it feels. Our heavy winter coats are starting to shed too, bit by bit, now that winter is officially over and the weather is growing warmer by the second. I am itching all over my body because of it. Ha, time for a nice little roll on the ground. Ah, that’s better now! What was I saying again? Winter coats? Ah yes, as I was saying, our winter coats are starting to shed. Mine was a thick, silvery white, kind of like an ‘overcoat’ for the stinkers. I wonder how they got theirs…Okay, I’m getting off topic. Back to the winter coats. I find myself easily blending into the snowy wonderland with that coat, and for the first time in my life, I could spot the bays and blacks easier and quicker than they can spot me. I remember one night, almost a moon cycle ago, overhearing a few dam’s whispered gossips. From what I’ve heard, a phantom horse was lurking nearby, and its silvery breaths are the only thing you can see. I had to repress the funny urge to snort then. Phantom horse? Ha, as if there was such a ghost! Then I remember another night, nearly a week ago, that I sneaked out from the herd to get a few mouthfuls of grass, and nearly got myself caught by a neighbouring herd stallion. I ran as fast as I could, so fast that I could see my own silvery breaths wheeze past as I galloped. Ha, that would explain what they had seen. It was no phantom horse, nobody but me and my silver coat! I could hear myself snickering as I thought of their scared faces. Ha-ha, scared of me, a scrawny pony with a palomino coat? Very funny. To tell the truth, I am yearning for a run now, to feel the springy turf sway beneath my hoofs. When I am running, I can feel the wind whipping at my mane, smell the fragrance of the flowers as I gallop past, and when I leap across the small babbling brook, I can just imagine that I am flying, with wings so large and feathers so white that it looks like it is crusted with delicate snowflakes. Ooh, my friends Misty and Sunrise just called me to play a game of tag with them. I will tell you more of my adventures when I’m back! ~.~.~ Is this one ok?	Starlitluna & Shadowfax
2015-01-05 06:19:39
Yes, Emma Puppypaw. :)	Roncy & Bertone
2015-01-05 23:46:02
Sea-Pony By Starlitluna Once upon a starry night, I cannot seem to fall sleep. So I stand, with unshod feet, On the marbled balcony, Gazing out, to starlit seas. The turbulent waves, Crashing against the cliffs, Creating a song of chaos. The sea breeze, with a salty tang, Plays with my unbound hair. I glimpsed a white mane, as the sea crashed upon the rocks, Then, as I peered closer, With a start, I suddenly realise, I had seen a horse of the sea! A white horse, Standing in the foamy waves, Lifts its silver head high, I could see its eyes, like stars, Like those snowy orbs they shone. She snorts, Her misty breath in the air, And tosses its wild head. Then it rears, and with a whinny, Calls out to its friends. Silver ghosts Gallop through the waves, Arrowing straight towards her. They fill the sea with snowy tracks, As they sped past like the wind. Gathering beside her, Their neighs, like crashing waves, They churn against the rocks. Their manes flash white against turquoise They strove to reach the shore. I watch, ever more fascinated, As they wash against the sand, Ah, but they leave no sign, That they had been there, other than faint hoofprints in the sand. My eyes grow heavier, And I yawn, I finally fall asleep, And that night, all I dreamt, was of white horses in the sea. The other day, as I woke up, I immediately ran to the shore, And all I see, in the sand, Is a lone conch shell, There was no hoofprints. So now I wonder, if what I saw, Was all but a dream? I still keep the seashell though, 'Cause if you listen, quietly enough, You can hear the neighing of the Sea-ponies. ~.~.~ I can't do rhymes, however hard I try, because English isn't my first language. This is inspired by a dream, where I saw horses in the foamy waves that crashed against the rocks. I hope you like it =)	Starlitluna & Shadowfax
2015-01-07 12:25:23
When the Hooves Sound By: POA Girl1 When the hooves sound To the ground It sounds like drums Beating to the wind Through the world This sound gets ancient Through the wind it gleams so patient!	POA Girl1 & Remi
2015-01-07 15:22:38