The Trail of Painted Ponies

Trail of Painted Ponies Poetry Contest Results

Dream Horse by Janee Hughes

It was hard enough to narrow all the poetry submissions we received down to ten. To have to select just three for awards would have been almost impossible – which is why we invited you, Painted Ponies lovers from across America, to vote for your favorite.

Reading through these selections, it struck us that poetry, as an art form, fits Painted Ponies very well. Poetry is a piece of imaginative writing. It is very personal in nature. It evokes a wide spectrum of feelings or emotions, and makes connections that are fresh and surprising. Poems tell stories in memorable ways. The same could be said for Painted Ponies.

And so, the top three vote-getters in the 2008 Trail of Painted Ponies Poetry Contest are…

	"An Old Cowboy's Memories" by Lonnie Faubion
	There's a Painted Pony statue on a shelf where it always stays. Bringing back many memories of long forgotten days The little painted horse is but a little girls toy. But to an old man it is life connected and brings many hours of joy. As he gazes at the statue he remembers more peaceful lands. And remembers his time as a youth, chasing the Mustang bands. Each and every vivid picture that's painted on the pony's side. Is a sharp reminder of some horse he used to ride. He sits in the morning sun now, trying to ease the dawns early chill. And watches his granddaughter playing with a Painted Pony that she named Bill.

	"My Painted Ponies" by Holly Graffuis
	Each pony in my corral has its own story to tell. Every night, while the wolves sing, the ponies tell stories of everything. They speak about truth, and battles, and love. They speak about earth and the Heavens above. The Natives have stories, of battles they've seen. The Holiday ponies tell of happiness they bring. The Seasons ponies speak of nature, and love. A few speak of Stardust and the Thunder from above. Some talk about Wildlife, Wildfires, and Vegas, and sin. Some talk about Gardens, or places they've been. They speak of Medicine, they speak of the Ghost, they speak of the Grandfather, tho none of them boast. They talk of the time, when horses had wings. They sound so Enchanted, Bedazzled and such. All of their stories, I love them so much. Tho one sits on the shelf So Red, White and Blue. He knows he's my favorite, knows that it's true. He carries the names of my husband and son. Who served in the Navy, For Spacious Skies is the one. For all of my tears and for all of my pain. For all of their bravery, I would do it again. Sometimes at night, when the wolf begins her song. I sit quietly and listen. I know it won't be long. My ponies have stories, oh, the stories they tell. Such Sacred Reflections, until sleepiness fell,,,,

	"Dream Horse: A Painted Pony" by Cathy Bryant
	I am a horse of many colors, from every story ever told. I run free across the moors, and the plains wild and free. I've carried many soldiers, across the dusty Plains, Even marched across the oceans, to the waiting trains. I've delivered the mail, and all sorts of things. Been painted on by indians, and dressed up for kings. I've even been the topic of many different things. But most of all I'm just a horse, The most revered and regal thing. Sometimes I tell a story, from some history. Sometimes it's a picture, that someone paints on me. Whichever way you look at it, I'm unique in every way. How often do you see, a unicorn on parade? But of course I'm just a horse of stories that are told. Horses in our history are those that never grow old. There's not a horse I know of, that doesn't tell a story. A horse is in the pages of our history. We can be from china, pulling carts inside a mine. We can even be a circus horse that walks that fine white line. I can even be a roping horse that ropes and rides real fine. I've brought many smiles and many happy times. I've been running wild and free inside a child's mind. I've carried heavy weights for you, and never even tired. I've held your gaze for hours, guess I'm easy on the eyes. I'm a horse of many colors, I'm anything you want. Just pick me up and paint me, just don't ever stop. I've seen the smiles from miles and miles, from mountains to the plains. No matter the problem, I'll take away your pain. For I am a horse of course, by every different name. I'll always come running, just you call my name.

	"Beauty's in the Eye" by Lisa Capps
	The day’s been so long and night’s coming fast I’ll take deep breath and put it all in the past. I grab creature comforts and snuggle down in the chair I take a quick glance – I meant to clean over there. Gingerly I move them from one place to another. That’s funny – that’s the first one I bought for my brother. I line them all up, one by one in a row Boy, that’s an oldie. Hard to come by, you know. My fingers trace lightly from the mane to the end Gifts from never met persons, but I know they’re true friends. A smile starts to bend and I giggle out loud ‘Friends’, but could I really pick them out in a crowd? This one’s so special and I hold her so dear The first one he bought me – gosh, what was the year? So heavy, so smooth, so full of grace She does, and will always, have her own special place. This one, he’s not pretty but he’ll stay on the shelf ‘Beauty’s in the eye’, I say to myself. Yet he’ll stay right here for the rest of his days I think of a sister who’s so far away. The one with the boots, he’s really quite rare He had some issues that someone tried to repair. He now has an eyebrow where one shouldn’t be I laughed when I bought him – he was funny to me. The dance is repeated over and over again Each holding a memory of a loved one or friend. To some they are art, a gift from above To me they are vessels with contents of love. I finish my chore so deep in the night I’m still reminiscing when dark turns to light. I turn off their light and wish them sweet dreams. My vessels of love. At least to me, so they seem.

	"Silver Lining, My Lady" by Barbara Dengal
	Flow swiftly, my lady; Let your mane fly. While the echoes of hoofbeats Float up in the sky. Flow quickly, fine lady; Your coat is of snow. I'll climb on your back - And off we will go. We'll run and we'll ride, See sights never seen; In a world full of beauty, With forests so green. You're my fantasy, Lady; Though sometimes it seems - You live in my stables Not just in my dreams.

	"A Sacred Reflection of Time" by Robin Greene
	There's a little painted pony that sits in honor on my shelf. She strikes a chord of memory down deep within my self. And as she called to someone else, I hear her call to me. I hear her whisper 'Remember' and opens my heart to see. She whispers to my inner soul of an ancient way of life, Of a proud and noble people who once lived without strife. She tells me to remember the message that she brings. The sacredness of Earth and Sky and every living thing. Just a little painted pony caused me to write this rhyme. She's brought me tears of happiness, a Sacred Reflection of Time.

	"That Special Gift" by Mary-Jane Horvat
	She fell in love in Old Town. He could see it in her face! Her eyes were bright and tear filled, She couldn't leave that place. She looked at us and held each one, Her eyes met his at last. "I must have one", she sighed out loud He knew his fate was cast. "Stardust" was the first one bought And then came "Sounds of Thunder." And now for each occasion, She holds the box and wonders. He knows no gift will please as much As just one Painted Pony. Beribboned, jeweled and painted More loved than pirates bounty. What will Christmas bring this year? She can't wait to see! She's hoping that he heard her hint She'd just love "Wounded Knee". It's simplified his shopping, He never frets and stews! A pony she will always love! It's just which one to choose!

	"The Painted Pony Lives" by Mary-Jane Horvat
	I stand among the figurines Quietly aloof Inanimate, my owner thinks She doesn't hear my hoofs. At night when she is sleeping My spirit starts to dance I jump down from my shelf corral And really starts to prance. From kitchen to the living room On carpet, tile and slat, I gallop through the household I chase the dog and cat. Oh, goodness I have fallen down! A chip now mars my hair. She'll wonder what has happened. She'll dust me still with care. When light begins to slowly dawn I creep back to my shelf And dream about adventures Known only to myself. Unlikely that she'll ever know The dog will never tell. A much loved figurine I'll be. A gift which never fell. And every night when darkness falls I find myself alive, Reliving ancient battles And hearing ancient cries. This Painted Pony breathing life. I am a ancient spirit Now standing on my shelf corral You've never need to fear it. A spirit filled with beauty Still with honor code I stand here as your companion To carry any load.

	"Sky Pony's Job at Night" by Kathy A. Johnson
	Sky Pony on my classroom shelf at night Do your best to watch in spite The heat, the dust, the vacant desks Await the arrival of students' faces Ready to learn anew in the morn Despite the troubles this night born. You sit beside my very best book And hope you often take a look In the eyes of the child struggling here To be his best while holding back a tear His life not as simple as it was for you or for me But a new day with us his joy will be.

	"For Spacious Skies" by Christine Master
	My Painted Ponies are all so special, But one stands out for me. He has paid the price for all to be free. His is unselfish and brave, And willing to even go to his grave. For Spacious Skies is that pony, That represents what others have done. So we can have our freedom. For Spacious Skies will never let us forget, All the sacrifices our solider's have met. The stars on him shines bright, And we will never give up the fight. For liberty, freedom, and justice for all, that is For Spacious Skies never ending call.