Sonnet XVIII … Temper’s Storm

Summer’s sultry heat hath fled, yet clouds of darkness remindeth me of steamy days punctuated by the bleak violence of Mother Nature’s stormy temper.

 Weathered, I, her fierce and erratic outbursts the only way I knew how … with my nose buried deeply in a pile of comforting hay.


Sonnet XVIII … Temper’s Storm

Tis summer’s heavy air that cloaks my back

And lifts aloft the biting critters fierce.

And in the distance sounds a mighty crack

As fork of lightning through the skies doth pierce.

The mounting storm with drama doth embroil

We gentle souls who cringe on Earth below.

Yet will I not my dinner let it spoil

And munch away while braving Nature’s show.


For while the skies may darken as the night

And birds upon a wing may flit and cry,

I must, perchance, contain my yen to flight

And bury nose in hay as tempers fly.

Thus, if a mighty wind my peace destroy

At least I will have died a happy boy.


See you anon at Poet’s Paddock …

Shakespeare “The Equine”


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

Sonnet XVII … Summer’s Relief

For many days summer hath her heated flash upon us bestowed. Love’s relief shall grace me with her presence soon. … A lucky boy, am I.

Sonnet XVII … Summer’s Relief

O’er through the muggy air my name I hear

As Love enters the barn, walks to my stall.

Deliverance is nigh from humid tears

And sweaty coat that sticks to body’s all.

To her I call as heart leaps high with joy.

From summer’s grim assault she’ll rescue me.

With treat in hand to soothe this testy boy;

Relief’s in sight from scorching weather’s spree.


A jet of water’s gale upon my back

Disperses Hades’ heat with spray divine,

My Love forthwith bestows on me no lack

Of tender ministrations purely mine.

And though to murky air again am led

I suffer not now I am cool instead.


See you anon at Poet’s Paddock.

Shakespeare “The Equine”


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

Sonnet XV … Fly, away!

To my endless amusement the Scribe (aka “mom” or “Love”) doth endeavour to shield me from nature’s lowliest winged pests.

She means well …

Sonnet XV … Fly, away!

On summer days when temperatures loom high

And wind hath ceased its blast of cooling swath,

Protect myself must I against the flies

Whose busy buzzing doth incur my wrath.

With tail swats wrest th’blighters from my skin

And kick mine belly oft to bid them leave.

Dismayed am I when they return to sin,

And thus engage a trick up equine sleeve.


In truth my Love despairs at this device

As to the paddock she hath led me clean.

But driven mad with flies wherefore look nice

If silky, shiny coat just leaves me mean?

To bathe in dirt’s sweet salve brings pure relief

While sadly ‘pon Love’s face a look of grief.


See you anon at Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copypright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Spring is Here

Particularly fond, am I, of spring … And while we are rather past the winter/spring transition to which this flight of fancy refers, I thought it prudent to share.  After all, one must not waste words …

Spring is Here

Spring is here;

Brings with it change.

My life and habits



With paddocks closed

Alas, to dry,

Amuse myself in

Stall, must I


With dreams of fresh

Green grass to eat.

I count the days with

Stomping feet.


On warmer days

Bid rugs farewell

And feel sun on

My back a spell.


With joy I revel

In its beams,

As through the window

Pane it streams


Upon my shiny

New spring coat.

Handsome and dark,

But I won’t gloat.


And birds, they sing

Their song so sweet.

“Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Chirp!

Tweet! Chirp! Tweet! Tweet!”


While buds appear

And set to bloom,

Adorning our great

Garden room.


Yes, I love spring

A time of joy.

Reminds me I’m

A lucky boy.


See you anon at Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012


Tis raining.

Adjoining image is mud, plain and simple, from Poet’s Paddock. Tis beneath my dignity to be portrayed soaking wet.



I’m standing in the rain … again.

Pitter pat … pitter pat … pitter pat

Upon my back it falls —

It galls my sensibilities

Once more to suffer the

Pits and pats of weather

Inclemency. Such a drain …

The rain.


See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Sonnet XIII … A New Way of Being

Spring hath sprung and with it cometh a new lease on life.

“Springeth me from my box of winter blues, that I might fulfill the measure of my creation!”

Perchance a tad dramatic, yet tis time to embrace a new and more complete way of being in the world.

Anything else is so yesterday.


Sonnet XIII … A New Way of Being

To break out of one’s box, if truth be told,

Is not for faint of heart consumed with fear.

One must desire change; one must be bold

For new and wondrous blessings to appear.

And to this end one day did I aspire,

Embarking on a journey from my slump.

And from my ember rose into a fire

Where I didst gladly test myself, and jump.

With wings of Pegasus o’er course I flew

As heart didst bound with each and every stride.

And burning fire from timid ember grew

Til I no longer could my spirit hide.

Hence when into my box for rest I leapt

My heart no longer faint thus soundly slept.


See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Sonnet XII … Blue Bucket Blues

... A happier moment with my blue bucket ...

Consider — I asketh for so little … love, carrots, a roof over my head, carrots, a paddock in which to muse and play, carrots, hay at my feet, carrots, a little exercise every day, carrots, good friends and, yes, carrots.

So why, pray tell, hath my blue bucket been devoid of my favourite orange root vegetable for two long days?

The Scribe hath declared the Carrot Man — who usually delivereth the orange delicacy in giant sacks every Wednesday — is delinquent in his duty this week, and absolveth herself of all blame.

... How my blue bucket should look. I leaveth the alternative to your imagination ...

But, of a certain, yesterday she hath prior knowledge of my carrot deprivation and didst nothing, forthwith, to ensureth my appetite for said delights would be sated shouldst the Carrot Man, indeed, be delinquent in his duty today.

Alas disappointed, am I, in the Scribe’s lack of fore sight in this regard and, miserable with longing for my favourite treat, am thus inspired to share with you the …

Blue Bucket Blues

This is a day that I won’t soon forget

Tis forged upon my mind as on a stone.

For ‘pon this day a moment of regret

As stood I here and sulked all on my own.

For there beyond the tack room’s open door

A void as large as any hole so black,

Where once a pile of orange did grace the floor

Now lies a torn and empty carrot sack.


... If my blue bucket is empty, shall I not give thee the hairy eyeball? ...

Woe unto me for sad it is I am

My bucket blue sits idle on the shelf.

Commiserate I with my buddy, Sam,

At least in friendship I can count my wealth.

And while I brood dip I my nose to hay,

Tomorrow is, perchance, another day.


See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

My Day Off

While I muse upon my next sonnet, please enjoy…

My Day Off

Musing early morning’s light
I yawn and stretch away the night.
It’s my day off to be a horse,
And do what horses do, of course.

So, first light throws a flake of hay,
A tasty way to start the day,
Soon followed by a scoop of grain —
My stomach’s happy once again.

Then to the paddock I am bound
Where Sam is always to be found.
We re-acquaint and squeal and snort,
Our pecking order we must sort.

I usually win as he concedes,
Prefers to fill his stomach’s needs.
So after tag and gleeful fun
We’ll graze and snooze under the sun.

That is unless it rains, of course,
That’s when we get to play “Sea Horse:”
See horse splashing watery spray;
See horse roll in mud all day.

When day is done, into the barn
We go to share a yawn and yarn.
The day of rest goes oh, so fast.
Why do the good things never last?


See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Sonnet XI … The Wind We Chase

Perchance my thoughts tend too much toward the weather. However, since my days are spent much in contact with volatile meteorological patterns whilst musing in Poet’s Paddock, they doth influence and inspire, and so I must follow my muse.

Herewith some thoughts on wind …

Sonnett XI

The blues of winter colour weary mind

Reflecting all that’s grey amid the snow.

The weather, thus, hath not been very kind;

No wonder birds to warmer climates go.

And yet, today, a moment of respite

As gusty winds across the paddock roar,

And blast and blow and burst Ma Nature’s might

Awakening my soul that wants to soar.

With leap and bound and buck the wind we chase

Ol’ Sam and I awhirl in raucous flight.

And mud erupts, our storming legs to trace,

So in the end we are a mucky sight.

Forsooth, to me this is a happy sign —

The blues of winter purged feel I, now, fine.


See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Ice Cap

Another muse upon winter for, alas, it sits frozen upon my door step. Spring is but twenty-one days away. I await it, and the promise of warmer days, with my buddy, Sam. 🙂

Ice Cap

The water in mine trough plays hard to get

Beneath the sheet of ice that floats there, yet

I cannot be dissuaded from my goal

Of slurping up the nectar from that giant beckoning bowl.


My lips upon the ice cap gently press

And soon feel water’s cold and sweet caress.

The bobbing flow of ice with me doth play —

A cool pastime upon this balmy, wintry day.


And soon I’ve had my fill, the game is done.

I’ve tasted Adam’s Ale, the victory won.

Now off to join ol’ Sam I’m wont to do,

Where I shall settle down and chat, and chew.


See you anon in Poet’s Paddock …

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprise 2012