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

Sonnet XIV … Beauty

Herewith, in all modesty, a sonnet to (my) beauty.

That is all …


Sonnet XIV … Beauty

A handsome horse am I, there is no doubt,

As mares proclaim their glee as I pass by

With whinnies shrill proclaiming in a shout —

Was that a beam that twinkled in Star’s eye?

My Love reminds me thus most every day,

As to my brow her hand doth gently press,

Of how my beauty takes her breath away.

Tis a good thing, I am inclined to guess.


While beauty lies within the eyes that see

And no two eyes shall ever see the same

Believe, I must, her eyes were meant for me,

While others’ eyes their own beauty proclaim.

For handsome though I be to all who care

It matters most to she who calls me Bear.


See you anon at Poet’s Paddock …

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

The Game

Spring hath its unfettered charms unleashed upon us, and Sam, my paddock mate, and I enjoy a rambunctious romp and play in Poet’s Paddock every day.

With much lamenting the Scribe ministers to my battle wounds (note three indicated in adjoining image … click on image to enlarge) … salves and ointments to allay the discomfort and induce healing are applied. She does her best.

Perchance Sam and I have been somewhat hard on each other this spring … our energies high and competition for alpha in our little herd oft times fierce.

I always win.


The Game

Out in Poet’s Paddock

Lush with the newly sprung

Sweetness of the season,

Sam and I graze …

But not for long …


“Tag! You’re it!” … I

Squeal and then run.

He catches me quickly,

Nips hard at my bum.

“Tag! You’re it!” I

Hear him exclaim,

Then he turns on his heels

As I reach for his mane.

He strikes with his hoof

But I twirl and am gone,

And he follows me fleet …

The game is now on!

I stop and I challenge

He stands his ground firm,

I let out a snort and

In answer he squirms.

And then past me he flies

Leaving me in his dust,

I follow him fleet

As I know I must.

Then he stops of a sudden

Bows his head in defeat.

I follow his lead,

Our game is complete.

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock …
Shakespeare “The Equine”
Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012
(Silly formatting!!)

A Fowl Poem

... A more fowl creature I have yet to meet ...

While tis prudent to live one’s life sensibly, it can also be a snore. One must leave room for moments of lunacy lest sanity run afoul with boredom.

Herewith a flight of fancy regarding one such moment and my seemingly irrational fear (or so I’ve been told) of poultry.

It was penned during a most unfortunate period when the feathered squawkers temporarily co-habited my barn while their poultry palace was thus under construction.

Of a certainty this is a fair representation of foul fowl poetry — a rare and dangerous application of the English language, indeed.


A Fowl Poem

Oh dear, they’re

Back. How can it

Be? They must be

Here to torture

Me! What did I do

To draw such

Fate? Why aren’t

Those chickens on a

Plate instead of

In the barn …

Forsooth, with every

Squawk I lose my

Youth! Remove them

For I cannot

Bear to think

That they are over

There. Too close

For comfort, to be

Sure, it’s terror

I just won’t

Endure. I’m on

Alert; my head

Held high, my

Body quakes,

What if I

Die because

Some poultry

Got away? I’m

Wont to faint

Upon my hay.

So, I implore

Remove them

Hence before

I lose all

Common sense.


Clearly it had already flown the coop …

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock … it remaineth my sincere hope …

Unflappably yours,

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

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

Sonnet X — A Winter Muse

Musings on winter because it amuseth me not at all. The ice that falleth from the rooftop; the hardened ground slippery beneath my feet; the northerly winds bearing their chilling message that spring is yet a flight of fancy.  … And yet I can fancy it … 😉

Sonnet X 

Old Winter hath his frozen tune declared

With blast of snow ‘pon wind that gusteth fierce.

But, perchance, I’m not so unprepared

My body warm with blankets winds can’t pierce.

Though sleet and snow and icy pellets fall

Upon the ground and mire e’er I go

My repast take I warmly in my stall

No need to stay outside in ten below.

But all is not as bleak as it might seem

As longer grow the days t’ward Lady Spring,

And of the warmer hours do I dream —

Imagination is a wondrous thing.

So, let old Winter wail his icy song

For as the days unfold he’ll thaw e’er long.


See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Sonnet V

The year now closed reflect I on its worth

As dappled days of sun delight the snow;

And mem’ries bright embrace my heart with mirth

As somewhere that my mind will gladly go.

Of languishing in Poet’s Paddock fair;

And bringing joy to she whom I adore,

Or frolicking without a spooky care —

So joyful to the very apple core!

So, as the new year turns some thought give I

To what it means to be this happy boy.

In truth, to live each moment by and by

Reveals the most abundance; the most joy.

For all that matters now before me see,

Not what was then or what may never be.


Face boldly the future. Leave the past behind. Live in the the present and to yourself be kind.

Happy New Year!

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock …

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Face boldly the future ...

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises, 2012