Sonnet XIX … Party Animal


Time passeth.

The muse, dormant ere these past few months, hath the lead pulled out and applied pencil to paper once again.


Those unfamiliar with the quirks of the equine may, perhaps, suppose us to be a humourless lot.

On the contrary, there is no limit to our mischievous nature.


Sonnet XIX 

In truth I mind my own in still of night,

With darkness as a shroud upon my wit.

Yet door left unsecured to my delight

Illuminates this horse to open it.

Free, at last, I wander down the aisle

To yonder hay pile first, confess I must,

To eat my fill whilst donning hooded smile:

One must not flaunt one’s luck ‘round those who lust.


Thus sated, amble I throughout the barn

Dispatching in my wake a cake or two,

And with a friend or few share I a yarn

As party animals are wont to do.

And then as morning breaks back to my stall

I’m lead to say “Good night!” to one and all.


Thanks for visiting.

See you anon at Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

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!!)