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 XVI … Southern Wind

Tis been a hot, harsh summer in many parts, and Poet’s Paddock has not escaped heat’s wrath. Herewith some feelings on the matter.

*

Sonnet XVI … Southern Wind

The Southern Wind through paddock fair doth blast,

With scorching heat turns green both brown and dry,

When will it yield to Northern sister’s gasp

So I might graze in cool air by and by?

For grass not green is bitter to the taste

And crackle crunches ‘tween my searching lips.

As once lush shoots have simply gone to waste,

My mind confused with this must come to grips.

*

I love thee, Southern Wind, and warmth you bring

Yet wish you’d not outstay your welcome so.

Since when you parch the Earth it bears a sting —

A friend no more, I thus wish you would go.

For those who dare to mess with this Bard’s food

Can only be condemned as rank and rude.

***

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock.

Shakespeare “The Equine”

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

Rain

Tis raining.

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

*

Rain

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 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