Horse Couture

Another flight of fancy …

Spring hath arrived early in Poet’s Paddock and with it many changes, among them the unveiling of my new spring coat.

Herewith my whimsical thoughts on the matter …

Horse Couture

Spring has arrived
My coat’s a state.
No way to be
A fashion plate.

Hair’s falling here;
It’s falling there;
My coat’s in tatters.
People stare.

Cold season gone
And with it snow;
Last season’s coat
Has got to go!

A little help I
Need, tis true,
As horse hair coat
Seems stuck like glue.

So, patiently I
Stand a while
As Groom unveils
Spring’s new style:

A shining coat
Of black and tan —
I feel quite
Cosmopolitan!

And of this look
We can be sure,
My new spring coat
Is Horse Couture!

*

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

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 II

Fall on us falls in glowing gasps of gold

O’er wooded hills in splotches splished and splashed,

And red and amber textures big and bold

Are vari-coloured leaves all smished and smashed.

My feathered friends profess a fond farewell

As to the south their beaks they point with glee,

And flap in happy vees through cloudy cells,

It seems, at last, they have abandoned me.

 

And so turn I my thoughts to season’s plight

Of colder rains and winds that blast and blow.

And wish for August’s warmth with all my might —

Though forecast doth, alas, predict, first, snow.

No choice now but to weather winter’s pain,

Bow I my head and whimper in my grain.

 

*

 

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock …

 

Shakespeare “The Equine”

 

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011