Archive for November, 2010

Chicken Terror

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
Please, 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 is
High, my body
Quakes, what
If I die because
Some poultry
Got away? A
Lousy end to a
Lovely day.
So, I implore
Remove them
Hence before
I lose all
Common sense.

* * *

I do not tolerate chickens well. They are squawking, flapping, foul fowl with no consideration for others with whom they share the barn … namely me. I like my peace and quiet. I like to stand over my hay and eat while contemplating my next poetic masterpiece without the constant cacophony of chicken gossip, like “My egg is bigger than your egg!” or “Oh my gosh, did you see the length of his feathers!!”

Who cares? Go find a chicken coop somewhere!

Now normally I’m a pretty even-tempered fellow, but chickens just send me. I’m not proud of it, and I know my mother would rather I “get real,” as she likes to put it. But I, like everyone else, have my sensitive proclivities (Marvin doesn’t like stud muffins; Jupiter doesn’t like much, etc. … names changed to protect the innocent …), and chickens just happen to be something I don’t like.

Fortunately it wasn’t long before the human folk removed the evil squawkers to the other barn. Now I can stop looking over my shoulder and get back to the serious business of eating and quiet contemplation.

Chickens indeed!

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010

Raining … again!

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
Such a drain … the rain.

* * *

I generally don’t mind the rain, except when it’s cold and windy and I have to stand outside in it for hours at a time. I resent the sogginess of it all. In the winter my blankets help to keep me warm and dry. However, I really rather prefer to relax in my nice dry stall with my nose buried in a pile of luscious hay and some tasty carrots in my bucket. Then it can pitter pat out there as much as it wants.

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010

Galloping into your world … sorta …

Welcome to my pad ... dock

An introduction …

My name is Shakespeare
How do you do?
I’m tall, dark and handsome;
How about you?

I live in the moment.
It seems to work best
While working and playing
And even at rest.

I love to eat carrots,
Write poetry too.
And muffins on Monday
Mean I’m never blue.

So, please join me here often,
I’ve so much to say.
But that’s it for now, folks,
It’s time to make hay.

* * *

Getting to know me, getting to know all about me … What’s not to love?

See you anon!

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2010