Archive for February, 2011

Food Matters

I love my food;
There is no doubt.
With my nose in the hay
There’s no reason to pout.

I like it wet,
So in water I dunk
Each mouthful I eat
To get rid of the gunk.

Carrots I love;
They’re juicy and sweet.
Served in pieces bite-sized
They’re a wonderful treat.

And apples are great
When in eight pieces hewn.
Served in some other way
Well, I’m likely to fume.

Bran muffins with berries
Are best fed by hand,
And you know that I’ll
Tolerate only one brand.

Yet, more sacred than all
Is my grain morn and night.
By itself in my bucket —
Or I’ll put up a fight!

Yes, I love my food,
But I like it just so.
And if anything’s wrong
Believe me, you’ll know.


I’ve been trying to impress upon the one who shall remain nameless how important it is to my mental health that my food be delivered to me in exactly the way I like it every single day.

No need to review it all as the above poetic rendering pretty much covers it.

But let me just say that recently the esteemed British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) noted in the documentary Out of the Vortex: Poems Inspired by Depressive Illnesses that, based on a study of major British and Irish poets between 1600 and 1800 by eminent psychologist, Kay Redfield Jamison:

“ … poets are 20 times more likely to end up in an asylum than the general population.”

The report also notes that a lot of creativity comes from a conflict somewhere in the mind; that is, if your mind is “alive” it can produce both positive and negative responses.

Now, my mind is very much alive, (some might prefer to say it’s conflicted) and while I don’t wish to make light of a serious subject, I might venture that for this particular poet to be truly sound of mind he must be well fed, well exercised, well groomed and well amused by the world around him.

Being well fed is of utmost importance, for it is from the well-satisfied stomach that all things worthwhile emerge.* And note that in my alive mind well fed implies method as well as madness … food matter (i.e. grain, treats, etc.) so, as I have already indicated, while I am an easygoing kind of guy I do enjoy my food served in a very particular way.**

Truthfully, I have been known to freak out when my food routine is disrespected. For instance, just last week the scribe had the audacity to place carrots in my bucket while I was still working on my grain. I just about lost it! Nothing exasperates me more than having to nose dive into a pile of root vegetables to get to my grain!

And I love carrots — I just don’t want them with my grain! Ever! I’m sure my incessant bucket banging against the wall to dislodge the offending objects clearly demonstrated my disapproval. I hope the scribe got the message.

As a prolific and sensitive poet I feel that to be productive in mind, body and spirit my temporal needs simply must be met as I dictate, else I shall surely …

(Scriptus Interruptus — Geez, Bear, way to be melodramatic! Cease and desist or I shall be 20 times more likely to smite thee with a carrot in thy grain! Seriously!)

Alas, see you again in Poet’s Paddock …

Shakespeare “The Equine”

* This is true of non-poets also, though I might venture that a little bit of the poet lives in us all.
** Note that in the summer months I prefer to bob for my apples in the paddock trough — very stimulating.

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011

Farewell to Miss Fergs

Dedicated to the fiery Miss Fergs who succumbed to colic, February 13, 2011, age 22

Gone to gallop with the angels
In a place where spirits soar,
You can squeal to your heart’s content
As others pass through Heaven’s door.

Your last hours were a struggle.
We all sensed your dreadful pain.
With sad heart I felt you leave us
Never to return again.

So I bid you fond farewell, dear,
Now your life here is complete.
Rest in peace, my darling girlie,
Til one day again we meet.


It wasn’t a very happy Valentine’s Day in our barn. Any joy we might have felt was blown away on the gusts of a terrible wind as we mourned the immense loss of the barn diva, Seville, aka “Miss Fergs.”

Affectionately referred to as “The Madam” she ruled the roost and none of us were allowed to forget it. She was the only mare in our small barn of boys and occupied a stall located next to the barn door. This world-dominating location put her in the perfect position to squeal disapprovingly every time one of us was lead past her stall, either coming in or going out. We loved her just the same.

I actually believe she had a soft spot for me; I know I had one for her. She had spirit, and I liked that. Whenever we worked in the arena at the same time she’d shimmy for me and give me the eye and I’d strut for her in response. It was such a game, and we loved it. I’ll miss her.

A lot of people thought Fergs was cranky, but in my heart I knew she just needed love. So when Gammy’s horse died a couple of years ago (Gammy is my pet name for my Godmother) it seemed logical that Fergs’ owner would ask Gammy to mother her sullen, old mare.

Gammy poured her broken heart into nurturing Fergs, and Fergs quickly learned to revel in Gammy’s special brand of love. It was wonderful to see them both so happy, though Fergs never lost her feisty ways. That would be too soft.

Lately Fergs had been having issues with her womanly attributes, coming into season frequently and intensely so it almost seemed like her body never had a chance to rest. (Those darn hormones take their toll on the older woman, don’t you know … .) Whether or not this had anything to do with her ultimate demise is hard to say, all I know is that suddenly on Sunday night she wasn’t feeling well in her tummy and two hours later, even after ministrations by the vet, she was galloping into the great beyond, never to return.

And we are left behind, bereft and sad.

RIP Miss Fergs …

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises, 2011


In love I bask;
With love I grow;
In love I feel,
Where’er I go.

In love I’m glad;
With love I’m kind;
With love I feel
Peace in my mind.

With love I’m groomed;
With love I’m fed;
With love I feel
No thoughts of dread.

With love I move;
With love I’m sound;
In love I feel
The love I’ve found.


I have found love. It resides in the beautiful soul of the woman who found me, took me into her heart and now showers me with love and carrots. Together we grow as our lives and experiences expand and integrate. Together we evolve as we share our mutual love for self-expression.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Dorothy … my scribe, “mother” and best friend!

See you next time in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011
Photo by Cary Andrew Penny, CAP Photographic Solutions