Posts Tagged ‘equine’

Away

The Scribe’s away.
I’m on my own.
She is so far
Away from home.
But not for long
She’ll be back soon
And then I’ll jump
Over the moon.

*

I know, a weak attempt, but the Scribe is away and I’m left here figuring this out all on my own. It’s a challenge. The only apple I’m familiar with is the one you eat!

See you next time in Poet’s Paddock … with Scribe in tow.

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011

Wash ‘n’ Wear

Shakespeare sports wash 'n' wear everywhere.

A bright spring day
It’s very warm,
Flies buzz around me
In a swarm.

The Scribe and I
Spend training time
In outdoor ring
With dust and grime.

When done are we
Sweaty am I,
My horse couture
Must bathe and dry.

So to the wash stall
Lumber we,
Anticipate
Relief, you see,

With water splashing
‘Pon my skin,
A wet and wild
State we’re in.

I feel refreshed
So too the Scribe;
Together then
We go outside.

Stand in the sun
Ourselves to dry,
And grass I eat
While Scribe stands by.

And muse, do we,
Without a care,
It’s easy when you
Wash ‘n’ wear.

*

I love the warmer weather, but it does have at least one drawback. Okay two … the annoying swirl of flies around my tummy (save me, mummy!) and humidity-driven sweaty workouts.

Last week we had a particularly hot and humid day for mid May. Flies buzzed busily around me while I was being groomed, which invariably lead me to kick at the little buzzers, which in turn inspired the Scribe to apply copious amounts of fly spray all over me. This was somewhat helpful.

We then trained for about 40 minutes, however that was enough to leave me slathered in sticky sweat. Like any good steward, the Scribe hosed me down in the wash stall to take care of my sweaty woes. The advantage of horse couture, of course, is its wash and wear-ability. Just ten minutes of watery bliss and brace and presto! — the icky stickiness was washed from my body, leaving me fresh as a daisy, delightfully damp and deliciously dapper.

As is our usual practice following a frolic in the wash stall, we ventured outdoors to bask in the sunshine — my nose buried in a mass of bright green spring grass and the Scribe running her free hand up and down my neck reminding me of her adoring presence.

I love these moments. A serenity of space and time; feeling good after a workout and in the presence of the one who knows and loves me best.

I’m one lucky horse.

See you next time in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”


Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011. All rights reserved.

Spring

Shakespeare waits for spring

Spring is here;
Brings with it change.
My life and habits
Rearrange.

With paddocks closed
Alas, to dry,
Amuse myself in
Stall, must I

With dreams of fresh
Green grass to eat.
I count the days with
Stomping feet.

On warmer days
Bid rugs farewell
And feel sun on
My back a spell.

With joy I revel
In its beams,
As through the window
Pane it streams

Upon my shiny
New spring coat.
Handsome and dark,
But I won’t gloat.

And birds, they sing
Their song so sweet.
“Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Chirp!
Tweet! Chirp! Tweet! Tweet!”

While buds appear
And set to bloom,
Adorning our great
Garden room.

Yes, I love spring
A time of joy.
Reminds me I’m
A lucky boy.

*

I do love the spring, although I must say this one is taking a long time to settle in. Such changeable and erratic weather patterns — rugs on one day; off the next. And we’re in that part of the season where the larger paddocks are closed and recovering from the perils of winter, so turnout is shorter as we all take turns in the smaller paddocks.

But the inconvenience is so temporary. One of these ever-finer days we’ll be back on all-day turnout languishing in the warmth of the sun. I’ll be bobbing for apples in the water trough (the Scribe promised), and we’ll be working outside and then enjoying the occasional soapy bath followed by extended periods of grazing with the Scribe at the other end of the lead shank. (I need to keep track of her somehow.)

Yes, spring is a special time of year full of hopeful anticipation of warmer days to follow.

I do love the spring.

See you next time in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

All rights reserved. Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011

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
Inclemency.
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