Posts Tagged ‘scribe’

The Field — A Sonnet

Through yonder window look I to the field
And all the lovely grass it there doth yield,
And realize, too, the bounty of my life:
More of joyful mirth; less of toil and strife.
And to the Scribe do I attribute this
As on my nose each day she plants a kiss,
And lavishes on me such carrots sweet —
And apples too are such a tempting treat.

My life the verdant field doth reflect
Full flush with love in one or more aspect.
For with each day such blessings ‘pon me pour
There is no doubt the beauty of life’s store.
And glad am I for each day fate has sealed
As I look through the window to the field.


Shakespeare in the field -- Photo: Dorothy McDonall

I’ve been on a brief writing hiatus. Sometimes the muse (and Scribe, go figure) just needs a break. One cannot rush, nor force, creativity.

While enjoying this break from the rigors of creative industry the Scribe became re-acquainted with the sonnets of my namesake. And thus, while meandering the verdant field in search of tender grassy morsels, I began to muse in 14-line formal rhyme schemes with 10 syllables per line.

Herewith my first attempt at sonnet writing. Read and enjoy and perhaps, when the mood strikes, I shall dream up another.

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011. All rights reserved.


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,
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.

Horse Couture

Shakespeare models 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.
Horses stare.

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

A little help it
Needs, tis true,
As it feels stuck
To me like glue.

So, patiently I
Stand and smile
As Groom releases
Spring’s new style:

A shining coat
Of black and tan,
I feel quite

And of one thing
You can be sure,
My new Spring coat
Is Horse Couture!


No doubt about it, I’m feeling extraordinarily hip in my new Spring duds.

The blankets are done for the season, and the last of my thick Winter coat is being curried away in stages by the Scribe (aka Groom). Those pesky little hairs get everywhere, of course. I hear moderate complaints about hair up the nose and all over clothes, etc., but there’s nothing I can do about that. If you want me to look my dapper best then “Deal with it!” is all I have to say.

But really, is there anything more satisfying than stepping out into the world in your fancy new Spring finery to the admiring glances of those who can only dream of looking so handsome? (Yes, as a matter of fact, there is … a bucket full of carrots or grain; a mound of fresh hay; apple bobbing in the paddock trough; stud muffins; Timmie’s Cranberry & Blueberry Bran muffins … I could go on but I don’t want to change the subject … 😉 ).

Certainly I am feeling rather fine in my Horse Couture.

See you next time in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Note: Fab photograph taken by Cary Andrew Penny, CAP Photographic Solutions, Spring 2010.

All rights reserved. Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 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

My Day Off

Musing early morning’s light
I yawn and stretch away the night.
It’s my day off to be a horse,
And do what horses do, of course.

So, first light throws a flake of hay
A tasty way to start the day,
Soon followed by a scoop of grain —
My stomach’s happy once again.

Then to the paddock I am bound
Where Sam is usually to be found.
We re-acquaint and squeal and snort,
Our pecking order we must sort.

I usually win as he concedes,
Prefers to fill his dietary needs.
So after tag and gleeful fun
We’ll graze and snooze under the sun.

That is unless it rains, of course,
That’s when we get to play “Sea Horse:”
See horse splashing watery spray;
See horse roll in mud all day.

When day is done into the barn
We go to share a yawn and yarn.
The day of rest goes oh, so fast.
Why do the good things never last?

* * *

It’s my day off. I get to do whatever I like within the bounds of equine reason (whatever that is) and rest from a rigorous five-day week of one-hour work days.

In fact, I have the weekend off. The scribe, in her wisdom (no doubt acquired from spending time with me) has determined that it would be best for us both if we worked steadily five days in a row and then took the weekends off.

The first day of the weekend, which is today, we get to do nothing beautifully. She will stop by to groom me and indulge me with my favourite treats, and I get to amuse her endlessly.

Tomorrow we flex our mental and spiritual muscles with some ground play in the arena — a combination of me running around getting the heebeegeebees out before we get back to work on Monday, and the scribe taking notes. She’s good at that. And then we’ll walk around, cool off and do tricks. (If I do a trick, she’ll give me a treat … I like doing tricks. Must ask her to teach me some new ones.)

I like this new schedule. The scribe is making better progress with her riding because we’re building a more consistent connection, both on the ground and in the saddle. With the old schedule we worked two days, took a day off, worked three days, took a day off. It was too disruptive; disconnected, and we never got to feel really rested.

And I can tell this new way of working makes the scribe happy because I feel happier too.

The importance of a day (or two) off cannot be underestimated.

See you in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011


In paddock soggy see me bide
I cannot wait to go inside.
As rain in buckets ’round me teems
Of hay and carrots I have dreams.

The drips and drops that fall on me
Dilute my pastoral reverie,
And to escape is my one wish
Before this horse becomes a fish.

Soon by the gate stands mother dear.
I call to her, “I’m over here!”
She comes to me all smiles and joy,
I really am a lucky boy!

A carrot treat she offers me
Which I accept most gratefully.
And to the barn I then am lead
Where it is warm and dry instead.

Then once inside she heaves a sigh —
I’m sopping wet from toe to eye.
She towels me off; I don’t complain.
Just glad to be out of the rain.

* * *

The first day of the year and it was a miserably wet one. Now I wouldn’t normally post blogs so close together but the misery made such an impression I just have to get it out of my system.

This poem is not new … I posted it earlier on another forum, but it certainly expresses how I felt yesterday. When the scribe showed up at the gate, carrot in hand, it was such a relief. I was tired of being soaked from head to toe and covered in mud. I’m usually quite a neat freak.

Sometimes I love to feel the elements — the wind in my mane; the rain on my face, and to roll in the mud … and sometimes I just want my mommy!

Catch you again in Poet’s Paddock!
Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011