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 IX … Blessed be the friend

My valentine to the one I call “Mother,” “Love” and “Scribe.”

Without her pen you’d never know what’s in my heart … or hers.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Sonnet IX 

Oh, blessed be the friend I see in thee,

Thy spectral luminescence ‘pon me shine.

Thou dost, forsooth, bring out the best in me

And gladly do I give to thee what’s mine.

The greatest of these gifts is that of trust,

For ‘pon my back do I not let thee ride?

Together fly we free o’er sand; through dust

And share a truth none other may abide.

Tis friendship won o’er lo these many years.

A journey o’er both smooth and rocky ground.

While sharing joy and overcoming fears

In heart and mind and and spirit been we bound.

I tell you this as one friend to another,

For me, dear one, there simply is no other.

*

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Sonnet VIII — Apple Bobbing

Herewith one of my favourite summer memories. The photo hardly does it justice, but you get the idea. Alas, no apple bobbing at present as the frigid temperatures hath turned the trough into a giant ice cube tray.

Sonnet VIII

In recent times my Love hath taught me new

The secret art of apple bobbing bliss.

It is a joy scarce few are wont to do

And sad am I, dear fiend, to hear of this.

For nothing can bear fruit of fun more fair

Than water play when apples plop and bob.

To dip my nose in fits I do and dare

And miss so many times I’m wont to sob.

But all ends well as lips procure a piece

Of apple as it drifts as on a sail.

And chomping on it then find I release;

It is my Holy Royal Gala Grail.

Of summer, then, is this a special part

Securing for my Love space in my heart.

*

See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012