Yet another poetic rambling courtesy of my alter ego, Shakespeare "The Equine."
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