Are those, really, my toes?

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“Staring at my own toes, for hours on end, no, I am not bored!” Gun Roswell

Are those, really, my toes?

I keep staring at them, for hours on end
But they never change, always looking the same
I tried some polish, various kinds of colours
But the crow toes, still looked pretty lame
Black, narrow, could not even catch a sparrow
Some days, I just ask myself
Why the hell do I even bother?

But then, after some rain
As I once again stand on the table so plain
Even if some people, would share the odd fry
The days I am too lazy to catch anything on the fly
I tell myself, this is not so bad
So, I really should stop feeling totally sad
Because despite by crow feet, dressed neat
All black you see, heck yeah, I look fucking cool!

Just a Sunday

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“The week ends, on a Sunday, a silent or a stormy one, that is up to you, really” Gun Roswell

Just a Sunday

Early morning, birds outside the window screaming
Yes, it is definitely a Sunday, no peace for the one in dismay
The mere thought of calmness felt tingling, just last night while beckoning
For the end of the week to be arising, the one day for smiling
Alas, it was for nought, not at all what I had thought
A quiet day, seated, just, by my good ol’ self
But then, the doorbell rang, and someone in the shower sang
The kids in the streets, yelling bloody murder
Even if it was just a game of something blurred out there
Then the phones, yes plural, went off
All of them, there, on the table in a neat row
Always someone out there wanting something to be done
Just because, hey, it was your day off, right? Not reserved for fun!
As the morning turned to noon, which by the way, came too soon
The after hours after that, turned out to be just as bad
Finally the evening lurked around the corner
I saw the sun starting to set, just looking out of border
The whole day of Sunday spent, not in peace and quiet
No, but like a circus or some other type of crowded event
I know I should not be complaining, just and simply explaining
Never plan ahead too much, because you’ll end up doing much too much

Thanks for all the giant steps, #RBG. 15 March 1933 – 18 September 2020 (repost Barb Taub blog)

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Real change, enduring change, happens one step at a time.—Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, US Supreme Court   Lawyer, teacher, wife, mother, grandmother,…

Thanks for all the giant steps, #RBG. 15 March 1933 – 18 September 2020

The Galaxy in a Coffee Cup

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“Keep the world in a jar, and the galaxy in a coffee cup” Gun Roswell

The Galaxy in a Coffee Cup

At first, there was, the darkness only
The light, a mere speck, trying to come forth boldly
The universe, just beginning to form
A calm sense all around, like before the storm

And then, without warning, all hell broke loose
Because someone, apparently, had forgotten to turn on the snooze
The coffee maker huffing and puffing, like it was snoring
And in the process, pilling the dark liquid, all over the flooring

For some, this might have been the perfect sign
That all, in the universe, was anything but fine
But for others, it merely meant, that the coffee was spilt
And there would be some effort to clean up the dirt

Alas, the old adage, keeping oneís eggs all in one basket
Might have simply gotten blown the electrical casket
And the lesson learned here might be, that keeping the galaxy
In just one single cup, might not be the best choice up

Or then, just simply, drink your coffee when it’s ready
And do not forget to switch off the machine making it!

The ever calming rain, over my window pane

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“There is just something so calming about the rain, even if it pounds against the windows, leaving them stained” Gun Roswell

The ever calming rain, over my window pane

The rain fell, so hard, on to the ground
On its way, pounding, on each and every surface, so loud
It woke me up, with a huff, in the middle of the night
And, as I tried to reach, for any kind of light
There was nothing there to find, only darkness
Remained there, for its very cold hardness
Of not being able, to go back to sleep again
And it was all so much, just because of the rain

But as I lay in my ever comforting bed
After finally having stopped tossing and turning, but instead
Started really listening, to the wondrous melodies
Played by the still storming weather, now harmonious
Making sounds outside my small window sills
The calming effects, where starting to slowly feel
On my tired body and mind, finally, shutting down
And before I could think, of anything more
I was in deep sleep, with only sounds of my snores

To build a summer cottage by the seashore

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“The summer still continues, even if it is starting to fall, towards the winter season, simply, green all over, maybe a nature’s treason?” Gun Roswell

To build a summer cottage by the seashore

The tiny wooden made shack, by the seashore stands, sideways slacked
It’s really not much to look at, just a few odd planks together stacked
But for the one that built it, this little house, might just be, the perfect fit
A summer’s cottage, or a simple, almost a tent type thing, on the beach sits

Alas, the rough and unforgiving autumn winds soon will fall
Upon each and every single plane, even up, to this remote shore
If the tiny summer cottage will the beating of weather’s wrath survive 
Then come next spring, the dweller will have a place to return just fine

But, until that time, the sun will still shine
The clear blue waters and even the skies
Will be totally able to provide
The needed light and warmth to get by
Here in the tiny beach house, oh so divine

The rain and the blurry

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“Ain’t nuttin’ wrong with a wee bit if rain, to wash away all of them stinky stains, which all over remain, after, well everything” Gun Roswell

The rain and the blurry

The everyday people, on the streets scurry
Causing, the image take, to get really blurry
As not all of them, seem to be in such a hurry
Or then, it is simply, the ever falling rain
Making all the motions of everyone, exactly the same
Fusing into one and other, on the busy lanes
Causing all the pictures momentarily seen, to each other blend
But, there is no more time, on this specific scene to spend
Even if I would get an umbrella from someone as a lend
It would be impossible, to escape the downpour
The only option would be to pray for sunshine or something more
Alas, for now, the weather as is, even though a spot sore
Will have to do as the allotted time is of the essence
As in this place my current presence
Will need to be hauled out in a few more seconds
So, what ever needs to be captured, during this time
Whether the images blurry or then simply, just fineI have done the job I needed to do, to get by
And so, for now, I am outta here!

Dark Liquid fell on to the Dark Ground

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“Rain fall, during the Autumn months? Simply so, because of its namesake, the Fall” Gun Roswell

Dark Liquid fell on to the Dark Ground

Still and dark water, lay in perfect silence, on the hardest of grounds
It was there, simply for the one single reason; the dark cloud, let it fall down
Searching, hard, everywhere, and all around, for any kind of lighter shroud
Alas, the all saving light, was no where to be found

The antisocial me

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“There is nothing wrong in being a little antisocial, at least, that way, you keep all the bugs and even the hugs at bay ;D“ Gun Roswell

The antisocial me

I don’t like crowds, with voices always so loud
Even if myself, I like to often scream and shout

I don’t feel the pressure, to be the best dresser
Even if my wardrobe, is filled with, so many clothing treasures

I don’t need people, surrounding each and every open peep hole
Even if sometimes, I feel like, the loneliest of them all

I don’t want to be, the one and only queen of the hive
Even if a hidden dream of mine, is to be the most liked bee with a wide smile

I don’t think I am that bad, if I say there are too many of us in the world open wide
Even if I secretly, I hold oh so very dear, each and every single life

I know this sound like I am antisocial
And I admit, that before all this time so very docile
I was quite ahead of time and also fashionable
Of being the one they called: “non too social”

But as the old adage goes, two is a company, three is a crowd
Sometimes I simply prefer to be, just me, myself and I, and of, that I am proud

Porvoo, the city of old

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“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page” Saint Augustine

Porvoo, the city of old

The old town of Porvoo
A home away from home
Flew there like a crow
Stated ,when in Rome…
Found the nearest cafe
Which was close to the bay
Enjoyed the sunny day
Until turn of eve
When it was time to leave