You were smiling Feeling charming And quite beguiling The sun was shining This was supposed to be A great day For a song or a play
But then it turned out to be Something else completely It turned out to be One of *those days* Struck you in the face Run over like a ten ton truck And disappear without a trace
What the fuck? Feeling like a schmuck Completely out of luck Standing in the rain Without an umbrella Almost going insane And not from singing a cappella
“Just because I am getting older, doesn’t mean this is the end of me, right?” Gun Roswell
The end of me
The wrinkles are there, for all. to stare All the money and even technology, spent Just gave me, a brief moment lent And now, all the loud music, is fading fast I truly don’t know, how much longer, I can last Hanging on, to this, self made thread Even if I know, it’s just a waste All this effort to try to remain, just the same A pretty face, with enough of a brain Alas, nature will take its course No matter how much you push and try to force In the end, only the flowers remain Pretty, and red, even, if I, myself, am dead
There really is no lesson nor pun intended Just a short rant of life, even if pretended To live for ever and ever and never die Well, anyways, at least they can say, I tried!
“Death, is just the beginning, right?” Gun Roswell
Is this, truly, the end?
“This will be the death of me” The low hanging leaf said, to the other one left “After all, it’s about time, for me, as it is already fall And, truly, I can no longer stall The inevitable circle, which is that of life No matter how hard, I try to put up a fight”
There was no response to the question As the last of its companion Was already floating down towards its destination Jumping in, without, any kind of hesitation
After a moment of contemplation Somehow, making the question mute in comparison Then, slowly, gently, the now colourless leaf Fell onto the waiting ground, without no one to grief After all, it was the end, of the season So hanging on, well, there really was no reason
“It’s Monday again folks! Better buckle up tight, because we are in, for a rude ride!” Gun Roswell
Monday!
It is far too early, in the bloody hours of the morning, as I keep on yawning Rolling, out of bed, even if, I should have stayed, under the warm covers instead My head, is a total mess, and I am slowly but gradually beginning, to feel the stress Of yet another week beginning, and no, I am so not, any kind of ballads singing The signs were all there, in plain sight, just yesterday, all day long, I am fearing For this day, to once again, come around, was it unexpected? Not really Because for sure, I knew all along, it was lurking there, behind, the closed doors Snoozing the alarms, going to hiding, trying to keep on the snores No, nothing really ever helps, so, this is it folks! And no, no more of them jokes! This is serious business and we all, need to start a rebellion, nay, a revolution! To ban this day for once and for all, and never, ever again, should anyone feel small When standing, against this, very big, hairy monster of a thing, on this, day Where most of us, or at least some of the more sensitive people, feel like they are slain By, this, fire spitting dragon, with the sharpest of teeth, as it is coming, to existence Each and every single week, and right after, that perfect, slow paced place, no resistance left…
Alas, the weekend is now gone, and I am standing, sad and totally alone, dreading Fearing, shaking, my pants almost peeing, but, with hands so sweaty, but I am nearing My sword raised high and without even a hint of a smile, I am going to face it once again- – Monday!
“A red bike, on the street side… just hop on, and take a ride! “ Gun Roswell
A moped ride in the world wide
The red, and totally busted ride Was waiting, by the very side I knew from before, and I might Just have out, a very loud sigh Because no way, was this fine Taking out, this archaic bike!
But, approaching the land Where the old bike would usually stand By an old, and very solid oak door It was then, I noticed, something quite odd As if just taken out of a store It stood there, with so much flare All over, it was spicked and spanned Even, the silvery and shiny handles can Be more gorgeous than As before the metal, no longer rusted But everything shiny and dusted The gas tank filled with go juice There really was nothing to loose With this fine ride, of the day Only one thing, still remained Putting on, the helmet and boots The leathery outfit, also to choose Then hopping on this, very fine steed And out into the busy streets, it to lead
As I am now riding down the roads Remembering something, from before “There really is no better way”, was I earlier told By someone, certain and so bold And I am finally agreeing to it now, with a huge, big smile When I am taking this ride, to the world open wide
“Curiosity, made the cat, venture out into the wide world” Gun Roswell
Curious Cat
The almost completely, white coloured observant smart cat On the clear cut and hard stone covered patio sat Ears, neatly, steered, towards the upon coming sounds As if intended to come her way, from over, the clouds Intently, she was always watching, the endless skies As if looking for something or someone, over there flying Maybe just, a small bird, or then again, even a loud plane Eyes, intently, fixed on what ever it was, just the same Nothing and no one ever passed, the vigilant cat by As she kept on observing, perhaps, with a hint of smile After all, she was aptly named, by those of her keepers Whose house she liked to stay in, before each day dreaming While looking up into the endless blue and fluffy cloud filled skies The name of Curious Cat, landed on her, and that, is no lie And to be faire and honest, the cat really did not mind After all, she was well kept and the only thing of her required Was to keep doing her thing, admiring, everything around Even if she could only fantasise of flying, seated on the ground
“A true beauty for the ages, conqueror of all the stages, she most certainly is” Gun Roswell
Ode to Dame Angela Lansbury, a very happy 95th birthday!
A true beauty, surpassing all ages The soft and fair conqueror, of film and stages Nothing she has ever done, or will do, fades As the one true star, she will always, stay
Dame Angela, a gorgeous rose, by any other name, you might say Equal, to the one and true talent and all the following fame And because or despite that, all of us fans, love you just the same So a very happy ninety-fifth birthday to you, as we do our little parade In honour, of this truly, and one totally fine day!
“All the memories, filling the cupboards of the mind, of so much travel time, during holidays, now gone by” Gun Roswell
Reflections of a holiday gone by
The warm weather on a sunny day Under the parasol the traveler lay Wondering about nothing at all As this time, was reserved, for a ball
A long lasting party on the beach Food and drinks just, at reach Laughter and rhythmic music The one and only constant
As running in a movie like slow motion On the sandy beach without commotion Life simple and totally carefree Blue seas and skies forever to see
Nothing coming close to perfection As looking back at the reflection Of a holiday well spent in the past But alas, it was never meant, to last
Oh well, maybe will come, some other time There will be an opportunity for something so fine When the option of just trying to unwind Under the perfect palm tree, with a wide smile
“Wear the damned mask! It will, save lives!” Gun Roswell
The masked crusaders
The masked crusaders of these modern and fine days And much, to the raging epidemics dismay They have come, for the evil viruses, to slay And, they call themselves, the antivirus agents Their proverbial swords pointed against All those, apposing, any kind of good health
To educate all their fellow beings out in the cold By wearing masks of various colours and prints bold The antiviral agents also recommend disposable gloves Especially, when going outside to feed the doves But basically, when the need to touch anything That the fellow beings might been also doing
Keeping a safe distance, at least, a meter an a half Might seem, like causing a flutter of laugh Then again, even if it is nice in company time to spend The antiviral recommendation is: social distancing Hugging would be fine, but sometimes, one big smile From a short distance, can be also as divine
Remember to wash your face and hands When back at the old home stead you’ll land The mask either washable or disposable to attend to Then good health and happy lives ensue As from now on head the recommendations Of these, modern day, masked, crusaders
“The beach, of the summer long ago, still fresh, in my memory“ Gun Roswell
The memory of the beach
It was so long ago, so I have to think about it, really, really slow The memory though, still fresh in my mind, as if permanently there, intertwined It was such a fulfilling place, the one, where the summers were laid In perfect harmony with time itself, without running around, like a slave The beaches sandy and soft, the water the calmest and blue The sun always shining, but most importantly, no one was ever whining Of this place, being anything, but perfect as on that beach they played Sports, of all sorts, swimming until your arms would tire out And when it was time for a break, some sustenance and drinks, someone would shout “Come one to the table! The food is getting cold! Hurry up!” All of us, sprinted out and ran, like the fire was there under our cans Spending the days on end, on that sandy and sunny beach Until it was that time of the day, when the sun could no longer reach Only displaying a magnificent setting, as its rays in various colours kept on slaying The moonrise only a match, with the stars hitting the skies above Then at bedtime, dreaming of yet another day on that perfect seaside Yes, those where the days, where we all so had our eyes so totally wide Now, I can only reminisce, about the days gone by, but, with a soft smile
Rantings Of A Third Kind 