Standing tall, no matter what

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“Do not forget your history, as it will always keep on, repeating” Gun Roswell

Standing tall, no matter what

Monumentally so, the history ancient and even more recent, keeps on living, in the books, in the movies, even in our very minds, but most of all, it is still strong, out there, in the fields, on the mountains, beneath our very own feet, just look, you really don’t have to long seek. So, so many good and bad reminders, of our own past, but hey, you always take them, as a package, even if with a loud gasp.

All the tall structures, built strong and proudly, to forever last, by our ancestors, without too many tools or even plaster. Some of the structures, still standing, after all the years passing by, laid out on the planes or even elevated high. Despite the weather, the living creatures and nature growing all around, they were meant to last, even if struggling to survive, all those piles, because those are what they mostly are, will remain, long after, all of us, have left.

Waters Edge, on a Sunny Day

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“As the elements of nature you see, water, might just be, the most fun of them, in my opinion” Gun Roswell

Waters Edge, on a Sunny Day

The calming and totally inviting cool blue hues reflected, across the palette of each and every single surface
Beckoned, this, very weary, disbelieved traveller, whom itself had neglected, to take a break without disturbance
The empty banks, which the beginning of the seaside flanked, were a canvas for the imagination now blank
There was no hurry or worry, to do anything else, but to sit down on to the swells, where the rocky terrain dwelled
Then letting the thoughts fly, towards the eternal skies, carrying them off to others spheres up there, high
After all, this time alone, was removed from the continuum, the moment frozen, from any of the other dozen
This, it was the perfect place, to let go any and all hesitate, and simply be, and the surroundings to see
As nothing else really mattered now, only the scenic picture in front and how, special the feeling of simply here being
Amongst the elements, the water, the land, the sky and never asking the why, because this, was the perfect life

A cats profile

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“As cute as that can be, must have a great profile too for all to see“ Gun Roswell

A cats profile

A quite cute and totally sassy cat
On the tallest of tables, silently sat
Like some kind, of a cherished statue
From our very own past at that
The historical kind of an artefact

But no matter, how much of a purfect
The fur, the face, and the actual stance
Surely, it was that one very simple fact
That the cute profile, even from a glance
Was surely, that of a goddess, to last

Alas, the quite cute, sassy cat, who sat
Did, not really, much care, of all of that
But, just wanting to be, so worshiped
Like some pretty flower, that of a tulip
And with that kind of a totally great profile
Who would, not want to do that, and smile

Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep

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“It is, a different kind of fun, hanging there, under, the bright sun, but then again, I don’t like to run”
Gun Roswell

Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep

The warm winds, gently, heaved, above me, in the tall palm tree leaves
As I laid under there, in the dark shadows, looking up, only to see
The sunshine, now curiously peeking, as if for something, it had to seek
Or then it was just me, being, once again, that one special kind of a geek
As I was conjuring up, all kinds of scenarios, where the very sun, was a being
From another world, with an agenda, and some sort of a ransom, and then chasing
All us, lowly humans, here, on the planet Earth and because of just that, making
Us, to go to permanent hiding, from those ever vigilant and ever searching
Rays so brightly lit, it was becoming more and more difficult, in the shadows to fit
But, for me, the gentle, caring and soft cover, of the tall and ever green
Palm of a tree, provided all the cool shelter, I could possibly ever need

Tall shadows of winter

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“The tall shadows of a low hanging sun in the winter time look gorgeous, but scary too”
Gun Roswell

Tall shadows of winter

First snow fell, heavily onto big piles, all over, the grey ground
Not one single spot of dirt, or other matter, was there, to be found
And as the sun started shining, on one slow afternoon leaving
Tall shadows across the snow in its wake, making shiny sparkles
Like tiny little diamonds, so gorgeous, that all those of us looking
At them, could for a fading moment enjoy the captivating spell
Of this one and bright winters day, after the long and cruel darkness
Broken if only for a tiny fraction of time, and then feeling fine
Almost divine, until it was once again, completely, and totally dark
But even after the bright sun was gone, remaining only, was
That one and hopeful spark, that one day soon, after the moon
Had gone to sleep, the sun would come back, and then maybe, stay
Forever, and then all of us dwellers could spend all of their days
Counting the newly formed, and various kind of shapely shadows
Sometimes tall, more often times short, but the hope of the light
No matter if it was shining bright, was in their own hearts, forever

With dust in my tracks

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“I am always leaving fast, with the dust in my tracks” Gun Roswell

With dust in my tracks

When I do leave, a place, any single place
I usually, like to leave, my own mark as well
Be that something permanent, carved on stone
Or, just simple specs of dust, in the air thrown
So, today, when the sun was finally shining
And the wide open roads me gently beckoned
I jumped into my trusted four wheeled steed
And pushed the pedal to the metal for the speed
The dry and sandy path ahead, to an idea lead
To leave a sign of my being here, on this sphere
As I drove down the lane, like a person, insane
The only thing to be seen, as I left the slate clean
Was the thick and ever climbing, spectacular sighting
Of a cloud filled with small grains, forming the dust
Leaving it hanging in the air, until the day fell to rust

A monster of a tractor

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“It’s big, it’s red, it’s a monster of a machine!” Gun Roswell

A monster of a tractor

It may just be, the one and the only, technological epitome, of equipment for tiny me
The mighty and really large vehicle, a tractor, all over painted, with the shiniest of reds
And this, pretty red one, was going to be the one, driving little old me, all day, around
In the fields open and quite wide, and with this kid, of vessel, it would be difficult to hide
As the mere size of it, was a sight, but, also causing the narrow roads to totally shift
As trying hard, to navigate and avoid, if possible, hitting each and every hidden ditch
But soon enough, getting the hang of the mighty truck, and as it would be my best luck
I managed, to hang on and ride all the way, without too much of uncomfortable dismay
And finally reaching the fields of plenty, to start with my task of harvesting, well, gently
Because this was the one kind of a tractor, that would rise to the occasion, out factored
The cost of the gasoline and other kinds of upkeep, but hey, as it was doing the job so neat
Then what is a small amount of expenses, when the harvest, was done in a less than a week!

A farmers life for me?

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“There is nothing like life on a farm, expect maybe, a life on a paradise island” Gun Roswell

A farmers life for me?

The skies, are totally clear and blue, and the harvest ready, for a very good use
The big ass tractor, waiting, in the yard, ready, willing and able, for me to take charge
Hopping on it cheerfully, as I am, always and now dutifully, all the fine fruitful crops
Going to pick up, as, with my trusted steed, I will ride, into the wide, open field
Making my own way, and of course, the hay slay, as I am that one farmer chick
Who will this hard and often said, manly job lick, with a flick, of my very own wrist
I don’t care, if other people there, just stand and oddly stare, while I am proudly riding
My tractor quite big, doing my chores in a eyes wink, and then all of them charming
With my outgoing and smiling personality, as I am turning out, to be quite the celebrity
Of this small and secluded village, where mostly farmers earn their living off of the land
And, now, so do I, as I am getting high, of this life, of being a farmer, so very nice

High up on the Mountain Top

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“Trying to reach the top, might seem like an effort, but the reward awaiting there, no time to spare but to keep on going without a stop!“ Gun Roswell

High up on the Mountain Top

The top seemed, totally and utterly unreachable
As I was standing there, below, fearing, the inevitable
The climb, seemed so long, and time, was running out
Because I should have already been there, to shout

“I am on the top of the world! See me twirl!
Yes, I am that gurrrl, who got here in a wind of whirl!”

Alas, the previous efforts to haul myself up there and stay
Had been, hm, shall we say, unsuccessful, in the best of ways
I had tried, really hard, well, at least, some of the times
But in honest truth, and I cannot deny, that procrastination was high
And getting ever so high up there, close enough, to the stratosphere
Had somehow always fallen into a very low priority, on any of the lists
I had oh so carefully drafted for me, with tasks far from being a jest

So, the days went by, and despite of the promise to fly ever so high
The time was never, ever on my side, at least, that was what I told myself (yes, a lie)
But, finally, here I stand, with a rope thick, in my very own hands I host
Trying to make up for all the time so completely wasted and now, also lost
When figuring out all the excuses for not climbing towards the very top
Gazing, glaring, staring, at the scary looking, feet shaking, hand breaking
Yes, yes, I know, I know, that I am so many and too many excuses making
So, here I go, towards the reward, one, step, two step, at the time…

“Hey! Guess I will be fine, after all!
This mountain, doesn’t seem to be that tall!”

Help me up, wont you (Caturday)

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“The black cat, helping a striped cat, well now, that is true team work!” Gun Roswell

Help me up, wont you (Caturday)

There was something very interesting definitely there, on the window sill
As the two small size cats, kittens really, now on the floor, circled around, at will
Trying to get up, with still growing but short legs still, was quite the feat tough
And even trying to very hard to hop, hop, hop off of, the very flat ground
It seemed impossible to get up there, where something great was to be found
But neither of them succeeding, on their own, so what to do now, they frowned
Then a thought, came to the others mind, maybe working together was fine
Even if they both competed with each other for every single little thing in kind
But this time, maybe it was enough, if one of them reached on the very top
And then the other would know too, what it was so interesting up and out there
Which was intruding their very own domain, and threatening, just of the same
And then the smaller one pushed the bigger one, with a huff, on to the very ledge
Urging him to seek, search and then, to destroy, what ever it was disturbing their day
As the bigger cat got up, he turned back with a huff and a puff, as the only thing
Was a small spider, weaving its web while singing, and now already out of reach
For the small cat and his friend, whom, so eagerly had for big game tried to seek

“What a total bust!” The striped cat told the black cat, “Just a small spider, alas!”

“Yeah, all for nothing, that huffing and puffing!” The black cat told the striped cat. “But when we tell this story to the others, it was some kind of a big elephant or tiger, which we fought really hard against.” She then added.

“Agreed!” Said the striped cat, “And next time, I will let you be the one to go see.” He stated as the two of the strolled back to the litter, to tell a great story of two hunters, they were, slaying wild game without hesitance or even one flicker.