I don’t careIf you sit there and stareI don’t so really careas my time has no spareI don’t Tory not careI know I got the special flareI don’t for a moment careFor I am more important, than anyone else out there As I am a cat, a cat with a daring stare
“There is something about the open sea, when in a boat, out there in the open wide, even if it is a simple dingy of a vessel, it is fine, as it is so totally freeing simply letting the waves lull you, to some place far away…” Gun Roswell
Boats, and similar vessels can take you there, somewhere
The calm of the sea, the colour, the texture, the all, I wish I could just flee, in a boat, no matter the size or the contents, just as long as it moves, slow or fast, is fine as I can just get out there, to the open, wild waves, carrying me everywhere and anywhere, forgetting my past, even if that fact will only for a moment last, being one with the ocean of the world, to be gently hurled until it is time to come back and face the slack I may have caused while on the shore, as oh life, what a total bore, you can be, sometimes and the only good options seems to be, the wide open sea.
“The other one is taller than the smaller one, but they do support each other very well” Gun Roswell
Tall against the blue skies, with a touch of red on the side
The tall lighthouse was sticking out, from the bed rock from which it firmly sprouts. Ever so gorgeous and made from solid rock, seemingly, nothing it could stop, from reaching towards the blue open and wide skies, singing many a song of all that which is divine.
But, the truth was, that the tall one could not survive without, being tethered with its small side kick of a tiny wooden shack, painted in red, dangerously so, as even seemingly making it only in tow of the tall handsome structure, the smaller one was, the stronger one of the two, never swaying in the wind, even if it could never sing the beautiful notes to reach for the skies.
“Looks pretty, the outside with sunshine, snow and freezing temperatures, at least when stalking it from the warm inside“ Gun Roswell
Early morning hours
It looked really cool, the sunshine and the blue Reflected off the snow, in all the colours hues The sunshine, totally awesome and sublime Combined, the wintry scene storybook divine…
Alas, when checking what is the outside temperature Today, well below the degrees of zero, way too irregular To have good enough wardrobe to even make it Out there without several times changing to fit What ever nature is about to throw your way on this day So, the decision, becoming very clear and easy Rather then into so many restricting layers to squeeze in Closing quickly the curtains and deciding of staying Inside in the darkened room, where it is always cozy As the other option of blinding lights and frozen skin Is not as attempting at all, as the scene just seen Through the window wide, but that is all quite fine As now, I’ve got the nice and scenic picture to dwell on During those hot summer days when the complain is strong
“I am always there, inside my coffee, weird huh?“ Gun Roswell
Inside my coffee
Inside my coffee I live, love and like Just the way things are right now; right Very, very dark and quite strong Oh, but please, Really, do not get me all wrong As sometimes, well, often times actually The total and utter staleness gets me mad And then I turn all sour and oh so very sad But then I remember that one perfect thing Which is, That I live inside my coffee and I start to sing Praises of the liquid Which I can never get sick with As I swim around my little pond Filled with coffee, oh so strong Too much? Yes, well, maybe, but I got the luck As my dwelling, is my stuff of drinking And even if I sometimes tend to be sinking Deep, deep into the other end This is the place, my coffee blend Where all my time, I so love to spend
“Sparkly things all over the windows, must be freezing weather out there!” Gun Roswell
Icy art covering my windows
The rain filed weather front in the early evening, soon was stalled, as the temperatures suddenly dropped. Quickly and without warning, falling, below zero, to the point of freezing. The droplets earlier landing onto the glass of the windows, thrown all over haphazardly by the raging storm, were now frozen solid, to a unified cover very strong.
But as if I watched them glistening in the early morning sun, the patterns emerged, looking like so much fun. As if an artwork of sorts had been swiftly painted, onto the otherwise dull and see through pane. The various small flakes rearranged into various shapes, so many of them there, it was like they were alive as they kept on the change, until the suns warming heat them slowly but surely melted, away.
“There is a black cat in the street just sitting there, should I be scared?” Gun Roswell
Black cat sitting on the street corner
There once was a black cat Whom neatly on the street corner sat Never moving, never budging Even if there would be a large truck in Coming around the bend He would just sit there and this time spend On nothing and everything As the world would turn around him
Why you may ask?
Well you see, this is his one job The only one suited on this small blue globe As he is the very watcher of us all The one black cat, sitting quite tall And that is why there is no fear for us at all As he keeps an eye on us, that we will not fall
“I don’t think I can ever get tired of the scenery outside my window” Gun Roswell
Window views, with imaginary scenery
The many lands, the foreign vistas, the great unknown and all the open possibilities For the exploration, to what ever lies outside, these empty and dull suburban streets Behind the frames of this view, ever changing, but still, mostly, the same remaining Window with the most perfect view, at least in my mind, leaving me feeling, never, ever blue As I sit at the sidelines, in my usual comfortable seat and think of the open wide World, just at reach, at least, in my mind, out there, outside, I cannot help but smile As I gently lull myself into a dream state lazy, and then travelling to all the places Wherever my own imagination dares me to carry, smoothly, never in any kind of hurry Having always the perfect amount of time, to explore, to see, to feel, to live in it all Even if it is never, well really, quite real, it is still, a trip or sorts, out there Never leaving the comfort of these walls of my sombre home, still, never really alone Not at least, when visiting these, far away lands in my mind, for the perfect scenery to find