Sundays filled with sun

“Sundays, yes, those the fun days” Gun Roswell

Sundays filled with sun

Smell the roses, won’t you When you walk out side Pop into a garden, filled with the Colours of nature, trees, flowers

Everything you can imagine just For the visual pleasures of us all Stroll around, see the marvels

Sit on the bench, inhale All the fragrants, your nose could ever Have imagined, feeling peaceful, watching

The butterflies, birds and bees Busy at work, gathering their sustenance, but Your task, is to relax And there is really nothing wrong with that

My Little Piece, of Chocolate Heaven

“Everything is good just as lone as it is made of chocolate, right?” Gun Roswell

My Little Piece, of Chocolate Heaven

There is just
something about you
I am in lust
And only for you

I am finding it impossible
to stay away
Highly improbable
Anything would keep me at bay

I lost you
Luckily
I found you

My little bit of Heaven
By sweet sweet
I am up to seven
My one and only treat

My sweet chocolate bar
In a serial package
You didn’t venture too far
When I was tracking

Boats, and similar vessels can take you there, somewhere

“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.

Tall against the blue skies, with a touch of red on the side

“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.

Early morning hours

“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

Inside my coffee

“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

Icy art covering my windows

“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.

Black cat sitting on the street corner

“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

Window views, with imaginary scenery

“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