Winter’s blue moment sunset

“The blue moment of the day, is here to slay, the sun, as there is nothing it can do against the darkening night.” Gun Roswell

Winter’s blue moment sunset

The colour, is simply so totally blue, the hue so strong, the lens of the camera could not even fathom how to adjust the tone

But it does not matter as the calming waves, hitting those, whom dare in the moment for a tad longer to stay.

The world under a calming cool blanket, not of white, or off white, but blue, the hue simply so good, matching those of the skies.

And before it is time to retire, lay the head on a pillow and smile, the moment of blue still lingering the minds of those, whom did it applaud.

Winter’s Branches


“They are frozen, solid, preserved and intact, until spring.” Gun Roswell

Winter’s Branches

Just yesterday, the leaves were hanging there, living, breathing, drinking in the water from the rain having fallen from the open skies, waving gently in the winds, as if nothing would disturb them.

Then, overnight, the temperatures plummeted, and without so much as a warning, the leaves of the threes, froze, mid life, without a strife, simply hanging there in suspended animation, in whatever position they had been, when the extreme wheaten stormed in.

Pretty, they are, even from a far, the hanging jewels of sorts of the tree, covered by snow and ice, looking quite nice, but inside there, is life waiting to pounce forward at the first sign of spring.

Wintery branches


“The nature has painted the branches of the trees with a white crystal like substance, something these mere mortals call as “snow”” Gun Roswell

Wintery branches

The early morning snow showers, had painted patterns all over the place, frozen for a short moment in the cold weather, the icicles of the flowery flakes glistening in the morning sun, looking like much fun, at least, when staring from the window, from the warmth of the inside. But those who dare outside, in the world now rather cold and crispy, perhaps taken some sort of recording device with them, whether a mechanical one, or a simple pen and paper setup, they might just be able to capture the most gorgeous scene, right out of a fantasy book, as the look, is pretty much out there, from the mind of the creator, Mother Nature, rewarding us with this sight. And after the day is done, those patterns would have turned, to something else as more snow and ice would have burned on top of the original ones. So, perhaps todays display, will be even the more tomorrow, who knows? The point being, keep an interest in the surroundings as you can never know what interesting things you might just be finding out there.

World Wide We Ride

“There is just something about travel, around the globe and guess in the future, space?” Gun Roswell

World Wide We Ride

Against the mundane grind
Do I daily fight
My Disappointment, trying hard to hide
When dull takes over there for the while
Cooking up, some kind of evil guile
To get on my face, a more permanent smile
But, before that time
I can only enjoy my precious archives
For only in my mind
Do I travel, world wide

A snowy seat for the Sunday day

snowy-seats-2


“The best seat in the house, but it’s on the outside!” Gun Roswell

A snowy seat for the Sunday day

It may be cold outside
With lots of frosted snow
But as the sun comes from its hide
You need to take it slow
Take a seat for a while
Even if it’s not your style
And simply enjoy with a smile…

But, thank goodness: It’s almost summer now!???
(Just kidding! it’s not even Xmas yet!)

Snowflakes


“Snowflakes are falling down” Gun Roswell

Snowflakes

Tiny little things
Fragile, but they sing
A harmonious song
All of them singing along
As they venture way down
On to the solid ground
There is a soft thud
But nothing heard aloud
Piling on top of each other
Forming a blanket tether
Strong enough to walk on
Completing this monotonous song
Until such time the snowfall
Starts another round
And the circle continues
Until it’s time to loose
To the warmth of sunshine

Friday


“Friday I’m in love?” Gun Roswell

Friday

Tomorrow, I have to borrow
Skip today, like it was yesterday
Friday, my hero, without you, I am zero
The day of wonder, the day of bliss
Oh, how I have you, each day missed

I am sorry you had to go away
I wished, really, for you to stay
But I know, you cannot be everyday
So I am trying to enjoy, each and every day
But Friday, I miss you any way

Friday, always on my mind
Friday, is always so kind
Friday, yes, that is my day
Friday, I am in love with you
Friday, you are the only and true

Picturesque

“It’s a cliche, I know” Gun Roswell

Picturesque

Unique, incomplete
Something, perhaps very cheap
A picturesque vision
Drawn, with precision

Luring anyone to stares
Up the mountain hike as a dare
There may be he danger of falling
But, nature is calling, so quit stalling

The Wednesday Poem


“Half way through, half way to go, with one day to spare, Wednesday!” Gun Roswell

The Wednesday Poem

Midweek
Still trying to find
Without knowing
What I seek

Wednesday!
Hurry the hell up
Only few more to go
Until it’s Friday

In the middle
Playing an out of tune fiddle
Nothing about to giggle
It’s like threading a needle

Two down two more to go
Standing
Still unmoving in the middle of it all
Planning

Because…

Friday
That’s my very day
The weekend ahead
With plenty of rest

Half way done
Part of the fun
Wednesday
That ain’t no pun!

Hiding under the shade


“Hiding from the sun, can be so much fun” Gun Roswell

Hiding under the shade

Outside, is the scorching sun
Staying, under, the shade, is so much more fun
You may think, it’s just a pun
But the truth been told, you get so much more done

In the shade, you don’t really need to complain
Hot or not, you won’t get burnt, the sun is blocked, without concern
Weather, is always great, even, if you arrive late
The cooling breeze, will keep you at ease, just watch out, not to freeze

Fun, under the shade, for those, who hesitate
Stepping into the scorching sun, you may get done
Red like a cooked prawn, laying in the front lawn
Stay, inside the shade, it’s better, than to hesitate