“It’s like a phrase from a fantasy movie or similar, being luminous and all…. oh well, guess that one I did do and stole” Gun Roswell
Illuminated
Elated
Dedicated
Awaited
Luminous things of nature
In this frozen portraiture
Not just a summer’s feature
But living, breathing creatures
Fated
Sacred
Created
Illuminated
“Something peculiar about the summer feel, as it seems, everything has gone totally green!” Gun Roswell
Green, is the front yard
Green, is the colour of the greeting card
Green, is the mind of this bard
Green, you cannot discard
Green, now also Red Rover
Green, like the four leaf clover
Green, is summer’s exposure
Green, is taking over
“Look up and what do you spy with your own eyes? Something cool? White and fluffy?” Gun Roswell
“I will huff and puff
Blow smoke until there is enough”
The little pipe scoffed
And blew more smoke
Up into the air
“Getting older, wider and never the smarter? Sound about familiar? Oh well, there is always AI right? Perhaps some more of the new stuff to be added to the person I’ve become?” Gun Roswell
The year was nineteen sixty eight
Life still at stage wait
I must have been no more
Than three years of age
Little Red Riding Hood
Yes, I knew I could
In the borrowed red elf’s hat
Cutest thing you ever saw
Prettiest princess of them all
How could I ever top that!
Now, (fifty nine) years later
Oh life, you’re such a traitor!
I still love red of course
Now I wear it with horns
In the mighty stiletto heels
Life is as good as it feels
“Sometimes, more often so these days not, the kid in me jumps forward and straight into the puddle!” Gun Roswell
Overflowing with water
Are the puddles after rain
Leaving many and big a stain
Where ever the water for a while remains
Jumping, jumping, jumping out of joy
Like a kid again, shouting loudly”Ahoy!”
Splashing water all around
Everywhere , all over the ground
September may be the month of rain
Causing the summer lovers a lot of pain
But, luckily, the season of sun will come again
So keeping on puddle jumping until then
“They’re nature’s way of giving you the notion of time, the bells made of flowers, ringing, every single hour (except if there is no wind)” Gun Roswell
Slay bells a ringing?
It’s summer time:
Can’t touch this…
Purple flowers,
They are totally gorgeous
Telling the time?
Perhaps not
“They are well hidden, deep in the forest for none to find, yet here, look, I did find them!” Gun Roswell
As the summer wind softly blows
The delicate white bells glow
From the sunlight’s reflection
You can almost see, the perfection
“A chair fit for a Queen and other Ladies too, well anyone really, so just, take a load off! it’s Sunday after all!” Gun Roswell
“Ah, a cool summer’s breeze
I am possibly ready to sneeze
Better sit down on the bench!”
Said the little old wench
As she tightly held her thighs in a clench
Because that damned sneezing
Made her always queasy
And possibly a little uneasy
As to what might start to trickle
She started to giggle
“Oh, hurry up you old fool
And quickly sit down on that damned stool!”
“Something totally pretty about midsummer, those white flowers everywhere!” Gun Roswell
The flowerbeds’ seed
Looks like weed
But, pretty indeed
Let’s call them
Sauna Flowers
But yeah, you cannot bathe in them
Or can you?
“At least there is no snow on the ground, yet!” Gun Roswell
Not creature stirred
Not even a mouse
Vision getting blurred
Or just an illusion
If you come to the conclusion
And dare to leave the house
Heed this warning
The rain come a down pouring
Soon you will be scorning
The streets empty and deserted
The barbeque outside forgotten and defeated
Shivering in ten plus degrees
Wishing you had paid the fees
Of a nice vacation abroad
But your plan was flawed
Planning on spending
The day never ending
At home in stead
Spending the Finnish carnival
An event most formidable
Even though holier than thou
Or the proverbial sacred cow
That was all but a dream
You hear yourself scream
If you’d only been so lucky
But now feeling yucky
Your midsummer
What a bummer
Surely a nightmare to remember
So what really happened:
Rantings Of A Third Kind 