“The seaside beckons, each and every day, so getting going, even if I cannot for long stay” Gun Roswell
Another day, out there on the seaside, maybe, even sailing
When the internal clock, clearly indicates, it is that time, for all else, to stop With all this on going hassle and utter buzz around me, of the daily kind of blocks And then realising, what I really ought to be doing, and stop my cheeks chewing I should be out there instead, by those inviting and always ever so enticing docks And if possible, finding myself, a nice little dingy of a boat, that kind of sort Then row, row, row myself, out towards there, to the mighty and open wide, unknown
As it happens, and I am all alone out there, in the coolest of blues stratosphere What ever happens next, really do not give much of a care, as from now on from here I just want to take my leave from it all, and at least, for a short while, disappear Let myself some time to do absolutely nothing, but totally to the surround moment sink Alas, do not fear, I will be back to annoy you all, before you can say with a swear: “Now, why don’t ya, getta hell outa here, before this shit hits your hair!”
“There is always room, for one more cup, of coffee, no matter how full the tummy or what the hour of the day. Coffee.” Gun Roswell
Another cup of coffee, please
In the early morning hours, even before, the scheduled shover Coffee, needed, in a large cup at that on the dot, and steaming hot
At lunch time, when feeling tired after a meal large, and not doing too fine Coffee, please, double at that, only black, because I need to stay, alert stat
The afternoon, when the so called real coffee break is set, so fine Alas, do not that let, to be a distraction of getting Coffee, any time
Pr-evning, the time between noon and evening, hauling my tired ass home Ain’t nothin else, getting me off of this mess of a state, than, Coffee, a noun
Past dinner time, the relaxed set up, with family and friends to spend A heavy duty plate of a meal consumed, and on the brew, you guessed it: Coffee!
Later, getting closer to night time, the tv babbling in corner, I am napping But still, I would like to stay awake, for that movies sake, what else, but Coffee helps
Come night, and I should be sleeping relaxed and sound, getting unwound Alas, I am wide awake, alert, nothing fake, and one thing comes to mind: Coffee Yes, she’s got me hooked good, and hey, I know I really shouldn’t, but one cup won’t hurt? So, one more cup of, Coffee!
“The weather is always at its worst, on Mondays, oh how I don’t like Mondays“ Gun Roswell
A Mundane Monday kind of Weather
The green of the soggy ground, soon another kind of cover found As the soft white of the snow, today, made its early and neat bow The Monday kind of grey, soon turned to a ride in an old school sleigh With odd sounds filling the airs, in the form of some kind of cheers This day of mundane, was turning out to be, a very special type of day And maybe, just maybe, that is thanks, to the now growing banks Of this cold and white powder of substance, all over and everywhere But not saying this out of despair, even if it really, is not that rare To have all that snow, all over the floors, at this time of year, so near To the favourite of all seasons, and that being the most and only reason Putting up, with all this huff and puff of the white, now making the outside Picturesque, no less than it was a few moments ago, or even yesterday When the whole world was covered, in total non fashion kind of grey So, welcome oh dear snow, hope you will bring so much fun in tow But remember to melt away, as soon, as the winter’s sun hits play!
I tried to learn the Finnish language, which is really, really, really hard, and I realized that if I want to really learn it, I just need to figure out the swear words first, because those, are totally effective” Gun Roswell
Our Land (national anthem)
Oh Our Land Finland Fatherland Echo Loudly Golden Word No Valley No Hill No Water Shore More Dear Than This Northern Homeland This Precious Land Of Our Fathers No Valley No Hill No Water Shore More Dear Than This Northern Homeland This Precious Land Of Our Fathers One Day From Your Bud You Will Bloom From Our Love Shall Rise Your Hope Glorious Joy And Once Your Song Fatherland Higher Still Will Ring From Our Love Shall Rise Your Hope Glorious Joy And Once Your Song Fatherland Higher Still Will Ring
“It’s great to be independent, either for just my own sake or then, living in a country which is, just that” Gun Roswell
Independence
A good feeling, in the back of your very pocket to have Making your own decisions, thinking for yourself, alas That kind of position, does not really, come so easily For yourself, you had to prove your parents most likely That you could do it without much fighting, or then again You may have had to push your way through ignorance Pettiness and all that kind of jazz, to be at the very point And that was smart, as for the country, which you live in On this very fine day, those before you, had to prove their Very worth, while dredging in the dirt, in arms and poor Conditions no less, most of them refusing to ever confess To those who would take away their freedom and even lives Some of them dying in the process, without ever seeing What they managed to achieve, but on this day we can leave All doubts outside and when we step into the unknown wide The in person thing we can never, be taken for granted Is that one so simple sounding word, of independence
“The sun was shining as per usual, reflecting warmth, over the tops” Gun Roswell
Sunshine Cat
The tiny cat, in the warming sunshine sat Without even wearing, one simple kind of hat Alas That is really not exactly the real catch Of this tiny of a tale of the sunshine cat
The point being, it is always so completely warm Especially, after that cold and rainy storm As a fact That is why the cat, decided on that spot To sit and fully the rays in soak, on that dot
So leave it to the furry feline kinds of friends To find the best places themselves to mend A cat In the sunshine, simply, enjoying the sunshine And in all of our own minds, that is what we too want
“It’s too early and way too dark and I cannot see much of anything! So, guess it must be, a November morning!“ Gun Roswell
Autumn morning in Suburbia
Very early, in the morning hours, after, a very quick shower Looking outside, my window, and here, is what I do know:
It’s the very month of November now, the year gone by, so very fast I hardly had the time, to really look around, and then it was already past The moment, and already, the new year soon knocking, at my door And I had not even bought, any kind of presents, from the store Because the tradition demanded, that of a celebration, at the turning Of a new leaf of this so called life, we are supposed to have been living But, as I turn to take a good look outside, and the similar view I see Each day, seemingly the same, all year round, except now, it is less green I know the clock is ticking, and slowly but surely each day, is changing The view now so familiar to me, but, soon will turn to something completely Different, and then again, I will be here no more, to watch all the seasons As they continue their ever lasting rotation, outside this same window The circle of life some say, and hey, that’s just fine, but then one day I would really like to stop the time, and take a really good look, anyway
“Life, in a lighthouse, can be, mostly, a louse, but only, if you let it” Gun Roswell
The lighthouse keeper
The dreary lighthouse, with its grumpy kind of keeper, solemn and all alone The only function, for this, keeper, is to make sure, the blinking lights are on Climbing, each and every single night, up the tall stairs, in a blight As keeping on, the ever-shining beacon, is an ongoing arduous fight No matter the weather, no matter the time of year, the task always there Waiting, each evening, for the keeper to stay alert, while getting upstairs After all, the safety, of so many ships, passing by, is so high And completely dependent, on this one and only keeper, to have in mind Never resting, always alert, even if the feeling of a somewhat jerk But the light must be kept burning, no matter what else in the world is churning Certainly, not a task, for any kind of adventurer or even a thrill seeker As this is the lonesome job, of this lonely and sometimes angry lighthouse keeper
“The colour so bright, this thing, totally, caught my eyes!“ Gun Roswell
Red Trike
The painted fire red engine colour shining across the grey a monotonous basement of a parking lot, and it really wasn’t that difficult to spot, that totally gorgeous vehicle of a thing parked across a few dull looking four wheeled drives, so guess this tiny thing, just wanted to survive, the looks given by those big ass bullies, mocking its very existence, while missing a wheel, for instance.
“What the hell kind of a car are you anyway?” One suburban, one the larger side, with its wheels ever so large and wide asked, the tiny thing, huddled away now, in the corner to stay while, its driver was doing the shopping for the weekend, and some time away from this small trike spend.
“I am a trike, but weather proof!” The red vehicle replied, trying that, with a small smile, after all, this was its first time ever, in a great big mall, and to be honest, it really did not like at all, the banter, or rather hate talk, from all the others around there, giving it the scare.
“Oh, a trike huh?” A regular size car, commented, with a snarl, “Where does your owner, get to put all the haul, which they will most certainly have on them, as they come down from the shops.” It stated snidely as if it had some kind of revelation widely unravelled. “There is no real trunk or any kind of other place to put on all that junk, they will most certainly have scoped out, from all them shops and then bought, surely you can see the dilemma and the irony, of being such a tiny, tiny thing, despite the red armoury?”
The red trike thought for a moment, then with a loud huff and puff, it extended out its sides, making the body of it ever so wide, but with a large smile, a bit of an evil one at that, the red trike, showed off its assets quite nice, as the two, quite big tubes appeared, and as the very lids of them sprung open, the others, those even with snide remarks, could see now, clear as day, that this small trike, had a lot more on display, than what the spying eyes initially had seen.
“What do you think about my trunk now?” The red trike barked out, “Plenty of room for stuff and such, and even the rider, has leg space enough!”
No further comments were heard from the floor, as the vehicles just shut up and all their doors, as mocking such a tiny little red thing, seemed to have been a good pass time, before their owners would bring, all their shopping, filling the spaces and then some more, indeed, the little red trike, was the winner of them all, on this grey looking and dull day, at the shopping mall, then making sure the owner had plenty of space for all the stuff bought and maybe even some delicious s’mores.
“The sounds of splashing water, reminds me, of summer, days spent by the seaside, watching the waves coming to shore“ Gun Roswell
Splashing Water
Water around splashed, as the blurry projectile, into the cooling waves dashed It wasn’t officially, the season for any kind of water games, but it was all the same For the adventurous crusader of the elements, taking the plunge without hesitance The others would just have to wait, the fire, the wind, even digging in the dirt As the inviting liquid, no matter what state it was in, cold, hot, stormy or even Tornado level tsunamis leaving, the ever venturing object of a body heaving In anticipation of the varied feelings, when playing among those alluring components Made by free, well, almost, by nature itself, a long time ago, so, even if exited Just try to take it slow and enjoy, all the waves possibly caused, while diving in There is no loose or even a win, just a moment of fun, while riding ever so high On the tall waves of the splashing waters, frolicking around with the sea otters And after all that needed to be done, for the fun, the adventurer will return, home
Rantings Of A Third Kind 