“The house just on the corner there, is painted in red, how nice!!” Gun Roswell
The old-style house on the hill Against the back drop it just chills Never mind the construction It has always avoided destruction Sitting so pretty, in another wise (shitty) New style concrete block environment The red house is surely gets its adornment
A contrast, built to forever last (Maybe some fixing needed, the owner admits) But so cute, so rare It must be spared! The tiny red house on the hill with a mouse And in this image still, it looks like the house Made for Jack and Jill (or Juliet and Jill or Jack and Gill, which ever you prefer) For everyone really, in it to chill So, come on in, have a coffee They even server baked muffins with toffee!
“The colour is pink, yes indeed, even the window is reflecting the same true colour, the one of pink” Gun Roswell
Yesterdays reflected From old discarded windows An old shack Once painted black Now boasting, the colour pink It’s an eye sore some say But others, smile and In front of it for a moment stay It’s not useful anymore Who knows what secrets Within it are stored But for now, the windows And the doors Remain locked of course And maybe someday You may find the key Which unlocks them all
“Nothing like counting down from start to finish, from Monday to, well Friday, cause the weekend doesn’t really count, right?!” Gun Roswell
No matter if you are travelling or at home There is always something mundane going on During the first day of the week You might not always really find what you seek But look around what the world of mundane will bring You may be surprised of the same old things Look so much different depending of the mood or light Some of them coming finally to life There is art where you least expect it to be adored Just grab your camera and a new attitude and go to explore It may be Monday, that one specific day We all love so much to hate, well, at least of it debate Just call it the beginning of an interesting week to enjoy Because Friday will get here sooner than you have time to shout: “Ahoy!”
“Red, is a colour so bright, you almost don’t need a light in the darkness to steer by, but it looks, pretty, right!?” Gun Roswell
When the mundane Monday raises its grey and dull head Why not sprinkle some fun and colour up in the air instead Maybe put some deep red on an old house Otherwise sticking out like a sire louse
Even paint the barn door In the colour most of us adore And when completed all them upgraded and some leftover paint remains Head on, to the garden and slap on a coat of smarting Onto, the tiny windmill, always giving the chill, even warning When the wind blows or then if it sometimes storms So, now, definitely going strong Simply because, red, has the perk on This mundane Monday, not any more glum But really starting to be fun!
“Choose and pick, which ever you may fancy, there is really nothing too glamours, simply a bike with two wheels to ride!” Gun Roswell
The black big thing, on the street corner there You cannot help, but stand and stare It is massive compared to any kind of bi wheeled moped Are you even sure, this, thing, can be called a scooter?
“Choose and pick, which ever you may fancy! Or then borrow it? But don’t steal, as that is just, wrong.” Gun Roswell
Owned by “Katri” as it clearly states on the back of the tiny blue car She has really taken care of this piece of technology so far Driven it all across the country and then some And freely admitting, she and her friends really had a lot of fun
“Something glowing up there in the skies, something, golden I spy, could it be…???” Gun Roswell
The windows reflecting the light As the afternoon’s sun is still bright Colouring all the surfaces with gold hue Completely irradiating the feeling of blue A lyrical moment for the mundane grey The feeling of dull quickly fading away As the tall towers and the low windows Make us believe in fairy tales and wonders Our city now the golden one Before the illusion comes undone And we are back to the mundane vision Of dull surfaces needing revision
“Take a seat in the sun, lift your face towards the rays, it’s a holiday after all!” Gun Roswell
Moving ever forward Just looking for a seat I found one, made of wood Maybe it wasn’t hard Rather suitably good Too soft for a fit But yeah, I chose to sit!
“Just a little help is all you can give to someone in need” Gun Roswell
There was something very interesting definitely there, on the window sill As the two small size cats, kittens really, now on the floor, circled around, at will Trying to get up, with still growing but short legs still, was quite the feat tough And even trying to very hard to hop, hop, hop off of, the very flat ground It seemed impossible to get up there, where something great was to be found But neither of them succeeding, on their own, so what to do now, they frowned Then a thought, came to the others mind, maybe working together was fine Even if they both competed with each other for every single little thing in kind But this time, maybe it was enough, if one of them reached on the very top And then the other would know too, what it was so interesting up and out there Which was intruding their very own domain, and threatening, just of the same And then the smaller one pushed the bigger one, with a huff, on to the very ledge Urging him to seek, search and then, to destroy, what ever it was disturbing their day As the bigger cat got up, he turned back with a huff and a puff, as the only thing Was a small spider, weaving its web while singing, and now already out of reach For the small cat and his friend, whom, so eagerly had for big game tried to seek
“What a total bust!” The striped cat told the black cat, “Just a small spider, alas!”
“Yeah, all for nothing, that huffing and puffing!” The black cat told the striped cat. “But when we tell this story to the others, it was some kind of a big elephant or tiger, which we fought really hard against.” She then added.
“Agreed!” Said the striped cat, “And next time, I will let you be the one to go see.” He stated as the two of the strolled back to the litter, to tell a great story of two hunters, they were, slaying wild game without hesitance or even one flicker.
Friday, at last, this week, could not have gone any faster Faster, as I very well know, will this day end too Too, and then “boohoo” I cry, but hey, that is just fine Fine, as I know, there will be another Friday Friday, which unfortunately only comes, one a week
Week, is such a dreary measure Measure, like a year or even a hundred Hundred, is the number of the percent Percent, which I always give this day Day, unlike so many others consists of hope Hope, so hard to find these days Days, gone by, but hopefully plenty ahead Ahead, like the word hope, wish, what ever Ever, I wish Friday here to stay Stay, please stay, I totally pray Pray, like you are a deity or something so great Great, better than anything else Else, is where I usually am Am, exist, being, living, solely for Friday Friday, oh how I love you You, this, feeling which you can only bring Bring little ol’ me, each and every week Week, oh, were are back to this again Again, and in circles I run until Until I come to the end of this poem Poem, so yeah, guess I have a thing for Fridays then!
Rantings Of A Third Kind 