“Sometimes, life might seem like a dream, while more often times, it just turns out to be, a nightmare, so prepare to – scream!” Gun Roswell
Row, row, row your wee puff-puff boat, Gently down the narrow yet calm stream Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, Life, yeah that ole thing, Might just be, but some kind of a dream!
Well, unless you wake up But better just continue paddling just the same As this might just all be, quite real!
“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.
“Something about travelling and not on a Monday?” Gun Roswell
The days come along one by one (usually the way they do) It’s almost like singing a song (verse by verse moving along) Today it’s Tuesday, when only yesterday it was Sunday (that’s how I recall it) And now, it’s getting late, no matter how I hesitate, tomorrow will be here, I can feel it near (What do you know: It’s Wednesday and midweek, what a geek!)
Guess I need to stop worrying about Mondays anyway (Oh, did you worry before? Did not know that…) Since the days keep on changing without my aid (Yeah, need a time machine for that!) Why worry about some day, when there is always the next day (True, do like the Spanish do, manana!) So, on this day of …ahem, Tuesday, I swear, not to worry about another damned day!!! (Liar! You know this promise or what ever is as good as the up and down going fever! You will never keep it, trust me, I know shit!)
Bring it on Tuesday, Wednesday and even Friday (Don’t forget Monday and something else!) Every day, from this day on is my day (note to writer, how many times can you get away with the word “day”?) I will start appreciating the here and now (Yeah, really! Like to see that) And then, if not, nobody have a cow! (We already did! It’s there in the backyard!)
“The Monday, the one day, that can easily be spent, in the colour of Monochrome“ Gun Roswell
The Monday mood, in grey as per usual, spending time, under the doorway open wide, an archway they say, as past most of them sway, clearly, the news, of this day, today, being a Monday, has not reach their busy minds, but here, regular like clockwork, the chime indicated, it was that time, the start for a week, for those whom something new seek, but the grey overtones, make the day rather bleak, and so, hiding under the archway, is the best bet at least.
But there is beauty in the monochromatic world too, even as seen from below an obstructed view with some kind of a Monday hating attitude, as the vivid shades of greys keep chaining with the time of the day, the lighting, the shadows and all the other whatnots, but most of all, hiding under the way of arching rock, ain’t too bad after the initial shock, as it will be only for the one day, the day of the week, nobody really admits, is the crappiest of them all, but hey, stay low, as tomorrow, will be another Tuesday again.
“The sea is mighty rough, some days, for sure. But most of the time it’s calm and soothing.“ Gun Roswell
The roars of the waves as they keep on hitting the rocky shores, the howling winds in the background rubbish there store, well, it all could be a bore, so much crap going on, the day dull and grey, without seemingly any rest on display.
Alas, there is one distant gleam of hope to be seen in this, the darkest and dullest of scenes, a ray of sunshine peeking through the thick layer of clouds which still the skies heavily shroud, but being patient, allowing the wait, sitting there without hurry or worry, and then soon enough, it will appear.
“The summer is the best time to get to the beach and enjoy the sunshine with the calming waves, nature and all that!” Gun Roswell
I still remember That one September The bluest of skies And it was warmer than July The water clear and inviting The air soft and delighting Not a worry in sight Everything quite right In the distance For an instance A boat or two Disappearing from the view Most tourists already gone Leaving us alone Enjoying in peace With a short lease The last rays of summer
“The destination really isn’t as important as what happens on the journey to get there, the anticipation of what awaits ahead, the ever changing vistas and methods of travel, the people met along the way… It’s all part of the whole.” Gun Roswell
Flying across the skies Waiting for the price At the end of the station A promised vacation
The journey taken Was not a long one Each morning awoken To the rays of the sun
Surrounded by history Shrouded in mystery Time spent on the beach Bliss at hands’ reach