“A farmers life for me? I dunno, maybe there’s too much of a city gal in me, to out there, flee?” Gun Roswell
Farmer in the making?
When once again visiting, the far away but ever so beautiful countryside Getting a full and then again, small glimpse, of the great and open wide Then, there can be only one answer to the how and what, and that, is a great big smile
Then, out of nowhere, a really odd and out of place thought occurs, just like a flash of light Thinking, thinking, thinking hard, but no, this cannot be right But, after so much grinding, in my silly old brain I am suddenly finding The answer, which me has forever eluded and suddenly clear after all this time
Could it be? Could this be? Could it be, for little ol’ me? Maybe, just maybe, for me, myself and I, a farmer’s life?
“Time spent in the shade, is never wasted, so why hesitate?” Gun Roswell
Sunday in the shade
Running away, from the warming sun? Well, that must have been, some kind of a pun Since the very long awaited light up there Was finally out and about in the stratosphere So why would anyone in their right mind Want to stay inside a building, or the shade?
Before you get all up and at it and up me chew First and foremost, just hear my plead why don’t you Because I have so many legit explanations (excuses) To point out why I am not out there rather refusing Any kind of direct sunlight upon my fairest of skins And hiding inside, the shade if you will
Well, here is one good reason at least For you see, the sun in my mind is a beast Which reflects all that shiny white light And honestly gives me the shivers and fright As I am more of a nigh person myself At least that is what I keep telling everyone else
The shadow is a much cooler place And when one there for a long, long time stays The mere thought of a sun and fun filled venue Will rise all kinds of feelings I tell you I am not made for the light of the sun Even if that sounds like I am no fun
And to be honest, I prefer staying inside my shell Being boring as hell, even if not everyone can tell I also prefer the shade and the slight darkness At least, the mid greys of the lightness Rather than exposing myself in the direct light Whether it be the sun or just a simple electrical fright
I maybe or may not be one of them kind Whom the constant spotlight is never fine But staying inside the shade is not all that bad So don’t you feel sorry for me or be sad Just because I am different than the rest I assure you, I am fine and won’t be a pest!
“The nature, is always at its quietest and certainly best, come the blue moment before night fall“ Gun Roswell
Nightfall in a blue moment
The sun setting behind the ocean so vast The earth once again feeling totally flat The onlookers, in awe, simply admiring that Which is the most powerful scene staring back
The blue hue descending across the land Over the ground, water and skies it lands Painting all in its wake in a monochromatic shroud And even in silence, the effect is really loud
There is nothing more to do before morning Just watching the spectacle in front unfolding The brightness turning to blues without yawning And eventually into the darkness disappearing
“Boats of different sizes and shapes, are put to pasture, as they had all their lives slain and now to rest laid” Gun Roswell
Boats, ships and other vessels, past their use?
When the time, has finally come In which the daily work, is all done Time to lay to the final rest Where ever the place suited best The vessels once sea worthy Hauled up to the dry land dirty
But this, does not mean the end No, far from it, even if it sometimes is just pretend Because being out of their natural element Does so many other options present The imagination of refurbishing only limit Hey, let’s just play on which ever gimmick!
Maybe a home for the artist? The layout, most likely not the smartest Still a change of the usual house Because they wanted something other to be of proud A flower pot quite large To the back of the small house’s yard?
Nothing is impossible to pull Of the re-usage of the vessels smart and dull It’s just a matter of letting the ideas flow Put that old boat at the back of the car and haul What ever the use will be, wait and see Just make sure to give a new home!
“When in need of some rest, take a load of, on the nearest bench “ Gun Roswell
Three times the seat
The summer holidays, had finally arrived Shouted out, was a big hoot with some jives Packing up, all the needed trash For this, unplanned, quick getaway, in a flash
So now, headed for what ever kind of port Was ready to accept us, to start this trip of a notice short Because this thing was certainly going to happen With or without all that likely crappin’
OK, so after all kinds of back and forth ‘xplaining The road trip was finally on the part of landing The island of ones dreams dead ahead in perfect still Well, as much seen from a small cockpit window sill
Off and out and into the taxi cab with a shout Soon enough the accommodation in sight with sign shouting loud “B and B” for all sizes and kinds Just come on inside and your place find”
After the slightly drama, when doing all of the unpack It was finally time, to get up and go out and yes, slack After all, this was supposed to be. a holiday to the letter so strong With rest, relaxation, something something and all that jazz all day long
When getting outside, the warm wall hits you in the face It feels so good, after so many months of living inside the icescapades In the land way, way up north, where the only transport is a sleigh Wanting nothing more than to get out of that place
But, the reality soon hit, right smack in that pale face And the sweat pouring, nay, soaring out each and every pour started After some moments, when soaked through each and every garment It was time to get the hell out of the sun and find some shade
Glancing, glaring, staring, all around the heads spinning Trying to find that one perfect spot, where to sit down on the dot It was already starting to get really frustrating The face, neck and body, covered with sweating
But then, in the corner fo the very eye, which had so much spied Behind the vail of frustration, even if this was supposed to be the best vacation A spot in a small cafe, there, in the shades, hidden from the sun All that remained to do, was to gather some courage and toward it to run
The setup like from a picture perfect A table with two seats and a large bench set Just for us weary touristy types way over their heads Boy, am I glad this day us here finally had lead!
Seated happily for the rest of the day Deciding to spend it in this very same place Ordering food and drinks was so easy as cake Why the hell would anyone do anything else
“It’s always that time, the time, for coffee, because there is never a “no time” for coffee, am I right?” Gun Roswell
Coffee time, once again!
When the clock, on the dot, beckons It is that time, the time to reckon That the one simple fact in life That there really is nothing more so very fine Than that, of the first cup of coffee, in the early morning hours And that last cup, of then exact same stuff, in the late evening after showers And, yes, yes, I know very well, that it is a tad too much But if you think about any kind of such Thing, which you had managed through to get Without at lest one (read more than five) cups let You guide through, then I really don’t know you Because there really is no way I can any of the daily tasks totally slay Than with the aid of the finest sustenance ever created The coffee, coffee, coffee, which was totally for me, made!
“The eternal struggle to keep the blues away, why I ask you, why can’t it simply stay?” Gun Roswell
Blues for the blue
The feeling, oh so very sad You feel, like you are just through and through bad But, there is really no getting mad As there is no quick or final cure for that
Singing the blues as some poets call it But does not mean one piece of shit To those, deeply in the churning throes Of that ever and eternally enclosing ditch
But since, the all consuming feeling cannot be ignored To the point of singing and writing poetry of bored When all them around you, tone down and start to snore The best bet is to embrace the blues
And when someone asks or protest of them hues Just grab a pair and make them walking in your shoes!
“Settled into a small seaside village, for the weekend at least, what could be more fun than that Gun Roswell
Village by the seashore
The quite tiny, yet very lively village By the calm blues and sandy seashore exists The every day life to some might seem dull But the dwellers there, would that argument null Because the life even without luxury, is very full
The fishing, the shopkeeping and even just being Is the way or them, and starts early every single morning Always a happy smile and a quick hello To their neighbours but also complete strangers Get the same treatment, without a seconded thought
And, when an errand tourist there might venture On a weekend getaway from the daily grind, they might find That no connection there exists of the internet kind And soon enough, even after first huff, that will be really fine Because visiting this settlement, turns out to quite the adventure
“The Sunday afternoon is the time for some rest and relaxation for us weary every day people” Gun Roswell
Turquoise and the poolside
The sun, up high, in the cool blue skies Beckoned towards, the turquoise poolside The calming yet warm breeze Of the afternoon, made a tickle of a tease But at least, the skin, certainly would not freeze When finally daring to venture outside For the first time, in what seemed, a longest while It had been that kind of year Where nothing but daily news of fear Kept the humble folks behind closed windows and doors The time where a simplest of activities became a chore But, now, without sounding like a total bore Soon enough this will be all behind and just a lore To tell those coming behind us the world to explore But today, it is time for a life once again claim Because nothing ever remains the same Except maybe, the calming of the poolside On a sunny day, oh so divine
“They really are all on top of each other! How can they get into their houses then?“ Gun Roswell
Stacked, piled, on top of each other
The dwellings of the local villagers Upon a steep hillside subside The colourful small decorated houses Are the homes of people and their, well mouses (yes i know the plural is mice, but could not make it rhyme ;P)
Built on top of each other Maybe, as some kind of cover? To be on the safe side of the divided The construction workers decided There is security in numbers some put And they all knew then what they do should And then, they put each of the homes On top of the other in a shape of a dome So now, the happy inhabitants Live together, but still separate Happy, with their daily lives And also, naturally, do the mice!
Rantings Of A Third Kind 