Scream and Shout, for Coffee

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“Not without my coffee, ever!!” Gun Roswell

Drag me by my feet
You cannot let me go without my treat
I can’t even make a tweet
If you won’t give me what I seek

I will scream at out of my fullest lungs
Tease me, and I will stick out my tongue
Shout so hard until there is no doubt
I want, need, have to have my coffee

I will not leave
I will not heave
I will not achieve
I will not be

Without my coffee I am nothing
I cannot function or do anything
I am devastated if I don’t drink
Without that wonderful liquid, I cannot think

Not without my coffee
Never without my coffee
See the pattern forming?
Consider this a warning!

Now, gimme my coffee!

Perfection

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“Nobody’s perfect, right?!” Gun Roswell

Welcome, to perfection!
A full life circle in reflection
Leave all your troubles outside
The only rule applied
Before entering the great open wide

Perfection is the emotion you feel
Perfection is the person you love
Perfection is life without care
Perfection is loving yourself

You are now leaving perfection
You only sampled a tiny bit of the selection
Is there something we did to dampen
Any experience you may have wanted
To try out in abundance?

I am not perfect
You are not perfect
Life is not perfect
Perfection
Is just an illusion

Weekend time

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“It’s some kind of week-end happening?” Gun Roswell

Finally the time has arrived
So give yourself a big high five
It’s that hour of the day
When at work you need no more to stay
The weekly grind is over
And you have all the power
To spend each and every moment
Either all or in separate instalments
The time and space is yours alone
Just remember, they cannot be cloned
But, do not try to be too bold
Or you’ll be left out in the cold
Enjoy this precious time of the week
Do whatever your heart may seek
After all this free time is given only
Once each week to the all the lovely
People working their butts off for the company
Selling their souls naturally;)

I am a trilingual illiterate

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“Me no speak no langvits to know!” Gun Roswell

I am a trilingual illiterate, and, I cannot read, write or speak in any language
Tongue tied and words a mumbling, head shaking and whole body trembling
I cannot make myself understood
Not at home or in the neighbourhood

Writing is hard making so many mistakes, even my proofreader send me complaints
Articulating can be a hassle, words pouring out on a total mess
I learnt so many languages in the past
Speaking and reading them quite fast

Is it just me, suffering from a speaking fear
Or do my words get twisted in other people’s ears
I suspect is none or the other
But I try not to let any of that bother

I may be an illiterate
I may even be trilingual
But as a matter of fact
I read, speak and write, no matter what
Hanging here out of total and utter spite!

You say potato I say tomato

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“Listen to what I say, or don’t, is all good!” Gun Roswell

If you listened to me carefully, and really heard what I said
Then the tomato would not have turned into a potato in your head
So, I said pick to some apples and a few oranges, from the top branches
And you heard that part and then to make it to squash,
Even though I told you, to make a nice fruit salad, not down the drain wash

My every word twisted, wrong quotes listed
Sometimes I wonder, what language am I speaking, if any at all
Maybe it would be better, to not utter any words at all
My dilemma now going viral, my sayings world wide spiral

I was under the impression my brain mouth coordination was on the level
Instead every thing out of my mouth causing dishevel
Should I sing and do a dance number instead
Would everyone just be merry and clap and not chew my head

For now, I just keep on saying tomato
If you think it’s just my bravado
The I will let you that just think and hear 
I, will say my thing and not hide in fear

I am so evil it kills me, or so they say

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“I’m not evil, I was just photographed this way,  on this display ” Gun Roswell

I cannot fit any type, how ever you want to describe
I am not so good, but not too bad either, I just give out that vibe
There is no stereotype big enough
To catch and box my ego, yeah, it’s that tough

Being oneself should be the goal
Not being afraid of making a foul
Labelling someone evil, just because the have a little diva
Inside of them which shows, and with a bow all to them give ‘ya

Evil or not, I will not stop
Being myself, the ultimate pop
If you want to keep up the plot
Then let me be the star on top

Prick me and I will bleed, for my blood is red indeed
Throw your sticks and stones, they may indeed break my bones 
But with a bandaid and crutches 
I will soon again rise above your clutches

Jane of all trades, master of none

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“I know a little of everything, that is my weakness” Gun Roswell

Dabbling here, doodling there
Building something, out of spares
Always learning, never complete
Not really sure as to what I seek

All kinds of knowledge filling my mind
Too much data to totally unwind
Many tasks I can do, but utter knowledge of only a few
So many interests all around, it wouldn’t be fare to just one choose

Spreading thin across the board
Never really gotten the highest score
Teaching others and learning more
But oh where can I all this store

A Jane of all trades looks good on a resume
But a master of none, can be a pain in the butt-e
Knowing less would most likely be better
If I really was the ultimate go getter

But the title fits so I’ll wear it proudly
Sometimes, even shouting it out loudly
Truth been told, this merry world would be less bold
If the only populous, was a race of masters in a fold

A curse poem

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“I curse, a lot” Gun Roswell

What the fuck???
This really sucks
Just go to hell
And break the damned spell
This isn’t a pissing contest
But i’m never really honest
So what ever hits the fan
Maybe shit or something
I really can’t understand
Why the fuck
You complain a lot
So what, if I am a bitch
I’ve earned it
You are all bastards
And few of you are assholes
So you can all bugger off
Hey, did you just call me a cunt?
What is the fun in that you twat?
Oh holy crap on a crapper!
What a mother fucker
You really are!
Holly hell, batman and bollocks
This goddamned poem
Is not going so fucking well
Sweet Jesus and son of a gun
I am still having fun
Cursing is what i do do
When I don’t act
Like some stupid asshole

A Jack of all trades, but a master of pun

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“I know many things?” Gun Roswell 

I may know a little bit of everything

But sometimes, I am just pretending

When I get into a dark corner

And there is no kind of door there

I use humour, to dig my way out

Sometimes, I even have to shout!

The noise sprouting out of my mouth

So loud and silly, it’s just all, willy nilly

And then, I really do feel guilty

Then out pours the utter most filthy!

So guess you can say

I’m so stupid I just pretend

Play the part of the fool

Being a total tool

A Jack of no trades 

And a master, of none?

Paranoid?

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“I think I just may be, a tad paranoid?”

Voices, noises

Never good with so many choices

Watching, looking, staring

Who’s in my kitchen cooking

Daemons, angels, the devil perhaps?

God, Jesus and all those things fictional

Aliens and conspiracies more so

Paradoxes, global warming 

At least that one is true!

The FBI, police forces, neighbours even

And with their cats and dogs too!

They are all watching, me!

I am, becoming, quite paranoid