“No, this cannot be happening! We, are out of, coffee!!! Gun Roswell
Monday’s with(out) Coffee?
What is a Monday
But a slow day of Sunday
Without coffee
It’s just a faded copy
It’s just what you seek
So, don’t hesitate
Go ahead, start the week
With a fresh, clean slate
Make your way
To the coffee maker
For a while stay
After all,
You deserved a break
It’s just Monday after all
“Even if it was hailing and storming or even of a worse fate, I would still make my way to the lake“ Gun Roswell
Grey clouds over the lake
The almighty weather gods, were definitely not, on my very side
On this gloomy day, I had planned to venture, to the open wide
Of the great lake, to possibly, set sail, as it always made me smile
Not because of the sailing itself, even if it was all calming as heck
But the mere feel of the wind on my back and the sun on my face
The freedom of going anywhere else, or then just staying in place
What ever it was to be said, about the waters cool, calming effect
Today, it did not seem to be meant, for me at least, as a big dent
In a form of a weather front, with the biggest of hugs and puffs
As the winds were picking up, howling, and bringing up a gust
Never seen on the side of this lake, or even on the dry of the land
Clearly, it was no made up effect fake, but as I had already planned
To spend the time, here outside, I would not let any kind of weather
Keep me off of my pleasure of a leisure time, down by the lake side
Rain or shine, or even pouring, cats and dogs hailing, I would not care
As this was my time, and what ever happened, I would enjoy myself
“Riding along, singing a song, maybe, or at least, whistling a tune, when moving (read: slowly walking) towards the setting sun“ Gun Roswell
On the country road, towards the setting sun
“The time, is now,” to me, said the pasturing cow
“To enjoy, this very moment, when the sun, is about to set,
For tomorrow, another set of sorrows, will surely follow,
So do not hesitate, go, move, crawl, walk, run,
What ever it takes, just enjoy, this time, of the setting sun!”
It was the most and also quite likely, also the best set of any kind of advice
I had ever received, and so, without further thought, I did then and there, decide
To take up, on that very suggestion, and there on, without any further hesitation
I took the first step, on the very long length, of this road, on the country side
And started walking, way, way out there, towards the setting of the sun, divine
“Do not forget your history, as it will always keep on, repeating” Gun Roswell
Standing tall, no matter what
Monumentally so, the history ancient and even more recent, keeps on living, in the books, in the movies, even in our very minds, but most of all, it is still strong, out there, in the fields, on the mountains, beneath our very own feet, just look, you really don’t have to long seek. So, so many good and bad reminders, of our own past, but hey, you always take them, as a package, even if with a loud gasp.
All the tall structures, built strong and proudly, to forever last, by our ancestors, without too many tools or even plaster. Some of the structures, still standing, after all the years passing by, laid out on the planes or even elevated high. Despite the weather, the living creatures and nature growing all around, they were meant to last, even if struggling to survive, all those piles, because those are what they mostly are, will remain, long after, all of us, have left.
“There is nothing like life on a farm, expect maybe, a life on a paradise island” Gun Roswell
A farmers life for me?
The skies, are totally clear and blue, and the harvest ready, for a very good use
The big ass tractor, waiting, in the yard, ready, willing and able, for me to take charge
Hopping on it cheerfully, as I am, always and now dutifully, all the fine fruitful crops
Going to pick up, as, with my trusted steed, I will ride, into the wide, open field
Making my own way, and of course, the hay slay, as I am that one farmer chick
Who will this hard and often said, manly job lick, with a flick, of my very own wrist
I don’t care, if other people there, just stand and oddly stare, while I am proudly riding
My tractor quite big, doing my chores in a eyes wink, and then all of them charming
With my outgoing and smiling personality, as I am turning out, to be quite the celebrity
Of this small and secluded village, where mostly farmers earn their living off of the land
And, now, so do I, as I am getting high, of this life, of being a farmer, so very nice
“Mundane Monday, with a view, well, something fun for the day at least to look out for” Gun Roswell
Autumn window view rant
This weeks Mundane Monday, really, started early
But then again, I could not have been less surely
As it seemed, that all the lights had been switched off
Both inside and out, no matter what the clock
Then, I recalled, that it was indeed, that time of the year
When the sun has run away, most likely in fear
Of the upon coming, of the never waited winter season
Well, it seems to be, at least, the best guessed reason
As the darkening of all the above skies, there, hover
For the next few months, and there really is no bother
To consider what the time states on the clock
As it will be twilight, even if you had sunshine managed to stock
So, just hold on to what ever light you can get your hands on
As the utter fight for that ultimate and shining light
Has begun, amongst the Northern tribes, and it’s certainly not fun
As the struggle is real and the people are moving like stunned
Alas the electrical devices, mimicking the daylight shining
Are grabbed and bought, in a state of total whining
Never mind, when you get back home and find
That the lamp you thought, would bring you to shine
Turns out to be either less efficient or worse of all, broken
So, your only hope is to either go back and hope there is one more
Or then, just go back to bed and stay indoors
Until such time of the year, when you look out and leer
Because it’s spring and the sun is switched on again!
“Hiding, my face and my self, from the bright sun, under the sheltering parasol“ Gun Roswell
Under cover, under the parasol, under the sun
From the deepest recesses, of this, these days virtual travellers own mind
Thinking of, all of the warm summers passed, and always with a big smile
When lying, on the sandy beach, everything off, completely, out of reach
Only thinking of, what and then when would be the time for the next eat
Alas, not everything around and under this scorching sun is a total slack
As swimming, walking, writing and reading, is part of each days list of tasks
But the one thing, even enough sun block can win, is the one simple fact
That too much sun, can give a dweller out and about each day an attach
Of the said sun and that cannot be too much fun, so best bet to do to avoid
The trauma causing the traveller to get annoyed, is to stay, under the parasol
Greatly protecting any harmful rays of the on top hovering bright ball, the sol
Besides, there are lots of things to do there, without the need to squint the eyes
Board games, books, and maybe, even the odd iPad to track, some of the lives
Left behind in the homeland, as the traveller, is on a holiday, for the duration
And, if and when asked, they would simply answer without any kind of hesitation
“I have earned this leave, and will stay here, until I totally need to leave!”
“There is nothing to it, just sit, and then, try to relax in the calming breeze, of the eternal trees“ Gun Roswell
Under the palm tree, at the pond, resting
A busy day, week or even a year, behind
The brain, trying something for you, to remind
Maybe, taking a break, would be, totally fine
As the going on beside the hard grind
Has caused never to rest and relax time to find
I know it is totally strange and unusual
To shut down that busy brain, going on as usual
But if you try, really, really hard the eternal perusal
And listen to the nothingness of sounds to lull
Into a deep state of emptiness, even a tad dull
Never mind, if the drool and the snoring
Come first when the deep rest into the boring
Finally hits and then after the night in the morning
You can start yourself utterly enjoying
This, perfect place of completely nothing
After all, even the brightest and finest minds
Needs to sometimes, take the time to rewind
Otherwise some overflow and boiling points
Will enter the normally perfect vision and joints
And then what follows is not a pretty picture at all
So, take this time off, without a single scoff
Tell yourself, you have deserved this space off
From everyone and everything knocking the doors
Then shut your eyes, and try to simple adore
The pretty views, under the palm trees by the pond
“It’s Monday again folks! Better buckle up tight, because we are in, for a rude ride!” Gun Roswell
Monday!
It is far too early, in the bloody hours of the morning, as I keep on yawning
Rolling, out of bed, even if, I should have stayed, under the warm covers instead
My head, is a total mess, and I am slowly but gradually beginning, to feel the stress
Of yet another week beginning, and no, I am so not, any kind of ballads singing
The signs were all there, in plain sight, just yesterday, all day long, I am fearing
For this day, to once again, come around, was it unexpected? Not really
Because for sure, I knew all along, it was lurking there, behind, the closed doors
Snoozing the alarms, going to hiding, trying to keep on the snores
No, nothing really ever helps, so, this is it folks! And no, no more of them jokes!
This is serious business and we all, need to start a rebellion, nay, a revolution!
To ban this day for once and for all, and never, ever again, should anyone feel small
When standing, against this, very big, hairy monster of a thing, on this, day
Where most of us, or at least some of the more sensitive people, feel like they are slain
By, this, fire spitting dragon, with the sharpest of teeth, as it is coming, to existence
Each and every single week, and right after, that perfect, slow paced place, no resistance left…
Alas, the weekend is now gone, and I am standing, sad and totally alone, dreading
Fearing, shaking, my pants almost peeing, but, with hands so sweaty, but I am nearing
My sword raised high and without even a hint of a smile, I am going to face it once again-
– Monday!
“Oh, by the by, did anyone notice, by any chance, that I, truly, hate, Mondays?“ Gun Roswell
Monday, is Murder!
Hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate!
Yes! That was totally, what the last petal said
Monday, oh dearest of Monday!
Certainly and never, my own fun day!
How I so, loath thee, for you see
You always come, creeping up on me
No matter how prepared, I think I have been
You, are the one and true thorn, on my side
I so can not, no matter, how hard, I try
To seem to shake you loose, not even, if I so hard choose
To completely, totally and utterly ignore, that very feeling
That eternal, all compassing, and yes, awful stinging
The pain of it all, like a sharp knife in a wound, being ground
An ultimate relieve, of a permanent state of being free
Is nowhere, no how, ever, never, to be found
Your presence, always lasting so very long
Grinding my teeth, trying, so hard, to stay strong
But, am I really so alone and so totally wrong
In wanting you permanently erased, totally, and completely, gone?
For can’t you so not see, oh dearest of Mondays
That to me, myself and I, you, are pure murder, always?
Rantings Of A Third Kind 