A farmers life for me?

Posted on by

“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

Autumn window view rant

Posted on by

“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!

Under cover, under the parasol, under the sun

Posted on by

“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!”

Under the palm tree, at the pond, resting

Posted on by

“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

Monday!

Posted on by

“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!

Monday, is Murder!

Posted on by

“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?

Surviving Monday

Posted on by

“Oh Monday, you are so totally cruel and always come uninvited into my life, what can i do to keep you at bay?“ Gun Roswell

Surviving Monday

The Monday morning had once again arrived
I know it because I can totally smell its pride
Raising the ugly head I now know far to well
And then, there is that, totally fowl smell

You to tempt me to kick your non too rounded arse
As this day, always turns into some odd kind of farce
But if I did not already have this headache
From merely thinking about you to arrive and me break

You always make me numb, avoid of all the fun
Lashing out to me, with something or another
As if this beginning of the week would not already be a struggle
The weekend gone and Friday nowhere in sight, bummer!

But, there is one thing, that could help me pull through
That one single and totally lovely and tasting full brew
The darkest of liquids and the greatest of sustenance 
Ever devised by mankind, which has no pretence

It’s simply, well, just great
So go ahead, take a break
For this cup of stuff is no fake
Go, enjoy, your coffee, now!

Monday aesthetic

Posted on by

“Nothing like a mundane Monday to notice the gorges objects around me” Gun Roswell 

Monday aesthetic 

The Monday may have started as totally mundane
But in my own mind I will try to make it a fun day
While looking around, from the tall skies to the very ground
There are so many fantastic things all over to be found
Making the mundane to something fabulous and and stuff of beauty
Makes me happy, smiling and I know I have filled my duty 

Flowers and berries, oh my!

Posted on by

“So many pretty things pop up during the summer season, the nature is unbelievably gorgeous all around!” Gun Roswell

Flowers and berries, oh my!

The pretty white flowers in the corners of the yards
You can walk alongside and get so very far
The endless fields of the flora of the season
What could be a far better reason
Than to venture outdoors and spend a day
In the great outdoors with a worry or care

The berries soon will be popping up 
The garden filled with all kinds in a huff
Just make sure to collect them all 
Before the arrival of the colliding fall
Then you have a supply for the winter long
To eat, bake and then you’ll grow strong!

But even without them fine berries
Just remember, the summer will be ending
Make sure you get out there once in a while
Before sitting inside leaves you in a puddle of bile
The most important thing about the season
Is to enjoy it freely without care or a reason

Farmer in the making?

Posted on by

“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?