Photography
“It’s 4:58 on Friday afternoon. Do you know where your margarita is?”
― Amy Neftzger
Fabulous Friday
Happy Friday
To One and All!
If I will
Have my way
You will all
Have a ball!
That’s all
For now at least
Go, have a feast
It’s Friday after all!
“When the traveller is weary, she takes a seat wherever she can manage” Gun Roswell
Blue seating, in a far away land
The long time and now weary, traveller, had finally made it through
To this, far away and strange land filled with all things cool…
Well, at least, imagined the place, from the recesses of the mind
What ever was there, a faint memory even, at this point, was just fine
Because, as it mostly is done these days, all around the world
In reality, the only place you could totally off to get hurled
Would be that odd space, between your own sofa and the fridge
Never mind, going outside and crossing over, say, a tall bridge!
But, as usual, I tend to digress, so without further stress
Back to the topic of travelling, especially one done, in an armchair
In the comfort, of your own small or it might even big, lair
The images of beaches running on end, with blue skies and sun shines
Where each and every single day, life running, to its own accord
Never mind, that while, in a foreign land, for you, no chores!
Well, that is, since usually time away spent, is supposed to be some kind of holiday
When one actually, and physically, goes away and, in another and most likely rented home stays
But, enough of the commentary, as this poem is not going so greatly
As it was supposed to be about seating and travelling and going somewhere else, maybe eating
In a restaurant of choosing, yourself completely in the exotic foods emerging
And for that, picking up a respite, like a bench or a chair or similar seating
Then letting someone else do the serving and finally, after a moment, relaxing
Because hey, you just got out here, in this great place, where time stands still
So, for now, the virtual traveller has stopped, in her tracks, taking a breath deep
And finally letting out some of the slack on the chosen, blue and cool looking respite
“When travelling, in your mind, why not travel as far as possible, to the unknown places of the alien vistas?” Gun Roswell
Alien vistas, revisited (at least, in my mind)
Once again, I am slowly, but surely, falling into, a deep, deep slumber
And it is really not because, I am tired and want to go to sleep either
Rather doing my thing, and once again travelling, within my minds frame
Only this time, rather than taking the trip down, the good ol’ memory lane
I will spread my tall wings, figuratively of course, and then something, new trying
While letting the imagination fly, towards the very blue skies, and then visiting
Unknown places, out there, in the stratosphere, on the well known space trail
In the great and wide unknown, where you can find, if you really hard try, without fail
Alien vistas, with completely colourful places, totally opposite of our own world
The oceans and skies, painted in fire engine red, the beaches laid with soft dark silk
Instead of the usual sand we get here, mostly nice, but getting everywhere, so quick
No crowds to be found anywhere, which truthfully today, is pretty similar here as well
The cafes serving beverages and food totally out of this world, luckily, the coffee smell
Is also there as a familiar tell, so maybe, these aren’t as different from us after all
But when you run into a few locals there, on the open streets, the small and the tall
Beings occupying this specific place, with four arms and legs and three eyes round
Are a dead giveaway, we’re definitely not visiting Kansas on Earth, this time around
Not wanting to give too much away, as each and everyone should visit themselves
A place so alien and indescribable, yet fantastic, that only your own imagination can tell
When you dwell, inside those imaginable worlds, where your mind will be hurled
Once you let it relax for a moment, and go beyond the known realm with a turn
Then maybe you too, will have some, out of this wold and odd tales to tell
Having your own “fake” memories in your mind, even if no one is buying what you sell
“There is always, time to write” Gun Roswell
On my Sunday seat, I do, write
“I am writing, I am writing, I am so totally writing!”
This, is the mantra, I am, always reciting
But, it so damned hard, as my mind is against me fighting
Always, telling me, the supposed truth, without smiling:
“Your writing, is not very good, now is it, so why are you yourself lying?”
“But, but, some people, like it, they even say so!” I hear myself defending
“That is just cosmetic”, the brain says, knowingly, “a social media bullshit type thing.”
“No, you are so wrong!” I hear myself whispering, but the defeat, steps in
And then, all I can do, is to, stop, my writing
So, now, I am sitting in my hard seat, and, I am crying
Thinking, through my tears, why even bother trying
“Defeat your inner saboteur, and you can accomplish everything”
A quote in a very wise book, as I decided on reading
Instead, as I am no longer, the writer I thought, but, feeling
The strong urge to get back there, and, yes, start typing
After some time, on my own, me and my mind, contemplating
I have moved back to the comfortable seat, and slowly starting
Again, my fingers, running through the keys, and soon enough, I am writing
“There is always time for a coffee, or two, or even more. Heck! I could drink coffee all day long! So, just, plug me in, please!“ Gun Roswell
Friday, and the Coffee Break
The working week, once again, totally spent, in a mostly blurry bend
Without so much, as a good, relaxing break or even, a full nights rest
The only, and never changing constant, in this, whirlwind of a, well, quest
Is the one dark, strong and yes, even dubbed golden, liquid, to digest
But, not each and every stop mark, was, such a success
As sometimes, the days, got to be, a total and utter mess
When getting, that one precious cup, or maybe two, or even a few
Was skipped due, to all them urgent tasks, always, overdue
Luckily, surviving, like always, the week, from Monday, even, to this, Friday
Before, the weekend’s full and awaited release, in front would be lain
Some other types of liquids, certainly none, as tasty and good made
More like a big beast, completely opposing the elixir of life, now, finally slain
So, today, on this, day of Friday, the one day, where running around
Like some kind of beheaded poultry or maybe even, a mad cow
As all the consuming hustle and bustle, is finally toning down
And then, having, “so much” of that time, simply, to get unwound
But maybe, just maybe, skip all them scheduled, planned, awaiting other activities
Forget about all mind numbing, and lip downward curling negatives
When finally, seated, in peace, with a large cup, of that sweet, sweet release
Downing it all, in one, big gulp, and then quickly adding, another full cup
As celebrating, the week’s end, with some much deserved and great coffee!!!
“Just keep on watching the skies, even if you something odd spy, like blue skies!” Gun Roswell
Seasonal Skies
The low hanging clouds of the grey skies
Was the trade mark of this seasonal pie
After all, it was, once again, the time of fall
Even if somehow, the summer, was skipped with five
Or more days, despite the occasional mild
Some might call warm or hot weather on the side
Of May, June, July and perhaps even August went wild
For half a day or so, but I digress, because this
Was supposed to be about skies
Which do not really care that much about the season
Because given even a smallest of reason
The blue skies, will try to push through all
The dark cloud coverage, because they are simply that bold
And even if the clouds hanging low and grey
Will put up, quite the menacing albeit picturesque display
The bluest of blues, are my kind of hues
Snapping, snapping, snapping my clicker away
Wishing, that maybe, this time, they will longer stay
“Life, can be a dance, under the rainbow, provided, you’ll be able to find the end” Gun Roswell
Under, the Rainbow
The darkening of the evening, had in mind, a big surprise
As I was driving down the slow road, my small eyes spied
Looking up, towards the turning of the skies
Delivered, for only little old me, myself and I
Was the most gorgeous display, on this land side
Rainbow, flashing in so many wonderful colours
I swear, those colours, had clearly detectable odours
Glaring, staring, there, behind the wheel, in total awe
I quickly had the epiphany, i.e a somewhat good thought
Maybe trying to capture the end of the thing on a photograph
Alas, real life is usually much better in realtime vision
And picking up that camera, and driving, was most likely not the best decision
So, pulling aside, at the first option, when it finally arrived
Getting out and up along the curve of the street in five
Then snapping, snapping, snapping away like a child
Well, I did not really find the exact end of the rainbow
Not a pot of gold nor some life lessons for me where told
Alas, the memory of the pretty thing up there in the skies
That will last, for a very, very long and memorable time
And should I forget, well, I have a few blurry snaps to reminisce
“The tiny little car, which cannot go so fast or too far, well, we still love you“ Gun Roswell
The Love Bug, in a shopping mall
The tiniest, of clown type cars
From our very past, however, none to far
The true celebrity, of a several memorable films
Its light of being, never dimmed
As it is clearly still, a true fan favourite
When suddenly, at a shopping mall, spotted it
It was equipped and ready, for all kind of action
This, so totally tiny vehicle of a contraption
A child’s toy, or even, many of any an adults joy
It really does not matter so much
As this, the loveliest of the archaic bugs
Has totally captured, the hearts of so many of us
And it will never really be, fading into the background
As long as any kind of reminder of it somewhere out there
Can be found
“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
“A respite, on a sunny Sunday day, cannot lead anyone, astray” Gun Roswell
Seats for Sundays
Under a decorated window, a fire engine red coloured setup lies
Completely surrounded by flower pots, with various sorts, all of them bright
The comfortable and all so cozy extension of the house painted all white
Inviting all, friend, neighbour and even stranger, to sit, just, for a bit
As on this sunny day of a Sunday, after walking, you really needed, a respite
Two soft looking seats, awaited, in the bar, so modern and totally sleek
It did not take too long, for us tired and thirsty tourists, to sink into them deep
Not wanting to move a muscle, only trying to avoid all that hustle and bustle
Even a wave of the hand seemed a chore, but not wanting to be a total bore
A whistle to the server and soon enough, to sets of drinks were brought to this respite
So totally cool and calm, but mostly, for us, the perfect and best fit
The beckoning, of the bluest of the Mediterranean seas, on this sunny day
Lead the weary tourist, now looking for that perfect respite towards the bay
Where the perfectly made table and two chairs awaited to be seated on
The odours, the smells, of lunch time menus, so inviting and totally strong
It would have been utterly disrespectful and yes, completely wrong
To steer somewhere else and not to take advantage of this risen opportunity
Where taking a load off your feet, combined, with something great, to eat
Rantings Of A Third Kind 