Poetry of Everything
“Santa has it great. I buy all the toys. He gets all the credit.”
Call me, Mrs Claus
You may call me, Mrs Claus
Without applause
Doing my bid
Without one single payment of a quid
Yuletide
Without this, proud bride
Of Santa Claus
Would be, just empty banter
No kind of jolly
Or celebration folly
Neither for me
Or even, for you
“O, how glorious would it be to set my heel upon the Pole and turn myself 360 degrees in a second!”
Joseph Banks
A Visit, up there, to the North Pole
A quick trip
To the North Pole
A little hop and skip
To the beat of the drum roll
The elves busy at work
Their faces in a permanent smirk
No time for breaks or coffee
Not even a little toffee
The holiday season is upon us
Which has caused all the fuss
Be careful where you step though
You may end up in a pile of snow
Santa’s sleigh
Without delay
Flying over the river
Presents to deliver
Hitch a ride
In a blink of an eye
You’ll be landing
At the front door standing
Was it a dream
So it would seem
But then again
Life is but a dream
“There is just something, of so much fun, when getting to the countryside, to get undone “
Gun Roswell
Travel to the Farm
The day ahead, looking really good, from this, bigger size town shed
When packing up the car, with food, proper clothing and even a tent
Because today, the country side beckoned, for a quite memorable event
Even if this was something, done quite often, despite a lot of time there spent
The drive, went pretty fast, as the farm, was not that far, just down the road
But never the less, getting there, with even all the prepare, was never a bore
As all the small and big things waiting there, were not just the country fair
But a whole plethora of exiting stuff, this town group could not get off enough
Animals, of various types, some of the soft and cuddly, some more scary types
With large horns sticking from their sides, or maybe just thinking of the large vehicles
Such as tractors on the open fields plowing and doing what ever needed doing
And to these city folk, this was always so exotic, that you would like to get there stuck
“Step into the portal, open wide, and into, the adventure, of your life” Gun Roswell
The portal
When the portal opens, feel free, to step inside, and take a short ride, to the great unknown, and let your mind, be totally blown. Because once you are onboard, there is no single world out there, you cannot visit. And even if the trip seems most of the times quite dizzy, do not dare to stop and get off, but rather make it, to the very end, as the time in there spent, on this merry go round of a thing, you won’t have missed one precious minute, when the fare is finally over. It’s just like you had started and never even parted, your original destination, still, the accumulation, of experience and memory, is all saved, inside your head, for future reference, or when you will dream, in your bed. The portal, is now closing, but look around, maybe another one, a portal with an adventure, soon enough, can be found.
“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.
“As the elements of nature you see, water, might just be, the most fun of them, in my opinion” Gun Roswell
Waters Edge, on a Sunny Day
The calming and totally inviting cool blue hues reflected, across the palette of each and every single surface
Beckoned, this, very weary, disbelieved traveller, whom itself had neglected, to take a break without disturbance
The empty banks, which the beginning of the seaside flanked, were a canvas for the imagination now blank
There was no hurry or worry, to do anything else, but to sit down on to the swells, where the rocky terrain dwelled
Then letting the thoughts fly, towards the eternal skies, carrying them off to others spheres up there, high
After all, this time alone, was removed from the continuum, the moment frozen, from any of the other dozen
This, it was the perfect place, to let go any and all hesitate, and simply be, and the surroundings to see
As nothing else really mattered now, only the scenic picture in front and how, special the feeling of simply here being
Amongst the elements, the water, the land, the sky and never asking the why, because this, was the perfect life
“As cute as that can be, must have a great profile too for all to see“ Gun Roswell
A cats profile
A quite cute and totally sassy cat
On the tallest of tables, silently sat
Like some kind, of a cherished statue
From our very own past at that
The historical kind of an artefact
But no matter, how much of a purfect
The fur, the face, and the actual stance
Surely, it was that one very simple fact
That the cute profile, even from a glance
Was surely, that of a goddess, to last
Alas, the quite cute, sassy cat, who sat
Did, not really, much care, of all of that
But, just wanting to be, so worshiped
Like some pretty flower, that of a tulip
And with that kind of a totally great profile
Who would, not want to do that, and smile
“It is, a different kind of fun, hanging there, under, the bright sun, but then again, I don’t like to run”
Gun Roswell
Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep
The warm winds, gently, heaved, above me, in the tall palm tree leaves
As I laid under there, in the dark shadows, looking up, only to see
The sunshine, now curiously peeking, as if for something, it had to seek
Or then it was just me, being, once again, that one special kind of a geek
As I was conjuring up, all kinds of scenarios, where the very sun, was a being
From another world, with an agenda, and some sort of a ransom, and then chasing
All us, lowly humans, here, on the planet Earth and because of just that, making
Us, to go to permanent hiding, from those ever vigilant and ever searching
Rays so brightly lit, it was becoming more and more difficult, in the shadows to fit
But, for me, the gentle, caring and soft cover, of the tall and ever green
Palm of a tree, provided all the cool shelter, I could possibly ever need
“The tall shadows of a low hanging sun in the winter time look gorgeous, but scary too”
Gun Roswell
Tall shadows of winter
First snow fell, heavily onto big piles, all over, the grey ground
Not one single spot of dirt, or other matter, was there, to be found
And as the sun started shining, on one slow afternoon leaving
Tall shadows across the snow in its wake, making shiny sparkles
Like tiny little diamonds, so gorgeous, that all those of us looking
At them, could for a fading moment enjoy the captivating spell
Of this one and bright winters day, after the long and cruel darkness
Broken if only for a tiny fraction of time, and then feeling fine
Almost divine, until it was once again, completely, and totally dark
But even after the bright sun was gone, remaining only, was
That one and hopeful spark, that one day soon, after the moon
Had gone to sleep, the sun would come back, and then maybe, stay
Forever, and then all of us dwellers could spend all of their days
Counting the newly formed, and various kind of shapely shadows
Sometimes tall, more often times short, but the hope of the light
No matter if it was shining bright, was in their own hearts, forever
“I am always leaving fast, with the dust in my tracks” Gun Roswell
With dust in my tracks
When I do leave, a place, any single place
I usually, like to leave, my own mark as well
Be that something permanent, carved on stone
Or, just simple specs of dust, in the air thrown
So, today, when the sun was finally shining
And the wide open roads me gently beckoned
I jumped into my trusted four wheeled steed
And pushed the pedal to the metal for the speed
The dry and sandy path ahead, to an idea lead
To leave a sign of my being here, on this sphere
As I drove down the lane, like a person, insane
The only thing to be seen, as I left the slate clean
Was the thick and ever climbing, spectacular sighting
Of a cloud filled with small grains, forming the dust
Leaving it hanging in the air, until the day fell to rust
Rantings Of A Third Kind 