Giving Thanks, I guess of sorts

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“Guess there is a lot, to give thanks for, when you really think about it” Gun Roswell

Giving Thanks, I guess of sorts

I am thankful, for at least, my very own kind of life
The living quarters, those too, are, well, quite nice
And then there is, the family, they’re, kinda alright
Minor aches and pains, can be mostly, ignored
Then there is other stuff too, like eating them s’mores
And guess the work, even if it makes me so bored
My all time favourite series, yes, those are back
Oh, toilet paper too, yeah well, we have them stacked
Brain cells small and grey, even if some of them I lack
Otherwise, none too many complaints, or as I just said
Can’t remember much more, but hey, doing chores
Then giving thanks, for anything and everything and all
So, a very happy day and I guess this thanksgiving thing too
And hey, try not to feel too sad and blue, in case you
Have none too many things, to be really grateful for

Summer’s garden gone, but not forgotten

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“The fresh smells of summer, still clearly in my mind, even if I can only, live them through, in the memories of my files” Gun Roswell

Summer’s garden gone, but not forgotten

The pictures, so totally vivid, and the colours equally lively
It would have been impossible, to even take that guess, wildly
Whether this was the real life, or just, a few simple memories

But, the garden will be, from now on sleeping for a while
Still, there just might be, something there, surprisingly, alive
Beneath all that soil, the dirty thing, protecting, that evidence

Even if it seems so completely discarded and dull like grey
There, on the ground, lying, some half dead, and left over hay
It won’t be long though, after the winter, a new time strong

The flowers, the grass, the berries, the birds and even, the bees
Will be wildly blooming and all over humming, the green and full fields
So, in a blink of an eye, the picture perfect setting, has come along

Them voices (in my very own head)

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“Those voices, in my head, are plotting, once again, and I’m about to find out what it is, soon enough” Gun Roswell

Them voices (in my very own head)

All the loud sounds and constant chatter, in my poor mind, do clatter
The small world inside of my head, a unique ecosystem, and instead
Of letting me sit her in quiet esteem, seem to be letting, it all free
And having a ball, on this day I was supposed to have a very short
Break of it all, alas, they, living inside, do, beg to differ in the decision I made
And now they are all singing and shouting and all the bad jokes sprouting
A full on cacophony, I say out loud, to those, close by, who cannot be swayed
Of the inner voices, inside of my very own scrambled brain, and, it’s always, the same
An outside argument and an internal turmoil, leaving me, to completely and utterly boil
Why oh why, did I think, today of all days, would be any different, so to my friends
Up there having, such a ball: shut up, so I can have an entitled and a very small
Pause, a breather, a nap even, anything at all to stall, but not an argument with either
Those out here and you all, inside there, as I just want some time of total QUIET!
For a little while at least, while I am lying here, trying, to relax, in my own, stratosphere

But the it all goes so quiet, even those outside are looking at me without smiling
And I know something is going on, for this is never good, the silence after all
Because then, I don’t really hear, what they ALL, are most certainly against me plotting
And I know one thing, it’s never, ever good, to be, in total silence, and thinking
So, please, I beg of you all, make some noice, anything at all, for I, am getting bored

Autumn window view rant

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“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!

Go to Paris; in a virtual narrative

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“There is nothing more nostalgic, than perusing down the memory lane, I the form of old travel pictures of days now gone“ Gun Roswell

Go to Paris; in a virtual narrative

The busiest of streets, of the quite big metropolis, are never, ever dull
The markets and shops, the bars, and even cafes, always, packed full
At least, so it totally seems, in those very colourful snaps, of before
When travelling, to distant and foreign lands, was not, such a chore

Alas, the sights and sounds alone, are well worth the total of this short trip
To one of the best known cities, that of bright lights, some of us call, well, Paris
Even if it is, just in the faded memory, of this traveller, now home bound
There are still lots of thrills and quite joyful moments, there, to be found

Taking a virtual tour, of the times strolling on some afternoon by the shore
And alongside the long river banks, and maybe even, a short tourist boat tour
If you are game enough, then try to climb the steps up the tall tower structure
The Eiffel one, with the shining lights, covering each and every touristy picture

No matter how long the trek or what the destination, take it, without hesitation
Travel deep into the recesses of your own mind, in a cozy spot during meditation
Pick up the best of places of your travel, take a walk through the night time streets
Then make a short detour to the museums and later, how about something to eat

Well, at least, virtually, if you totally forgot
To order home food, from the grocery shop
As in times like these, to avoid that, disease
All of us stay home, and mostly, out of reach

Cats, in a row

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“Thar be cats of plenty, thar, in that row over thar, see?”“ Gun Roswell

Cats, in a row

One cat, two cats, three cats, in a neat row
One of them, soon, the others will try to tow
Because this is not a boat with oars to row

But that is neither here nor even there for this ditty
As the most important thing in this are the kitties
So, before this turns to something completely shitty

Moving along then, some rhyme finding…

The cats now neatly sitting, each other, are licking
Still in a tight formation, from that never slipping
They groom, they purr, they love, they slur, they sleep

This is a family of three, a kitty litter by all means
Tight together, through thick and thin, or so it seems
When, food time beckons, the matter all forgotten

Then each of them trying to rush and get to the plate
To make sure they get the best treats before it’s too late
Even if there is always plenty of grub to consume

But it is what it is, as there will be no trouble blooming
Since the eldest of them, always gets first bite without assuming
And the peace between these three, is kept without a miss

Early autumn morning in Suburbia

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“The sun is not rising, as it will soon be, a polar night ” Gun Roswell

Early autumn morning in Suburbia

Early, before the sunrise, alas today, it wasn’t going to smile
The cloud covered, grey and dark in coloured, low hanging skies
Were preparing, for the upon coming time, that of the polar nights

“But, it was just summer!”
Someone prompted like it was a bummer

“Yeah, and soon we will have snow”
The other piled on quickly in the other ones tow

“Quit yammering about the weather you two,
Because soon, it will be too dark and too cold
To even dare to step out from the home old!”
The third ones comment, surely shut their mouths

But whether the weather, was the topic or not
This time of the year, was always, welcomed with a scoff
As slumbering into darkness, was no way to get off

The difference at this time, between night and day
Was hardly visible, to the beady eyes now slain
By the blurred visions, from too long indoors staying

Only the cloudy and grey skies outside remained
And even those ones, who would like to complain
Had to admit, that it was cozy, inside their own domains

After all, this was a yearly thing in stall
For all those small dwellers, up the far north
Pending their time, before the coming of
Some other type of seasonal weather
But that was a topic, after this time, of fall

A Cold and Stormy Night

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“It was a dark and stormy night, at least, when you turned off, all the lights, and I guess, it was windy too, outside, as the title suggested it, right?“ Gun Roswell

A Cold and Stormy Night

The window view, as I was peeking through, in the darkness of the middle of the night
Most certainly, gave this, always up of a night owl type, quite the heart chilling fright
As the pouring, all soaking rain, was completely leaving, the window surface stained
But then again, it is just the ever changing weather, so who on earth, would complain?

And even if, some of the naturally occurring seasonal changes, sometimes, makes one sad
Especially, when the freezing cold air, is slowly seeping in, no matter how warmly you are clad
But hey, this is only one season out of many, with the types are plenty, or at least, we hope
There might be more of them, coming our way, because I just got myself, a new winter coat

Alas, whether the weather gods above, decide us to allow, some good stuff, more or less
Sunshine, rain, snow or yes, even wind, it will all be good, as long as we get all the variables
And maybe more, so, next time when I peep through the window, to the great wide, outside
I will enjoy the view, no matter what, as performed by Mother Nature, without too much of a whine

Berries, certainly, on the very top

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“The seasonal harvest, is finally at hand, and well, it wasn’t really anything planned, but I am going to pick me some, that’ll be fun!“ Gun Roswell

Berries, certainly, on the very top

See, the beautiful blue, black, yellow, green, but mostly red
Which are, oh so gorgeous, berries, and tasty as, well, hell
So, not really any kind of sense in, them completely wasting
Do, pick up, a few, or more, of them buckets and go chasing
Those, absolutely juiciest and sweet tidbits of the mother nature
And then climbing up that tall ladder, and what, an adventure!
Really, just do your best ever(so far) thing before that winter
And, maybe earn in the process, a few of them ouch-y splinters
But, really, the main point, of this, totally silly and very little ditty
Is certainly not to do, a lot of any kind of, self serving type pity
Rather, for you, yes, you, to get up, go, to the very outside
And, finally, to absolutely enjoy the garden, one more time
Maybe, even pick up a few of those berries here mentioned
Before, the cold hearted winter snow makes its intervention

Autumn and the nightfall

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“Watching the skies, for what ever up there, might just fly by; birds, dinosaurs, airplanes, ufos, they really are all, quite interesting“ Gun Roswell

Autumn and the nightfall

The skies started, to slowly turn, from a plain and dull grey
With the appearance, of some, quite unexpected lights of rays
As it was such a pleasant surprise, and thus saving, the day

It was after all, close, to the days end, and the night fall
Where the time, for a blink, of an eye of a moment, stalls
And all of us mere mortals down here, standing, ever, so small
Awaiting, for that one spectacle, promised, since early morn’

Good things come to those, who dare to wait in line
And, as keeping on gazing up, into the deep and darkening skies
What do these tired and old vision goggles finally, do spy
But a gorgeous painting, forming, right there, before the very eyes

As the performance of the clouds, lights and stars, high in the skies
Begin their nightly dance, with a slow pace, almost a state of trance
Before all of us small beings, who consider themselves, devoted fans