Seasonal Skies

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“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

Under, the Rainbow

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“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 Love Bug, in a shopping mall

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“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

Under the palm tree, at the pond, resting

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“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

Seats for Sundays

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“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

Fluffy black cat, like in a painting, sat

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“Celebrating, once again, this fine day, of a, Caturday” Gun Roswell

Fluffy black cat, like in a painting, sat

The perfect day, into the great outdoors, to sway
The darkness receding, while light, it once again defeating
And the bluest of seemingly summer’s skies, are once again
So, now, there is no more time, to pretend
That this day is a loss, but rather quickly your teeth floss
And make your way, outside, into the so called wild
Well, as wild as it gets, in the suburbs at this time of year
Where the snowy storms are a the only real and utter fear
But, simply dare to venture, out there, where even the cats, do leer
Because once you have gotten put, to the yard
A totally scary looking black cat is out there, on his daily spar
He looks at you like you just entered his special domain
Glaring at your existence as you, were not quite sane
But after a moment, he quickly lets you off the hook
Sniffing the air and then, trotting towards you, landing near
Both of you curious of the other, even if neither, is a hugger
Then slowly but surely, you get even closer and closer
And then, the scary looking black cat, turns up to be purring
It’s looks quite endearing, as the black fur is soft and woollen
Not at all scary and sullen, rather inviting and soft
And soon enough, both of you, so totally end up caught
In a friendly patting session, where two souls are meeting
With this type of common greeting, and then you are kneeling
To the black and now friendly cats level, you then softly whisper
“Could I interest you, in getting immortalised in a painting?”
As agreeing, the cat seems to be gleaming
And as soon as you get up and start towards your indoors
The black cat is right there, behind you, as it home with you, follows
Arriving inside, the cat soon takes his side, right by you
And it looks, like he is there, with you, for good
Staying there, posing, sleeping ,snoozing, dreaming
All the while you are his ver presence into so may paintings adding

What Ever!

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“Screw you guys, I’m going home!” Eric Cartman

What Ever!

You were smiling
Feeling charming
And quite beguiling
The sun was shining
This was supposed to be
A great day
For a song or a play

But then it turned out to be
Something else completely
It turned out to be
One of *those days*
Struck you in the face
Run over like a ten ton truck
And disappear without a trace

What the fuck?
Feeling like a schmuck
Completely out of luck
Standing in the rain
Without an umbrella
Almost going insane
And not from singing a cappella

So I say “What ever!”
And take my leave

The end of me

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“Just because I am getting older, doesn’t mean this is the end of me, right?” Gun Roswell

The end of me

The wrinkles are there, for all. to stare
All the money and even technology, spent
Just gave me, a brief moment lent
And now, all the loud music, is fading fast
I truly don’t know, how much longer, I can last
Hanging on, to this, self made thread
Even if I know, it’s just a waste
All this effort to try to remain, just the same
A pretty face, with enough of a brain
Alas, nature will take its course
No matter how much you push and try to force
In the end, only the flowers remain
Pretty, and red, even, if I, myself, am dead

There really is no lesson nor pun intended
Just a short rant of life, even if pretended
To live for ever and ever and never die
Well, anyways, at least they can say, I tried!

Posted as a challenge, poetry prompt “Death”

Is this, truly, the end?

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“Death, is just the beginning, right?” Gun Roswell

Is this, truly, the end?

“This will be the death of me”
The low hanging leaf said, to the other one left
“After all, it’s about time, for me, as it is already fall
And, truly, I can no longer stall
The inevitable circle, which is that of life
No matter how hard, I try to put up a fight”

There was no response to the question
As the last of its companion
Was already floating down towards its destination
Jumping in, without, any kind of hesitation

After a moment of contemplation
Somehow, making the question mute in comparison
Then, slowly, gently, the now colourless leaf
Fell onto the waiting ground, without no one to grief
After all, it was the end, of the season
So hanging on, well, there really was no reason

Posted as a challenge, poetry prompt “Death”

A moped ride in the world wide

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“A red bike, on the street side… just hop on, and take a ride! “ Gun Roswell

A moped ride in the world wide

The red, and totally busted ride
Was waiting, by the very side
I knew from before, and I might
Just have out, a very loud sigh
Because no way, was this fine
Taking out, this archaic bike!

But, approaching the land
Where the old bike would usually stand
By an old, and very solid oak door
It was then, I noticed, something quite odd
As if just taken out of a store
It stood there, with so much flare
All over, it was spicked and spanned
Even, the silvery and shiny handles can
Be more gorgeous than
As before the metal, no longer rusted
But everything shiny and dusted
The gas tank filled with go juice
There really was nothing to loose
With this fine ride, of the day
Only one thing, still remained
Putting on, the helmet and boots
The leathery outfit, also to choose
Then hopping on this, very fine steed
And out into the busy streets, it to lead

As I am now riding down the roads
Remembering something, from before
“There really is no better way”, was I earlier told
By someone, certain and so bold
And I am finally agreeing to it now, with a huge, big smile
When I am taking this ride, to the world open wide