A moped ride in the world wide

Posted on by

“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

Curious Cat

Posted on by

“Curiosity, made the cat, venture out into the wide world” Gun Roswell

Curious Cat

The almost completely, white coloured observant smart cat
On the clear cut and hard stone covered patio sat
Ears, neatly, steered, towards the upon coming sounds
As if intended to come her way, from over, the clouds
Intently, she was always watching, the endless skies
As if looking for something or someone, over there flying
Maybe just, a small bird, or then again, even a loud plane
Eyes, intently, fixed on what ever it was, just the same
Nothing and no one ever passed, the vigilant cat by
As she kept on observing, perhaps, with a hint of smile
After all, she was aptly named, by those of her keepers
Whose house she liked to stay in, before each day dreaming
While looking up into the endless blue and fluffy cloud filled skies
The name of Curious Cat, landed on her, and that, is no lie
And to be faire and honest, the cat really did not mind
After all, she was well kept and the only thing of her required
Was to keep doing her thing, admiring, everything around
Even if she could only fantasise of flying, seated on the ground

Ode to Dame Angela Lansbury, a very happy 95th birthday!

Posted on by

“A true beauty for the ages, conqueror of all the stages, she most certainly is” Gun Roswell

Ode to Dame Angela Lansbury, a very happy 95th birthday!

A true beauty, surpassing all ages
The soft and fair conqueror, of film and stages
Nothing she has ever done, or will do, fades
As the one true star, she will always, stay

Dame Angela, a gorgeous rose, by any other name, you might say
Equal, to the one and true talent and all the following fame
And because or despite that, all of us fans, love you just the same
So a very happy ninety-fifth birthday to you, as we do our little parade
In honour, of this truly, and one totally fine day!

Reflections of a holiday gone by

Posted on by

“All the memories, filling the cupboards of the mind, of so much travel time, during holidays, now gone by” Gun Roswell

Reflections of a holiday gone by

The warm weather on a sunny day
Under the parasol the traveler lay
Wondering about nothing at all
As this time, was reserved, for a ball

A long lasting party on the beach
Food and drinks just, at reach
Laughter and rhythmic music
The one and only constant

As running in a movie like slow motion
On the sandy beach without commotion
Life simple and totally carefree
Blue seas and skies forever to see

Nothing coming close to perfection
As looking back at the reflection
Of a holiday well spent in the past
But alas, it was never meant, to last

Oh well, maybe will come, some other time
There will be an opportunity for something so fine
When the option of just trying to unwind
Under the perfect palm tree, with a wide smile

The masked crusaders

Posted on by

“Wear the damned mask! It will, save lives!” Gun Roswell

The masked crusaders

The masked crusaders of these modern and fine days
And much, to the raging epidemics dismay
They have come, for the evil viruses, to slay
And, they call themselves, the antivirus agents
Their proverbial swords pointed against
All those, apposing, any kind of good health

To educate all their fellow beings out in the cold
By wearing masks of various colours and prints bold
The antiviral agents also recommend disposable gloves
Especially, when going outside to feed the doves
But basically, when the need to touch anything
That the fellow beings might been also doing

Keeping a safe distance, at least, a meter an a half
Might seem, like causing a flutter of laugh
Then again, even if it is nice in company time to spend
The antiviral recommendation is: social distancing
Hugging would be fine, but sometimes, one big smile
From a short distance, can be also as divine

Remember to wash your face and hands
When back at the old home stead you’ll land
The mask either washable or disposable to attend to
Then good health and happy lives ensue
As from now on head the recommendations
Of these, modern day, masked, crusaders

The memory of the beach

Posted on by

“The beach, of the summer long ago, still fresh, in my memory“ Gun Roswell

The memory of the beach

It was so long ago, so I have to think about it, really, really slow
The memory though, still fresh in my mind, as if permanently there, intertwined
It was such a fulfilling place, the one, where the summers were laid
In perfect harmony with time itself, without running around, like a slave
The beaches sandy and soft, the water the calmest and blue
The sun always shining, but most importantly, no one was ever whining
Of this place, being anything, but perfect as on that beach they played
Sports, of all sorts, swimming until your arms would tire out
And when it was time for a break, some sustenance and drinks, someone would shout
“Come one to the table! The food is getting cold! Hurry up!”
All of us, sprinted out and ran, like the fire was there under our cans
Spending the days on end, on that sandy and sunny beach
Until it was that time of the day, when the sun could no longer reach
Only displaying a magnificent setting, as its rays in various colours kept on slaying
The moonrise only a match, with the stars hitting the skies above
Then at bedtime, dreaming of yet another day on that perfect seaside
Yes, those where the days, where we all so had our eyes so totally wide
Now, I can only reminisce, about the days gone by, but, with a soft smile

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?

Doors, Entryways and Gates

Posted on by

“Remember, to check behind each and every door, open and even closed, then only, will you find, that which, you seek“ Gun Roswell

Doors, Entryways and Gates

The darkened wooden door, most likely, had something special in store
Shut close, tightly, even, if the red car up front, was in the sunlight gleaming brightly
The short clotheslines, filled with every day garments, of lived lives
But, when trying the handle gently, there was no granted, entry
All the secrets, of those dwellers inside, continued to remain, in the hide
The bright cream coloured house, with an off white entryway 
Planted pots evenly placed alongside, the narrow and tall stairway
Almost scenic in view, alas the entrance to the house, was reserved only, for a few
Alas, there was no sign, no written words, nothing, even slightly suggesting
That the odd visitors, were welcomed, to this, fine local home
The blue painted gate, lead the weary traveller, to speculate
Was there something there, to be seen, here, at the gate and in between
The yard totally sparse, and the house of the gate was protecting
Lacking any kind of locks, soon enough, the traveller, inside did trot
Then, quickly crossing the yard, in just a few steps smart
Knocking, on the door, with anticipation, but eyes headed, towards the floor
Soon enough, the squeaky sounds indicating the opening
A small and timid crack only, but still, quite inviting
The traveller softly and slowly stepping, to the darkened inside
After all, at this point, turning back, was not an option
And from now on, the best bet, really is, to just keep going, on

The Cool Cat

Posted on by

“The cool black cat, on the side of the street sat, and no, there was no hat involved” Gun Roswell

The Cool Cat

A blackest of cats, on the busy street corner, calmly sat
He had nothing better to do, but on his furry ass sit and chew
The yellow eyes, staring, glaring, all the passersby, spied
It looked so scary, that some of them even started to cry
Luring the cat into some kind of a food reduced trap
Wasn’t an option, because this animal was no ordinary concoction
Of fur and feline DNA, such you might find eating it’s pray
Like a mouse or other type of pest, making the meal a fest
But no, this was a spy, sent from another place so high
It would take a spaceship just to reach there, in the stratosphere
The alien cat, still in disguise, kept on spying
The unsuspecting hooman race, sitting there, on his place
Watching, taking notes, of those poor people dragging their totes
And also making sure, they would stay put without allure
To venture out there, into the great wild space without fear
At least, not without some fish and catnip as a gift
If ever they would the alien cats home planet reach!

On set, shooting the ultimate selfie

Posted on by

“Everyone! Quiet on the set! Ready, lights, sound, camera and… action! “ Gun Roswell

On set, shooting the ultimate selfie

All was quiet, the crew and actors taking their places
The lights were set, the camera was ready for recording all them faces
As the director had ordered, before they closed the doors
The only sound, the metallic clang that of a clapperboard
It was that time, for the shoot, the shoot of some serious selfie photos
As, in this modern day and age, no resume is complete without those

The proverbial needled dropped, on to the quiet floor
As the camera clicked, making the shutter stall
But only for a moment, as the dramatic duck faces image was captured
The end result appearing, on to the monitor for screening

All eyes on the very spot, where the end result blocked
A collective breath holding for a moment, waiting seemingly torment
The pixels of the very image filling the once black screen with colours
Some softly commenting, its a good thing there are no odours

Finally, the end product is complete for all to see
There eyes, the nose, the hair, nothing out of place if feared
A perfect shot for the present and the prosperity
Once some minor adjustments made with some filter trickery
Nothing more to do, except save, upload, post and send
And the world wide web, most likely will remain the same