“The winged horsy animal” Gun Roswell
Pegasus
Olympian true and true as
A champion for Zeus, the white winged
Horse, carried his duties for
The kingdom without any remorse
A true hero and a legend, the
Horse named Pegasus, rides again
Category Archives: Poetry
Poetry of Everything
Pegasus (WWW) 1
“The winged horsy animal” Gun Roswell
Pegasus
The mighty white stallion with
Wings on his back, flying around in
Ancient times like a bird
Descended from gods, made of
Shiny marble, a true marble for both
Modern times and of history
Ride it no one dares
Tame it, it will give a scare
Alas, well he did not
Fare, in the end into
Heavens did he ascend, joining his brothers
And the rest of gods
Shaping Your Story: What’s Your Angle?
Updates: Vonda N. McIntyre (August 28, 1948 – April 1, 2019) — Science Fiction and Other Suspect Ruminations
Vonda N. McIntyre (August 28, 1948 – April 1, 2019) passed away yesterday from pancreatic cancer. McIntyre, best known for her Hugo and Nebula-winning SF novel Dreamsnake (1978) and her Star Trek Novels and film adaptations (1981-2004) (bibliography), published her first SF story “Breaking Point” in in the February 1970 issue of Venture Science Fiction […]
Harbour
“It’s calm today, in the summer day” Gun Roswell
Harbour
A slow boat awaits me, finally setting me free
Boarding, without a haze, as at the quiet waters, I gaze
Destination, unknown, as from this place, I have overgrown
Walking to my seat, looking forward to the breeze
As the sails are hoisted, I am second guessing my choices
Alas, they soon fade, as I settle in to the laze
Of becoming the passenger, on this journey ahead
Eyes wide open, I stare at the great ocean
Not knowing, is the hardest part, but if I play it smart
What ever the future, I think I can make without any sutures
Face in a smile, shedding the vile, yes, it has been a while
I am finally feeling, happy
Blue door
“What’s behind the door?” Gun Roswell
Blue door
Step in through the door
In the colour of blue, that is
If you dare, did I
Give you a scare or
Is your face so pale by nature?
So do let yourself inside
Who knows what scary things
You may find, after all, this is
A tale for the odd
And peculiar people, who like
To dabble in the adventures beyond an
Explanation from this world maybe
Even horror or some sort
Of supernatural thing, which will make your
Heart sing, until it it
Pops out and lays still
On the ground until you pop it
Back, and all is well.
Again?
Seven Cats for Caturday (six)
“There be cats here!” Gun Roswell
Seven Cats for Caturday
Hurry
I am in a hurry
I always worry and then
I am in a hurry
The world is big
So much to watch over
And I am running
As fast as I can
No time for patting
No time for purring
That’s why this image
Got so damned blurry!
Beginning of a journey
“The journey begins” Gun Roswell
Beginning of a journey
Early rise, beginning the begin, with a smile
On the long train, on my way
Feeling the speed, for looking back, no need
Always on the move, finding my groove
The journey ahead, all my life to this lead
People passing by, giving me the high five
I know I’m on the right track, so giving myself some slack
Soon another place in front of me, and I want everything to see
Until the time, when the bells chime
As it’s time for me to move along
But not without singing a song
And with that, there is nothing wrong
On the top
“From the highest mountain top, shouting out loud, until I drop” Gun Roswell
On the top
Climbing as high as I possible can
But of climbing, I am not really a fan
As I start to ascend, I know I am making a new trend
making it to the utmost top, no way I may this flop
Climbing, climbing, climbing until I drop
Nothing, no nothing, can make me stop
I am going to make it, up there, where the clouds lay
And when I reach the tallest top, I am there to stay
Faded
“No matter the cup, coffee can never taste bad” Gun Roswell
Faded
On old beat up, chipped and faded cup i have
The only survivor of a life past and sad
But when i pour that dark and scented liquid slowly in to it
It’s almost as breathing new life bit by bit
The soaring hot beverage filling the cup to the hilt
But the old crockery doesn’t seem to mind one bit
Keeping it fresh and nice until i am able to drink
Being a trusted tool even after all this time
Yes, with this one i really got lucky and keeping in mind
When venturing out next time
And shopping for cheap imitations
Which can never replace, an old sensation
Rantings Of A Third Kind 