“This is some sort of shadow play isn’t it?” Gun Roswell
Dark and light lines across
The concrete and water cross without hesitation
Try not to step on
Category Archives: Poetry
Poetry of Everything
Black
“The colour of my very soul” Gun Roswell
Cat as black as night
Omen or intuition, you must decide
Or, it’s just an animal
Spring Sunday
“Shiny, slow, Sunday” Gun Roswell
Woke up late
Did not hesitate
To jump outside
Feeling the open wide
Alas the hot air
Felt bad on my fair
And delicate skin
Because I’m a Finn
And not used to degrees
Over thirty odd seems
So now, sitting
Inside thinking
What could be cool
And no require tools
But there is nothing
To choose from
Sunday fun
It’s just a pun
Invented by
Someone who denied
The whole day
And went somewhere
Else to play
A never ending repeating loop
“Stuck on a repeating loop? Please, be kind and rewind.” Gun Roswell
A repeating loop
Was today’s headline scoop
More and more people
Have been caught in this sequel
Of history repeating
As time has gone cheating
Us all in a movie like staging
Where everyone is pretending
An nothing seems real
And not a moment able to steal
Can we please get a new tape recorder
Where scenes can be shown in order
And at the end only
We can rewind the tape boldly
Monuments
“Travel the world, see, everything!” Gun Roswell
Exactly at noon
When the scorching sun
Hits the zenith
The local marketplace
Starts buzzing with life
As the tourist and other types
Come out to play
There is no shade
And certainly, no shame
As to:
What you do
What you wear
What you eat
Who you look at
Who you talk to
Who you ignore
And don’t forget
The glorious set
Of monuments, buildings
History of any era
When you roam around
The old school agora
The water and sun
Can also be a source of fun
When the day is ending
Then, consider some time
In the harbour spending
On a wild ride
“Take a ride on the wild side” Gun Roswell
A ride on the minimalistic size motorbike
Turned out to be quite the interesting hike
Hardly fitting my big fat ass on its seat
But got on it anyway, as I never admit defeat
My knees bent, almost to the hilt
I am sitting here, on this smallest of seats
With the wind and all them flies in my face
Yes, truly this is a memorable stage
Riding along the streets at noon
Certainly, to the onlookers, I am funny as a buffoon
Cannot say I am enjoying the scenery
As the most concentration is used to keep the bike steady
But like all good (or bad) experiences my ride has ended
And I am really so glad this time to have wasted
In learning a lesson of sizes and even gravity
And some people should just stay on this side of sanity
Odds with Ends
“Gotta have the odds to reach the ends” Gun Roswell
Objet d’art
Or something smart
On the odds and ends
Our time we spend
Without our creature comforts
We might be up the rafters
Grey but no rain?
“Bring me rain, so I can finally breathe” Gun Roswell
Bring me no shine no more
But lots of rain down on me pour
I need to breathe in the liquid
This sunshine is killing me quickly
I tried so hard to adjust
Because I was told I must
But in the scorching light
I feel my will lost the fight
I was happier in the darker dreary
Feeling everything near me
The shiny bright open wide
I cannot find a place to hide
Shadow almost gone now
Even the winds hotly blow
Only one place left to go
But I cannot reach the under growth
Please hear my plead o’ mighty Thor
Send down some rain and roar
Heal this bleeding sores
Before all that remains is deadly scorned
Time to build a summer cottage by the seashore
The summer still continues, even if it is starting to fall, towards the winter season, simply, green all over, maybe a nature’s treason?” Gun Roswell
The tiny wooden made shack, by the seashore stands, sideways slacked
It’s really not much to look at, just a few odd planks together stacked
But for the one that built it, this little house, might just be, the perfect fit
A summer’s cottage, or a simple, almost a tent type thing, on the beach sits
Alas, the rough and unforgiving autumn winds soon will fall
Upon each and every single plane, even up, to this remote shore
If the tiny summer cottage will the beating of weather’s wrath survive
Then come next spring, the dweller will have a place to return just fine
But, until that time, the sun will still shine
The clear blue waters and even the skies
Will be totally able to provide
The needed light and warmth to get by
Here in the tiny beach house, oh so divine
Green and the rain
“Droplets on the leaves during spring rain” Gun Roswell
A picturesque scene
Setup
Just for
Darker days and green
Enjoy the pretty things
When the rain drops
When the bird sings
When the bugs hop
Because the spring
Will come to a stop
Rantings Of A Third Kind 