Poetry of Everything
“There are always three of them, aren’t there!” Gun Roswell
Not saving any ink
Painted all in pink
The houses stand tall
Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall
In the harbour
From port to starboard
Yes, it’s a fort
Having stood there for a time very long
“Pink they be, but pretty as can be!” Gun Roswell
A sunny reminder
Of the days of summer
But then we found out
It was actually September
Oh, what a bummer!
Oh well, any ways,
As long as there is no snow
And the winds won’t blow
We won’t have a cow!
“Hearing the words spoken? Seeing those words written on the wall? They must all speak the truth? But are you listening?” Gun Roswell
“Can you hear my voice?”
It asked
“Listen to my voice”
It continued
“Walk towards my voice”
It beckoned
Finally, standing there in front of the wall, with a can of spray in my hand, I had made my statement
I hear a voice
Anyone else?
Are you listening?
“It’s like a phrase from a fantasy movie or similar, being luminous and all…. oh well, guess that one I did do and stole” Gun Roswell
Illuminated
Elated
Dedicated
Awaited
Luminous things of nature
In this frozen portraiture
Not just a summer’s feature
But living, breathing creatures
Fated
Sacred
Created
Illuminated
“Something peculiar about the summer feel, as it seems, everything has gone totally green!” Gun Roswell
Green, is the front yard
Green, is the colour of the greeting card
Green, is the mind of this bard
Green, you cannot discard
Green, now also Red Rover
Green, like the four leaf clover
Green, is summer’s exposure
Green, is taking over
“Look up and what do you spy with your own eyes? Something cool? White and fluffy?” Gun Roswell
“I will huff and puff
Blow smoke until there is enough”
The little pipe scoffed
And blew more smoke
Up into the air
“Getting older, wider and never the smarter? Sound about familiar? Oh well, there is always AI right? Perhaps some more of the new stuff to be added to the person I’ve become?” Gun Roswell
The year was nineteen sixty eight
Life still at stage wait
I must have been no more
Than three years of age
Little Red Riding Hood
Yes, I knew I could
In the borrowed red elf’s hat
Cutest thing you ever saw
Prettiest princess of them all
How could I ever top that!
Now, (fifty nine) years later
Oh life, you’re such a traitor!
I still love red of course
Now I wear it with horns
In the mighty stiletto heels
Life is as good as it feels
“Sometimes, more often so these days not, the kid in me jumps forward and straight into the puddle!” Gun Roswell
Overflowing with water
Are the puddles after rain
Leaving many and big a stain
Where ever the water for a while remains
Jumping, jumping, jumping out of joy
Like a kid again, shouting loudly”Ahoy!”
Splashing water all around
Everywhere , all over the ground
September may be the month of rain
Causing the summer lovers a lot of pain
But, luckily, the season of sun will come again
So keeping on puddle jumping until then
“They’re nature’s way of giving you the notion of time, the bells made of flowers, ringing, every single hour (except if there is no wind)” Gun Roswell
Slay bells a ringing?
It’s summer time:
Can’t touch this…
Purple flowers,
They are totally gorgeous
Telling the time?
Perhaps not
“They are well hidden, deep in the forest for none to find, yet here, look, I did find them!” Gun Roswell
As the summer wind softly blows
The delicate white bells glow
From the sunlight’s reflection
You can almost see, the perfection
Rantings Of A Third Kind 