Poetry of Everything
“Capturing someone’s soul in a black and white photograph? Ominous? Or perhaps preservation for the future?” Gun Roswell
The Ruins
High up
On the mountain top
The basic instincts
Are kicking in:
Clouds filled, with life giving water
Arrived into the valley, with a fog like holler
Do not worry about survival anymore
Looks like the weather gods,
Rewarded us with a big score
“Colour just might be the thing, alas black and white is so much more” Gun Roswell
The Bird
Hovering above the world
Wings spread like a big bird
Voice screeching to be heard
Like a flying seagull high in the sky
Soaring, into the grey horizon
There is no one defined reason
Only the thrill of being
In the here and now
“Black and white is abstract, agreed for sure, but still something quite tangible?” Gun Roswell
The Fortress
Frost bitten branches and leaves
Above a small dwelling still heave
The wind cold and freezing
Breathing in the throat keeps on wheezing
“This weather, certainly takes your breath away”
Just be careful not too long to stay
Warm mittens and a thick coat
And certainly a woolen scarf for that throat
“In the past, life was black and white or at least some kind of greyish colouring scheme?” Gun Roswell
The Forest
Winter continues with all its muster
Snow pouring down, faster and faster
The forest with its trees covered in light
Powdery crystals in the colour of white
A passageway in front quite clear
Do not hesitate or fear
Take a step into the wonder and delight
And soon you have something about to write
“In the past, life was black and white, right? Just check out the movies!” Gun Roswell
The Tree
Snow covering, all of the land
Just like designed and planned
The Winter’s hand
Lays heavily on each strand
Not one inch de-clutched
Not one place untouched
Nature has made its mark
With a white noiseless bark
“Peekaboo, I see you!”
Peekaboo
From its current hiding
It comes out looking for something
But then suddenly backing
Never any answers giving or asking
Playing, toying, lurking
Peeking, checking, probing
You may try a tactic different today,
Then shout out:
“Hey, you there; why don’t you come out and play!?”
There is no way of knowing
Whether it’s coming or going
Whatever it has decided of doing
It is for sure, there will be a surprise
Laying low, until it’s time to blow
But for now, just taking it slow
And then: out of the blue:
“Peekaboo, I see you!”
“It’s all in the perspective of things” Gun Roswell
Flying Up
Catching the winds of spring
Soaring high up, my song to sing
I am a pretty bird in flight
And I may not always choose right
But I am sure this direction
Is the one I need for completion
Of my getting up so high
Even so far as the crows fly
Despite being a miniature beaked thing
There is no rule saying I cannot sing
And thusly, I am up here
In the open wide stratosphere
Higher than any other bird ever
In your face, for being clever!
“Time for summer winds and sails” Gun Roswell
Close enough to the mountains
Close enough to the seashore
As I try to some mountains score
That is simply, because
I really want a picture perfect to adore
So now, here I am, browsing
The sea line slowly drowsing
Hoping for that best of scenes
In my view point to achieve
Maybe not today, maybe not to tomorrow
But I know that even if I have to borrow
An image from some other land
I will get my mountain view as here I stand (or sail)
“I see a bunch of greys” Gun Roswell
Monochromania in the sunshine land
Looking at the world through monochromatic eyes
Eyes wide without any shade or disguise
Disguise, which is so easy to cover
Cover up all the faults
Faults only visible in true colours
Colours so easily distorted Distorted like the inevitable truth
Truth which cannot be hidden Hidden in the shades and shadows
Shadows only seen in the darkness
Darkness hiding in the black Black and white turning to grey
Grey, which is the true colour Colour without any kind of colour
Colour only described as monochrome
Monochrome in so many shades
Shades you learn to love Love rather than hate Hate really is such an ugly colour
Colour so much more than any other
Other could be like monochrome Monochrome mania Mania to celebrate it all
“From the busy streets, towards the calm beach, that is the goal in life” Gun Roswell
Calm as the Sunset
I see the image in my very mind, it’s something unique, someplace to unwind
The colours changing now, from green to a coolest blue, some kind of hue
But then, like a sharpened photograph, everything is in my grasp.
The shining sun, rising high above, the breeze so low, the pace so slow
The turquoise waters glimmering, I wish I could swim in them
I run as fast as I can, then on to the sandy beach I land
At this point I don’t care if it is a dream or someone’s bad joke or scheme
I shed my clothing, boots and all, and into to the soft waves I let myself fall
Getting carried away to the wide open seas, where nothing and no one else do I see
Only sounds made are those of seagulls, flying high above my skull
This is bliss, this is calm, this is what I seek, this is what I want
And then, I wake up, as the car beside me honks
“Move it of lose it bozo!” I hear
Yes, I am back in the noisy street I fear
Until next time, when I dare to dream
As life never really is what it seems
Rantings Of A Third Kind 
