“Something about Sunday that makes me calm” Gun Roswell
S is for Sunday
The early morning with its light Peeks through my covered window The time is still before everyone is to rise And everything in this house is totally quite
There is no hurry for anything yet The only thing to do is to reflect The weeks which is coming to and end As I lay here on my comfortable bed
Soon another day and week will take over But this, today, this Sunday still has the power Of keeping me and myself in the moment For a fee hours before it is time to let
The new day, with new things, begin And the circle thus once again, complete
“Sunday was supposed to be the fun day, but it turned out to be a slump day, meaning I was slouching in my chair all day” Gun Roswell
Sunday Blue
The day started just like any other day, with the alarm going off, much to my own dismay As even the sun was still asleep, and only stars to be seen, so, in bed still, had I intended certainly to be It was definitely way too early, for anything else but feeling surly, even if my stomach of hunger was churning So what was I to do, except maybe, the weather gods to sue, for not giving me the needed light, for my day to guide The only glimpse in this otherwise dull day, after checking the calendar, was that it was Sunday So there really was no hurry, not even one slight worry, I needed somewhere to scurry, real quick, in a state of blurry
But, as I was awake, then getting up the only option, and venturing into the kitchen to make some concoction To start this seemingly already doomed end of the week, certainly, there was nothing for this day to seek, than maybe some time to sleep Alas, this had not been the case, as I was now, somewhat fully awake, so from no on, I would just have to fake To have a good time and enjoying my so called day off leisurely fun, but then there was the pun As I was far too tired and annoyed to think of anything nice to do, so what happened next? You guessed it! I was totally and fully engulfed, in the all consuming Sunday Blue!
“The week ends, on a Sunday, a silent or a stormy one, that is up to you, really” Gun Roswell
Just a Sunday
Early morning, birds outside the window screaming Yes, it is definitely a Sunday, no peace for the one in dismay The mere thought of calmness felt tingling, just last night while beckoning For the end of the week to be arising, the one day for smiling Alas, it was for nought, not at all what I had thought A quiet day, seated, just, by my good ol’ self But then, the doorbell rang, and someone in the shower sang The kids in the streets, yelling bloody murder Even if it was just a game of something blurred out there Then the phones, yes plural, went off All of them, there, on the table in a neat row Always someone out there wanting something to be done Just because, hey, it was your day off, right? Not reserved for fun! As the morning turned to noon, which by the way, came too soon The after hours after that, turned out to be just as bad Finally the evening lurked around the corner I saw the sun starting to set, just looking out of border The whole day of Sunday spent, not in peace and quiet No, but like a circus or some other type of crowded event I know I should not be complaining, just and simply explaining Never plan ahead too much, because you’ll end up doing much too much
“Sunday is always spent in the mood of blue, whether it be the colour of the clothing, the colour of the ocean or the colour of the sea, it’s all so clear, you see?“ Gun Roswell
Sunday Blues in blue
The Sunday noon sun shine, hit high in the above blue skies Almost as high as did the cool blue waves of the otherwise calm ocean fly But for the one, now dressed up in all blue, just for the sake of pun The blue was more than just a dress code, or the blue bird over flown
Sunday was always the day of feeling bringing on the one specific colour It even had that special and all so familiar odour The one with hint of sadness, maybe even a touch of madness But mostly, it was a reminder of an ending, even, whilst leisurely time spending
Despite all the moods, hitting mostly, towards the blues Sunday was and always will be, the time of reflection of all the dues And maybe, even some of the don’ts, but mostly hopes That the new week will bring forth, something much more worth Than a simple afternoon spent wallowing, in the total blues
“It’s always calmest before the storm, that’s why they call it Sunday” Gun Roswell
The Calming of Sundays
The presence of calm today is lulling me to false sense of security As, today is Sunday, I know with almost a hundred percent certainty That it is only a fake state Before it is too late For me to realize That Monday, is once again upon us Thus, bringing the horrific storm of fuzz The weekly strugle, the mundane strife The grind which all of us want to escape But, on this day, on this hour, it is much too late The holy weekend is over As the darkening clouds start revolving Over our tiny heads evolving Bringing forth images do scary It is a miracle any of us survive Live throughyhe night as the winds are howling Your very essence scowling Preaparing for the worst to come And leaving you stunned Too nervous to think or move Yes, the weekly grind, the huge storm Definitely, has you schooled To be, act and live By only its one rule At least, Monday through Friday During the weekend It’s not a concern, how your time is spent
I love to travel I like to work I am a social kind of extrovert Life will take me to many places Different people different spaces But in the end what matters the most Is always returning to my favourite post My Spot Right, where I left it
Sunday has crept upon us again It was just Friday a minute ago, then This day turned up on the early morning clock Without one single warning, we could not stop The time from progressing further No where to hide or turn there Where we really wanted to go Friday, and this time make it go slow
No more Sunday in the foreseeable future This day, seems to be complete torture A promise of silence and peace A complete bliss and mind release But what really happens on this day Is the beginning of anxiety of the horrid Monday When all freedom is ripped And into the mundane rat race we are dipped Where all hope goes to die And our wings are clipped preventing us to fly
So why do I hate Sundays? (Panic attack getting worse)
A bed in the shade Could not have been better made Inviting and soft On to our front lawn popped It’s Sunday so sure A miracle occurred The only day of calm Sure has its charm Trying it on for a size And much to my surprise I like the feel of it And before i can sit I find myself laying on top Looking at the clouds above Soon I fall into slumber And then, it will already be Monday Sunday calm What a rip off!
Rantings Of A Third Kind 