travel, traveling, travel blog
“Ride the smallest bike imaginable! It even has a motor in it!” Gun Roswell
The mini bike
Two wheeled little bike
Parked on the side
Working days long and hard
Hardly getting a rest or charge
But still going strong
And it’ll be a while until you are done
“Take a tour around the city of Helsinki, riding a yellow bike for the day” Gun Roswell
The Yellow Bike(s)
City bikes of yellow
For every gal and fellow
Driving by and waving hello
Before we break for jell-o
“It’s just like riding a bike! Guess it is, only this time it’s done in snow!” Gun Roswell
Bikes in Winter Times
The several bikes under the tree taking cover from the winter’s deep and tormenting lash of snow, but that is just what it looks like from far away, as these bikes are here to stay, and even totally slay the snows of the winter, never ever fearing the weather, as they have been permanently tethered to this land of cold by their very riders so bold.
So for now, riding along, no matter spring, summer, fall or winter, these bikes and their riders are fierce and do not mind a challenge, not even something bad or ominous foretold. As they take their two wheelers out there, in the open air, peddling gingerly away, as they are not the ones long in one place to stay. And so, no matter the heavy snow fall, the bikes and their bikers stand tall, against the weather gods.
Of course, the shovel is a necessary tool, when packing for the wintery cold, as digging out from the cover light sometimes, cannot be done by hand and well, that might be the only negative, or then it is the ice roads. Then again, spikes to the wheels and thinking of the snow pushing as a sport, the nothing can go wrong for these winter riders.
“Riding a bike in the snow can be fun, that is if you can find the bike under the snow first of all!” Gun Roswell
Bikes in Winter Times
In snow, not cotton
Buried, but not forgotten
Wheels, maybe slightly rotten
Never mind,
I will think of something
For riding my bike
There is no stopping!
“Riding a bike, in winter? Well, guess it takes all kinds, huh?” Gun Roswell
Bikes in Winter Times
Winter be spite
I am riding my bike
Enjoying the ride
Even down a slippery
And extremely icy slide!
“Life in black and white like in the olden days, so simple and neat, am I right!?” Gun Roswell
Life at sea in Monochrome
I am neither black or white
I am just a grey delight
Maybe not so much fun
Being only a colour of one
That of a monotone
But not a clone
Or then I am, whatever
But,
You may call me,
Monochrome
“Black and white? The two colours shine so very bright, am I right?!” Gun Roswell
The Lighthouse
A tall tower and its smaller twin
Living, side by side,
On an island, made from winds
With the blue ocean wide
And the land around them thin
No hiding, from the high tide
But together they survive
For they are kind
And nothing them, can divide
“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
“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!
