“The sun set, the night not there yet, the nature all around, turning… blue” Gun Roswell
That moment at dawn
Has you quite drawn
The sky and nature
Of one blue creature
The coolest of blues
The nature in hue…
…A natural true blue
“Something so disturbing it’s almost calming when the storm has raged for so long and the calm is finally here, now it’s time to breathe, until the next front comes through” Gun Roswell
After the storm
Everything is calm
Surrounded by silence
When roaming the island
Not a soul in sight
A sole bird in flight
The scent of nature
The intoxicating mixture
Enhanced by rain
Hard to restrain
My rejoicement
“Sometimes it gets darker, much much darker before the light shines through” Gun Roswell
The sky filled with darkness
The cast shadows seem harmless
The calm before the storm
Everything soon to transform
The rain and thunder soon to follow
The earth and skies swallowed
By nature’s display of power
No need to feel sour
Soon the sun will shine again
And the bad weather will be slain
“A visit to ancient history to get a glimpse what future just might bring” Gun Roswell
If you have come to seek
The words of wisdom
Or maybe just a peak
Through the prism
Place your request
To the priestess
The Oracle Of Delphi
Who sees all things
Past and Future alike
“There is something to be said about nature, as us humans are the feast to some of the species roaming free out there. It’s a good thing, the circle of life if you will, right?!?” Gun Roswell
Urban nature
What a wild creature
Concrete, asphalt
Dog poop on the sidewalk
Grass may look green
But everyone has seen
It was spray painted
To keep it untainted
And just as a feature
Nothing quite like
The smell of petroleum
In the early morning
When riding that bike
Or taking a hike
Though fair warning
Try to avoid stepping
Onto the tossed wrapping
Made of aluminium
Reaching the heavy trafficked streets
Listening to the musical feats
Of the car horn section on the right
The jackhammers creating the beats
People shouting in chorus
Day feeling more bright
Like your name was Doris
Crossing the street at red light
Just for fun not out of spite
Come late evening
Walking through the darkened park
The streetlights broken
Someone a lurking
Deep in the bushes
Not at sea, so at least no sharks
Your pace fastening
Trying to be cunning
Then almost running
Finally arriving
To the safe haven
Entering the doorway
You realize you’re not in Norway
From the lack of pine trees
Rather the sweet smell of pee
Greeting you, making you sneeze
Not the perfume of choice
But it could be worse?
You could be camping
Out in the wilderness
In a sleeping bag, damping
Rain pouring on your sleepiness
Bears lurking outside
No where to hide
Clutching onto the covers
Hoping to survive
Until the sun rises
“Sometimes, Mother Nature sure does add the salt to the open wound, like on this day, when the world is really going to Hell in a large size hand basket and fast, it rains but it pours!” Gun Roswell
The rain came down a pouring
The sound loud as roaring
Frozen drops, balls of hail
No time to stop and flail
Pounding hard onto the ground
A safe harbour needs to be found
The nature showing it’s full force
When it rains, then it pours
“It might be already autumn, fall, but these last rays of sun shine will be soaked“ Gun Roswell
They don’t look like much, and even the slightest touch, can make them crumble all the way down, but these hays, the lonely strays, far away, from the fields they were born, still hang on, until the last rays of summer, have been consumed.
And so, these strays loom, gently, softly in the winds of fall, as if trying some more time to stall, and still heaving, leaving, the onlookers in complete awe, as these, straws of summer almost passed, are quite strong and most likely will last, even past the strongest of winter’s storms.
“The old frail construct, made of glass and a wooden frame, try not to breathe too hard near it or it might just fall a part“ Gun Roswell
Old, frail, inconvenient, hard to handle?
Just the same, it has lasted a long while, even giving a few smiles, the delicate framework, the painted artwork, all of it from the past, refitted to a modern day cast.
And so, serving a purpose once again, the window, lending a peek through time, as how else would any of us learn, of our past, the long history, present there, through this, very old looking glass.
“There is always something which survives the harshness of changing seasons” Gun Roswell
The nature, something wild and untamed
Even if nothing remains the same, when seasons change
Somethings, will never yield
To the yoke of weather, no matter how extreme
Keeping on, hanging there for dear life
Surviving, no matter what just might be the strife
The pests of nature as some might call them
But in the end, it does not really matter
These survivors of the harsh, will become so much better
Each and every passing season
Some say, this might just be even treason
From Mother Nature trying to prove being better
But humans do not understand
What the real struggle really is all about
As they are the ones pushing forward
Destroying all that which does not seem smart
Then again, who are they to decide
Because in the end, nature will always triumph
Long after the last human has disappeared
The weeds as they were once called
Have made their stance at the waters edge
Still surviving, even thriving
In the summers warmth and winters cold
“The last ones always do hang on for dear life until the very end, funny that is though“ Gun Roswell
The autumn soon passing as it like nothing else is forever lasting, the leaves of the season, turning to faded colours, soon to take the deep dive onto the ground, where a pile will only be found before the turning to dirt and dust, because it is a must, the circle never ending even if on this day, the leaves still spending their time on the branches in a surprise set of sunshine. But if tomorrow will bring some wind and rain, those leaves will be stained with prickles of water and then, they too will falter and take the plunge, into the ground as it was predetermined from the experience of the same thing happening over and over again, the circular fashion and the life span of anything in nature really, and so, these leaves too realising freely, that it is the only way. And maybe not to take it as a dismay, rather the sense of being reborn, come next time, the spring and warmth and then from the very dust and rain, blooming again, in a new way, in colours lush green, prettier than ever seen.
Rantings Of A Third Kind 