Waters Edge, on a Sunny Day

“As the elements of nature you see, water, might just be, the most fun of them, in my opinion” Gun Roswell

Waters Edge, on a Sunny Day

The calming and totally inviting cool blue hues reflected, across the palette of each and every single surface
Beckoned, this, very weary, disbelieved traveller, whom itself had neglected, to take a break without disturbance
The empty banks, which the beginning of the seaside flanked, were a canvas for the imagination now blank
There was no hurry or worry, to do anything else, but to sit down on to the swells, where the rocky terrain dwelled
Then letting the thoughts fly, towards the eternal skies, carrying them off to others spheres up there, high
After all, this time alone, was removed from the continuum, the moment frozen, from any of the other dozen
This, it was the perfect place, to let go any and all hesitate, and simply be, and the surroundings to see
As nothing else really mattered now, only the scenic picture in front and how, special the feeling of simply here being
Amongst the elements, the water, the land, the sky and never asking the why, because this, was the perfect life

Help me up, wont you (Caturday)

“The black cat, helping a striped cat, well now, that is true team work!” Gun Roswell

Help me up, wont you (Caturday)

There was something very interesting definitely there, on the window sill
As the two small size cats, kittens really, now on the floor, circled around, at will
Trying to get up, with still growing but short legs still, was quite the feat tough
And even trying to very hard to hop, hop, hop off of, the very flat ground
It seemed impossible to get up there, where something great was to be found
But neither of them succeeding, on their own, so what to do now, they frowned
Then a thought, came to the others mind, maybe working together was fine
Even if they both competed with each other for every single little thing in kind
But this time, maybe it was enough, if one of them reached on the very top
And then the other would know too, what it was so interesting up and out there
Which was intruding their very own domain, and threatening, just of the same
And then the smaller one pushed the bigger one, with a huff, on to the very ledge
Urging him to seek, search and then, to destroy, what ever it was disturbing their day
As the bigger cat got up, he turned back with a huff and a puff, as the only thing
Was a small spider, weaving its web while singing, and now already out of reach
For the small cat and his friend, whom, so eagerly had for big game tried to seek

“What a total bust!” The striped cat told the black cat, “Just a small spider, alas!”

“Yeah, all for nothing, that huffing and puffing!” The black cat told the striped cat. “But when we tell this story to the others, it was some kind of a big elephant or tiger, which we fought really hard against.” She then added.

“Agreed!” Said the striped cat, “And next time, I will let you be the one to go see.” He stated as the two of the strolled back to the litter, to tell a great story of two hunters, they were, slaying wild game without hesitance or even one flicker.

Phone Home, or ?

“Our daily lives are so mundane, we get taken over by what is immediately in front of us and we don’t see beyond that” Benedict Cumberbatch


Phone Home, or ?

A dialer device
From a different era
Had to suffice
Let me tell ya
An analog connection
No visual perception
No texting
Sure no sexting
Just a calling machine
The only mean
For ancient times
But oh how time flies
Now we all have
A mobile device

Que Sera, Sera

Colours in Black and White

“See the world in monochromatic colours, all the greys you can imagine” Gun Roswell

Colours in Black and White

When the world gets much too bright
The colours so totally lush and vibrant
You only want to tone it down ever so slightly
And what remains,
Is all in total blacks and whites

But never forget those shady greys
Which all them scenerys may stain
But there is something gorgeous in the shadows
Where the monochromatic themselves allow
To be as colourful as they may

There is colour all around
From the skies to the lowest ground
They may all be all in black and white
But just the same,
They give you the chills and smiles

Grey in monochrome

“The feeling of totally calming greys, when the world seems too colorful, that is monochromatic!” Gun Roswell

Grey in monochrome

When the world seems to bright
The senses overwhelming with light
Colorful vistas everywhere where you look
Wishing to dangle off of this stimulating hook

Escaping into the architectural indoors
May turn out to be an even bigger chore
The internal and bright decors
From the highest ceilings to the lowest floors

Then a thought by some sort of surprise occurs
Maybe, these colours would somewhat less hurt
If toning them down in to the very basic of things
Yes, that really could work and cause a spin

Around for some hundred and eighty degrees
Turning down the volume of all the things seen
To a nice and soothing less freaking up scale
As the monochromatic then lifts up its gorgeous vail

Ah, this is so much better with lesser pain
As schemes with only certain elements tickles the brain
Colours are always nice and dandy
But sometimes the fewer shades, fading to greys, are more handy

Raindrops on Petals

“Gorgeous and complete balls of drops of rain fall” Gun Roswell

Raindrops on Petals

A delicate little thing
Was holding onto the bling
A gorgeous tiny and round
Lucent ball which it found
Falling down from the heavens
As they opened up at eleven
When a flush of rain
Flushed away the stains
Off the delicate petals
Of the flowery vessels
Like pieces of fine jewellery
Adorning with illusory
For the onlooker odd
Might seem a bit off
Eventually the drops will fade
As the rain sometimes fails
And sunshine takes its place
But the combination
Of rain and sunshine
Will keep the flower’s petals
Completely divine

Monochromatic Ride

“Riding on the monochromatic streets, on these, two wheels” Gun Roswell

Monochromatic Ride

On a highly tuned, yet very vintage looking bike,
Down the lonely, colourless, black and white streets, I ride
The cold winds, on my battered, wrinkled old face,
But that’s no matter, ’cause I am certainly not, *that* stained
And I definitely not, a person, whom in just, the one place stays
Not at least, for that long
Even if there would be, any sense of “to belong”
As I slowly, and intently, pass by the onlookers, they are watching me ride
And yes, that is really just so fine
For I am really not got nothing to hide
But heck, I may even break up in a big smile