“The vibes of fall are in the air” Gun Roswell
Autumn vibes
Crops
Corn, berries, apples oh my
Fruits and veggies of all of them kind
Autumn harvest is at its best
Now is the time to pick up the best
Pick them, store them, preserve them for later
You will soon too be a very happy eater
Maybe go to the forest for a moment or two
Track down the mushrooms popping out of the blue
Finally prepared with all these nature’s given goodies
And over the winter time you will run smoothly
“Spending a day, in the fresh open air, this is the life” Gun Roswell
Day on a Farm 4
“This, is the Finnish version of Tardis?
Has anyone seen the Doctor around then?”
“Dr who?”
Yes, Dr Who.”
The question was thrown in the air
Seemed likely and only too fair
After all, a phone booth, in the middle of a field
Who else did you really expect to see?
“Spending a day, in the fresh open air, this is the life” Gun Roswell
Day on a Farm 3
Great open wide, makes you just wanna smile
Looking at the endless waves of crops, which never seem to stop
Multiple in brand as in colour, and even their sense of odour
This is my stop for the day, and I may even wanna longer stay
Or just maybe, for good
“Spending a day, in the fresh open air, this is the life” Gun Roswell
Day on a Farm 2
Old school farm house, coloured in fire engine red
This sturdy large built thing, is definitely no ordinary shed
It was certainly built, at the time, way back when
The builders, most likely farm hands, sparing no labour then
Built to last, to here from her past
Even extensions on her, layer up one layer
It may not be a pigsty or a cowshed
But modernized for the here and now instead
Loving it just the same, and soon, it will get some fame
“Spending a day, in the fresh open air, this is the life” Gun Roswell
Day on a Farm 1
This, tiny car, took us so far
Into this place, we are now gaping at, our mouths ajar
It’s a beautiful and undisturbed place
Almost as if taken out of time and space
Luscious green are the fields
Filled with multiple crops which the earth shields
And we did not even have to click our heels
To get to this state of bliss
Only venture out here into the country side
Into this space oh so open wide
And now, we are able to feel, just oh so fine
“Slow Sunday’s with coffee, what could be better than that?” Gun Roswell
Sunday frappé
Cool, tasty, with a hint of sugar and ice
This, is the only two kind of spice
My coffee, for this Sunday, needs
Sitting in my favourite spot
I am not going to move, until such
Time that my cup runs empty
Enjoying my excellently made drink
As deeper into the plushy cushions I sink
Only, when the final drip is gone
Will I get up, with a huff, then a puff
Quickly making another delicious cup
Filled with coffee, milk and the other stuff
Back to my awaiting recliner
I will my day spent never minding
The other folk outside in the open wild
For Sunday is my day of rest
I will lazy around like the best
And when I fall asleep,
I will be dreaming of the next Sunday indeed!
“Fluffy are the clouds and so is the mood, on this, hot summers day” Gun Roswell
Fluffy summers day
Sitting. at the end, of a long pier
Looking. at the clouds, as they appear
Changing, their very shapes, as they slowly drift away
The waters surface calm and blue
Perfectly matching, the sky’s hue
Feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin
Nothing moves, nothings stirs in this moment
It seems, as if the clock, has stopped, all movement
The birds and bees at flight, frozen in mid air
As I close my eyes, I still spy
The world around me, feelings of being free
On this warm and fluffy summers day
“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
“A calm, cloudy, and sunny Sunday, what a contradiction indeed!” Gun Roswell
Summer Sunday at the Beach
When the Sunday time, loudly, its present chimed
We ran, like we were on fire, out there, from the dire
Into the open wild nature, with colours so lush
There really was no need for any kind of rush
To enjoy the art work devised by our beloved Mother Nature
Was there for everyone to see, without any kind of fee
But we ran, as fast as any one can, really
For you see, there was somewhere else we wanted to be, really
Beside the calm and cooling waters, fooling around like a bunch of sea otters
We made our way, discarding all clothing, falling where ever they may
Splashing into the soft waves, letting the healing waters save
Ourselves in the process, as this was the place for us, the total bliss
We played and frolicked, until the darkness descended we stayed
Then only, reaching for the softest of sands, lending each other a hand
To find the discarded garments, a little dirty, maybe even sandy, was a mild statement
But nobody cared, as it had all been time so well spent
Out here, on the beach, on this summer’s Sunday we had reached
And if we were to be lucky, maybe next weekend, we could come back again
“From the busy streets, towards the calm beach, that is the goal in life” Gun Roswell
Versus
Calm
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 