The blackest cat

“The black cat did not cross the road, just because it did not want to be a cliche” Gun Roswell

The blackest cat

Intimidating they tried to be, for you see, that was the reputation to upkeep
Sullen and hardcore, a fighter sworn to be to the bitter end you see
As this was the often painted totally cliched image of the black cats heritage
But what if they did not want to live up to said sad and bad reputation at all
What if the only thing in the whole wide world for them was to play with a red ball
Then after the whole day spent, in fun never to relent, they would get
A bowl of milk and some tuna, then meow at the dark night in the light of the Luna
And after a while of having spent some time doing the things they loved
Curling up in a black ball of fur, and all cliches out the open window hurl
Sleeping soundly with a loud purr, next to their best Hooman boy or girl
As this black cat never wanted to be someone bad or the unspoken omen
Only a loved and treasured member of their adoptive family not the offender
And certainly never crossing a road, just because the tale so long ago told

Phone home now, or call Dr Who!

“That’s not a telephone box! That, is a Tardis from the tv show, you know the timer traveling doc one!” Gun Roswell 

Phone home now, or call Dr Who!

The two archaic yet gorgeous monuments still standing tall, on the street corner there by that building available for the big and small, lasting us all. from the past till the very beyond…

Huh? 

What’s it called? 

A muu-seuum of sorts? 

Maybe?

Yeah and those two glass boxes with a steel frame? 

Right there in front? 

Something I heard were used to cater to people making telephone calls around the very clock? 

Those kind of retro thingies of sorts, you know insert a coin to phone home or then make it collect for mama to pay?

Well, heck no!

Those kind of boxes are props!

They are imaginary and used in movies or tv!

You see!?

It’s the exact same box, which that one Doc, you know the one on the famous tv show?

No?

What are you ignorant?

Everyone knows the Doctor.

Doctor Who.

Oh yeah!

In know that one, great show!

And I remember the box too.

But wasn’t it blue?

Whatever!

Red, blue, green!

You cannot make a call in one of those so forget about it!

On the sunny side, getting fried, in the sun

“The sun is fun, as long as it’s not too hot or bright and shining all the time or well, hell, I wish it would rain already!“ Gun Roswell

On the sunny side, getting fried, in the sun

The bench beckoned I reckoned as I was tired of all that trotting around as what ever I thought there was to be found, well it wasn’t all that. So, looking for a place to sit, and then it hit me. Out there in the warming sun I could bask the rest of the afternoon, as the skies were the colour of cool blues and the wind was, well, there. It was warm but at least that beat a weather filled with storm any time. Taking a leap of faith, literally as I did jump the few feet to reach the unoccupied bench there in the middle of the street. Not really the street but close by on the side walk empty and waiting for me to sit down and loose that suddenly risen frown. There, I sat on my tired ass and it was all good and fine at least for a while. But then, after a moment of shedding all the load of the running rampant day, it hit me. Literally, it hit me. The heat so strong I felt like I was cooking and then looking around and up and down, I could see there were absolutely no clouds to be seen. Only the blues in the skies, as clear was the place and the sun, well, it was even bigger and brighter than I had remembered while running amok out there. Sweat pouring from each and every single piece of skin on my body and I suspected the insides were drowning too. Wherever it was coming from, I blamed the sun, as this was far from fun. Being fried like a shrimp on the barbie on the sunny side of the street or all over the place, as there really was no shade anywhere to be found. Well, maybe if I went underground. So, there I was unable to move and slowly getting cooked, cursing my faith and wishing it would finally rain!

Sunshine on a Mundane Monday

“It is great to find magic in the mundane, especially on a sad day of Monday” Gun Roswell

3 peekaboo-i-see-you

Sunshine on a Mundane Monday

Look, who decided finally to show up
And for a while there I was starting
To get all upset and wound up!

Then quickly, I am up from the tub
Grabbing a hold of my favourite cup
And then towards the outside,
With a set of a few huffs and puffs
I dare to go
And yeah, none too slow!

Just before, that is, 
My all time favourite show
On the television, is up!
As the sun decided to turn up
Way too late of the day
Much to all those waiting
And now complaining!

But hey, it’s Monday
So what did you expect!?

Red Trike

“The colour so bright, this thing, totally, caught my eyes!“ Gun Roswell

Red Trike

The painted fire red engine colour shining across the grey a monotonous basement of a parking lot, and it really wasn’t that difficult to spot, that totally gorgeous vehicle of a thing parked across a few dull looking four wheeled drives, so guess this tiny thing, just wanted to survive, the looks given by those big ass bullies, mocking its very existence, while missing a wheel, for instance.

“What the hell kind of a car are you anyway?” One suburban, one the larger side, with its wheels ever so large and wide asked, the tiny thing, huddled away now, in the corner to stay while, its driver was doing the shopping for the weekend, and some time away from this small trike spend.

“I am a trike, but weather proof!” The red vehicle replied, trying that, with a small smile, after all, this was its first time ever, in a great big mall, and to be honest, it really did not like at all, the banter, or rather hate talk, from all the others around there, giving it the scare.

“Oh, a trike huh?” A regular size car, commented, with a snarl, “Where does your owner, get to put all the haul, which they will most certainly have on them, as they come down from the shops.” It stated snidely as if it had some kind of revelation widely unravelled. “There is no real trunk or any kind of other place to put on all that junk, they will most certainly have scoped out, from all them shops and then bought, surely you can see the dilemma and the irony, of being such a tiny, tiny thing, despite the red armoury?”

The red trike thought for a moment, then with a loud huff and puff, it extended out its sides, making the body of it ever so wide, but with a large smile, a bit of an evil one at that, the red trike, showed off its assets quite nice, as the two, quite big tubes appeared, and as the very lids of them sprung open, the others, those even with snide remarks, could see now, clear as day, that this small trike, had a lot more on display, than what the spying eyes initially had seen.

“What do you think about my trunk now?” The red trike barked out, “Plenty of room for stuff and such, and even the rider, has leg space enough!”

No further comments were heard from the floor, as the vehicles just shut up and all their doors, as mocking such a tiny little red thing, seemed to have been a good pass time, before their owners would bring, all their shopping, filling the spaces and then some more, indeed, the little red trike, was the winner of them all, on this grey looking and dull day, at the shopping mall, then making sure the owner had plenty of space for all the stuff bought and maybe even some delicious s’mores.

It is, once again, Friday, the 13th

“Everything scares me, always, even the number 13 and Fridays too, then again, all days scare me: I am a regular scary cat!” Gun Roswell

It is, once again, Friday, the 13th

It was, once again, really dark
But then again, it was always dark
At least, as far
As I have that known
Deep, deep down, within my heart

The totally scary thoughts
I had always known, without a doubt
And with a full facial pout
I grabbed a hold of the shout
But the inevitable was lurking around

It really, did not help
That it was Friday, the thirteenth
Who was knocking now, at my door
Slowly, but surely, turning me, to the bore
Of one… Mrs Hide

And then, the worst happened
The warnings signs, unwrapping
A great big red flash of light
It was useless to more fight
The change was upon me… a smile?

“Chip, chip, cheerios, everyone!
What a lovely day, in the sun!
Hey, you want to go out
To sing and dance and shout?
It’s such a lovely day
On this thirteenth of a Friday!
So let’s all get together
And smile and laugh and what ever
I just love to be so darn happy
Cannot bother to be snappy
Because life is really too good
On this day of 13th mood! “

Monday, is Murder!

“Oh, by the by, did anyone notice, by any chance, that I, truly, hate, Mondays?“ Gun Roswell

Monday, is Murder!

Hate, love, hate, love, hate, love, hate!
Yes! That was totally, what the last petal said
Monday, oh dearest of Monday!
Certainly and never, my own fun day!
How I so, loath thee, for you see
You always come, creeping up on me
No matter how prepared, I think I have been
You, are the one and true thorn, on my side 
I so can not, no matter, how hard, I try
To seem to shake you loose, not even, if I so hard choose
To completely, totally and utterly ignore, that very feeling 
That eternal, all compassing, and yes, awful stinging
The pain of it all, like a sharp knife in a wound, being ground
An ultimate relieve, of a permanent state of being free
Is nowhere, no how, ever, never, to be found
Your presence, always lasting so very long
Grinding my teeth, trying, so hard, to stay strong
But, am I really so alone and so totally wrong
In wanting you permanently erased, totally, and completely, gone?
For can’t you so not see, oh dearest of Mondays
That to me, myself and I, you, are pure murder, always?

On set, shooting the ultimate selfie

“Everyone! Quiet on the set! Ready, lights, sound, camera and… action! “ Gun Roswell

On set, shooting the ultimate selfie

All was quiet, the crew and actors taking their places
The lights were set, the camera was ready for recording all them faces
As the director had ordered, before they closed the doors
The only sound, the metallic clang that of a clapperboard
It was that time, for the shoot, the shoot of some serious selfie photos
As, in this modern day and age, no resume is complete without those

The proverbial needled dropped, on to the quiet floor
As the camera clicked, making the shutter stall
But only for a moment, as the dramatic duck faces image was captured
The end result appearing, on to the monitor for screening

All eyes on the very spot, where the end result blocked
A collective breath holding for a moment, waiting seemingly torment
The pixels of the very image filling the once black screen with colours
Some softly commenting, its a good thing there are no odours


Finally, the end product is complete for all to see
There eyes, the nose, the hair, nothing out of place if feared
A perfect shot for the present and the prosperity
Once some minor adjustments made with some filter trickery
Nothing more to do, except save, upload, post and send
And the world wide web, most likely will remain the same