Olden Days I four

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”Everything was so much better in the good old days!” Gun Roswell

Olden Days

Telephone Call

“Phone home!
Phone home now!
Me T phone home right now!”

If that was a movie, it would most likely be boring
Sending all the audiences, to a deep state of snoring
But when, once again, the old bell rang
And answering the old school calling device
Turned out to be really nice
An experience from yester-year
Talking to the large receiver
Was a sensation so extreme
Only concentrating on talking
To the person on the other end, not stalking
Any facepaper, instamessage or twatter
Not even once able to read any chatter
Taking the time
Just to talking was no crime
And actually, getting to know
What the other person told
Smart phones can be cool
But for real live person to person phone calls,
Try once more to go old school!

Olden Days I three

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”Everything was so much better in the good old days!” Gun Roswell

Olden Days

In Transit

On the narrowest of street car rails
Setting clear for forward to “sail”
The silent prayers, and fingers crossed, that nothing will fail
But feeling lucky to have found this transport
As it’s rarity compares only, to the finding of the holy grail
The old car shaky as it rests on so many crooked wheels
Still, this genuine, good old time feel
To me and my travelling companions on so many levels appeal

The loud creaky sounds, and then, the clickety clacks
Soon filling the insides of and bouncing off the tracks
But, there definitely will be no lack
Of excitement and adventure, nor looking back
As the forward momentum keeps us pushing
Most likely because there is no reverse, so let’s keep on rushing:

“So, onward, ever upwards and once more to the breach!”
(No, those were not the words to seek, this is a completely different franchise, an I advise to keep this a simple and straight forward piece!)
“Look out the windows,
First to your left, then to your right
As you can all see,
This really is the life!
An experience coming to you once
(if you have money, then twice or more)
So, enjoy the view, and, with your mouth closed chew
And when the car stops, please make sure to embark!”

Shade

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“Ain’t nothing wrong with some shade” Gun Roswell

Shade

Ain’t nothing wrong in being shady
Ain’t nothing wrong in staying in the shade
Ain’t nothing wrong in letting the shade in
Ain’t’ nothing wrong admitting to shade

Being inside the grayish shade
Might make you feel all cool and great
But remember to follow the rules of the shade
As they might let you avoid of becoming a fool of a big grade

So.
If you are determined of being shady
If you are prepared for always laying in the shade
If you are living your life in the gray side
If you are always right with your shade
Just do it!

Look down!

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“Watch out for the ledge, you might just fall, down!?” Gun Roswell

Look down!

Quick, look down!
Look down right now
Now, you see it?

It? What is it you mean?
Do you mean the ocean?
Ocean as blue as the sky?

The sky, so very high
High as is this drop down
Down, way down to the bottom

The bottom of the pit
The pit, which in you fall
Fall, and never up crawl

Crawl as hard as you may
May you forever down there stay
Stay until the rapture

The rapture?
What if the rapture is something nice?
Nice, as a slice of pie?

A pie you can enjoy
Enjoy just like this pit
This pit, where I now sit

Sit until the end
The end of times
Times which are so great

Great as the ocean wide
Wide as this beach here
Here in the pit
The pit, where I now sit

I see what you are trying to pull
Pull it real hard, as I am no fool
Fool enough though, to sink

Sink to the very pit
The pit which in you now sit
Sit together we will
Until the end of times

Metallic Twist

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“Oh I’ll twist it right, in there!” Gun Roswell

Metallic Twist

In a twist of metal, she was born
In the early hours, before sunrise, at dawn
She stretched extremities with a yawn
And then realized, in full length, she was not small

Now, in the middle of the room on her pedestal
She stands there, people gawking, like she was an angel
But she does not mind, she gets off on the stares
Even with an expressionless face, internally, she glares

For she, is no angel, nor is a mere mortal
Her goal to stir trouble, ever since arriving through that portal
The poor artist in creation, was never the wiser poor soul
Of what evil things he let loose, twisting that metallic roll

She is no hurry, watching, waiting, for that special moment
When everyone is under her spell, and then only starts the torment
The eternal yearning, the struggle within, of wanting, never having
That is her agenda, to raise hope, but never giving

The Onlooker

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“The pretty face in the crowd, is bound, to draw some attention” Gun Roswell

The Onlooker

“Are you looking at me? Are you? Really looking?”

“Why else would I be here, gawking, like you were something, like really good to eat?”

“Then take a damned picture, it might last longer!”

“No, I am just happy to stand here, in the moment, sorry, if you feel it’s like tornment.”

“Oh, do you really like me or are you a little nutter?”

“Maybe both, maybe neither, but I am getting a smile here.”

As the duo continued their chatter, getting more familiar with each other by the minute, there is no telling, where to spin this tale, going strong, even without a pilot

The conversation, between the watcher and the object
When one of them, has the other one, really in check
Staring, gawking, looking taunting, maybe even a hint, of admiration
Maybe, just maybe, at some point, leading to temptation

Little Engine that could

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“Tiny little thing isn’t it!” Gun Roswell

Little Engine that could

Up the hill, real real slow
Down the hill, like the hard wind blows
The little engine flows

In the midst of winter
Like a tough young sprinter
No snow will it hinder

Achieving its daily goal
Wrapping the sleet around the pole
Even patching up a few holes

The little engine really can
Soon everyone is a fan
And winter, well no one gives a damn

Sunday Calm

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“Sunday is the calm before the storm” Gun Roswell

Sunday Calm

A bed in the shade
Could not have been better made
Inviting and soft
On to our front lawn popped
It’s Sunday so sure
A miracle occurred
The only day of calm
Sure has its charm
Trying it on for a size
And much to my surprise
I like the feel of it
And before i can sit
I find myself laying on top
Looking at the clouds above
Soon I fall into slumber
And then, it will already be Monday
Sunday calm
What a rip off!

I’ll stab you in the back, if you’ll stab mine

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s that a knife on my back or are you just happy to see me?” Gun Roswell

I’ll stab you in the back, if you’ll stab mine

Call it suspicion or plain paranoia
Still not turning my back on ya
Perhaps a lack of trust in a fellow human
But definitely not a friendship in blooming

We come in friendship (shoot to kill)
That kind of kinship, gives you a chill
The pessimist would underline this cliche
And using “trust no one” as a catch phrase

Surely this rant was written in jest
Just something to get off my chest
If there was a lesson to be learnt, then just fine
At least you did not have to read between the lines

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A Christmas Tale

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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” Charles Dickens

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A Christmas Tale or Can I have some Figgy Puddin’, please

The year was 1845. I was about ten years of age and working as a stable girl. Our family lived and worked in Lord Hamilton’s manor house. It was Christmas time and as a gift for the servants, the Lord arranged a feast for the staff and their families.

Mommy had the children dressed in their Sunday best. My two brothers were complaining about the stiffness of the shirts. Starch was itchy and could cause rash, especially if one scratched the itch.
I had my favourite dress on and my younger sister was a bit jealous of the red and green colouring. She was wearing a plain blue coloured hand me down.

After all the fuzz and hassle with the wardrobe, the whole family was finally set to go to the main house and start with the Christmas dinner. Us servants would be dining in the large kitchen. Several long tables were brought in with extra seats as well. This wasn’t a large household. With around fifteen servants and their families, well not all had children and spouses, all in all around sixty people in total crammed around the tables. The two cooks had had their hands full with the preparations and naturally every one that could had chipped in.

But now it was time for celebration. Everyone was finally sitting down and getting quiet. After grace the noise level rose again. Food containers were passed around and everyone was filling their respective plates. After all, it wasn’t often we got to eat in this manner and variety.

After a while, everyone had cleared their plates and it was time for dessert. My favourite was the Figgy Pudding. If possible I opted for seconds. As I got my plate of the delicious substance before me, I licked my lips and dug into it with gusto. It did not take too long for the food to disappear from my plate.

My mom looked at me with a smirk. I looked back at her and passing my bowl I asked: “Is there any Figgy Puddin’ left?”

I was smiling widely, feeling exhilarated, when the bowl was passed back to me with an other helping.

When the final bits were eaten, it was time for the traditional sing along. The farmhand brought out his accordion and after the first few tunes, we all joined in. The evening was spent singing, chatting and finally picking up the tables. We all went back to our dwellings, thanking the Lord for the special meal.

Merry Pudding and God bless us everyone!

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