On a remote Island

“Island life, can be a strife, but during summer time, all is simply fine” Gun Roswell 

On a remote Island

The place so remote, you will have to take a boat and then row it, a long, long stretch, before even let, close enough to the very space , the perfect spot, right there, on the dot, an island, which when boarded will keep you smiling, all summer long, but only if you can stay strong, never ever complain, about the lack of, all them creature comforts, left behind, on the mainland, as learning to stand, on your own feet, then and there, on the island bare, so far removed from civilisation, the only ones are the flying birds, which can you disturb, in the morning hours, but it’s all simply fine, as learning the mundane life, on the remote isle.

Island Life in Monochrome, when the Sun is none too bright

“The island life can be, a kind of a strife, at least some times, as it makes none smile, but hey, that is the life, on an island, am I right!“ Gun Roswell

Island Life in Monochrome, when the Sun is none too bright

The low hanging dark grey skies against the tall greyish mountains 

The mood quite dark, without a spark, as is the ambiance, all around 

But there is really no escape, even if you wanted to leave the place

As, after all, you have chosen this small kind of life, on a remote island 

But, when the season is totally right and the sun is shining so bright 

Then all notion for fight and flight completely vanishes, like a dirty dish

As the beaches are so very soft and the skies turn to the coolest blue

Mimicking the waters hues, simply because this colour us soothes

Still, whatever the weather is, or the time of seasonal delight

It does not matter for the true island dwellers, because they will fight

Against all the elements, just to be able to live on their promised land

No matter if it will mostly stay, in the monochromatic colour of grey

Small island life 

Verbania, Italy

“It would be nice to live on a small island in the middle of nowhere much, then again, I might miss some creature comforts” Gun Roswell

Small island life 

The island beckoning, small as it is, the town with only two buildings and a few people there, the rest of it just trees and sandy shores totally free as far as eyes can see, well, at least, for the short stretch, as this is a minuscule island resort, far away from the highlands, and that is fine, as this land might be small, but it’s not crowded and that makes me smile, as all the vile of the big city, never made me feel giddy, not like this place does, and without any kind of fuss, being oneself the key, these people don’t care or flee, even if sometimes in your underwear you like to sprint across the main street, not a feat though as the distance is quite short, pretty much the diameter the island across. And even if this might not be a permanent residence, there is nothing so good sometimes rouging it out, the creature comforts soon forgotten, as the peace and quiet caresses the senses on the verge of total stress, the small island life, can be a strife, but also, a great big reward, if you balance it all right.

The tall and the small one


“Where there is a small one, there usually is another one taller there” Gun Roswell 

The tall and the small one

The small one was looking for some support, perhaps possibly some place to lay low, not that it would really be a stretch for this tiny one of stature, to be on the lowest of lows, but some nice shade or cover would suffice at this very moment, just to get a small moment of a respite, as it had been too long as it had been on its own, mostly defenceless and so, it was looking for something strong, on the taller side to call its protector of sorts.

 And there it was, all proud and definitely tall, a contract of such magnificent proportions, there was no denying it was strong and would most likely last, any kinds of blasts. Soldier, warrior, whatever the phrase best suited, those were all going to be used while describing the mighty tall one standing there in its place. After all, it was, well, quite tall and so, the small one immediately made its way, asking for the much needed aid and after one long glance at the poor tiny thing, the tall one decided this would be their sprint, while protecting this more helpless kind, its purpose they then could find.

The old cottage on the island lies

“Nostalgia, is the best word to describe these two dwellings“ Gun Roswell

The old cottage on the island lies

They are rusted and quite busted, neglected and rejected, those dwellings from the past, which no one thought would until this century last, but how wrong they were as those houses are still here, and will most likely be long after we are all gone, remaining strong.

They might not look like much, maybe needing a slight touch up, but once you get inside, you cannot help but smile, as despite the rough outlook of the houses, the insides are far from louse, but rather cozy and warm, keeping you safe and sound through any imaginable storm.

So, if ever in doubt, when wandering out there, on an island with none too much to share, at least not in looks and on the surface of it, barren by default, without a fault of its own, but of nature without much going on, the houses will still give you shelter without faltering.

Next time you may want to reconsider, judging a book or any other by just looking at the cover, don’t forget there is so much more beneath of the simple looks, and yes, it applies too so many other things as well than just books.

Red houses for a blue Monday

“Monday’s might be totally blue, but the houses of red will cheer you up for sure!” Gun Roswell

Red houses for a blue Monday

You may hate Monday’s because they will make you totally blue like
In feeling and mood and worse case scenario, your face so fright
But then something so wonderfully delightful catches your very eye
Red coated homes at the end of the street as they stand in perfect pose
Surely such colourful things will take your kind off the Monday’s dose?
So, do not be afraid, but a step inside, through the door open wide
And then, make your way, shedding off the Monday’s saddening dismay
Maybe, even for a while stay, and let the colours your blue to red claim

Tall against the blue skies, with a touch of red on the side

“The other one is taller than the smaller one, but they do support each other very well” Gun Roswell

Tall against the blue skies, with a touch of red on the side

The tall lighthouse was sticking out, from the bed rock from which it firmly sprouts. Ever so gorgeous and made from solid rock, seemingly, nothing it could stop, from reaching towards the blue open and wide skies, singing many a song of all that which is divine.

But, the truth was, that the tall one could not survive without, being tethered with its small side kick of a tiny wooden shack, painted in red, dangerously so, as even seemingly making it only in tow of the tall handsome structure, the smaller one was, the stronger one of the two, never swaying in the wind, even if it could never sing the beautiful notes to reach for the skies.

Lunch time in the archipelago

“Island life, even in just the memories, it beats this dull city dwelling of a strife” Gun Roswell

Lunch time in the archipelago

Never hurried, simply slow, is the life spent on the island
Having a break when ever it suites, simply widely smiling
Even the time of lunch on the beach without any kind of timing
Is the way to go out here, in the middle of nowhere, in the archipelago
Where people abandoned their watches oh so long ago
As this is a place, time still stays, where no one has to hurry
And all the worldly troubles, were in the deep ditch buried
Life, as we know it, for at least the summer period is to be sent
On this very small island, so far away from it all, making no dents
In anything else, except maybe, in the cookie jar, but then again
You can always bake new ones, if you feel like it, or then just sit
All day long, as the sea shore, on this place, from heavens sent

The Rock, it is called, just for short

“The island life is the dream kind, bringing me a smile, each time, I see the pictures” Gun Roswell

The Rock, it is called, just for short

The harsh rock solid unforgiving ground, every which where can be found
On the small thatch of a land, which solemnly out there stands
In the middle of the sometimes blue and other times ruthless ocean
Where the rough weather and barren nature is part of the potion
Of that which is the dream life for a few adventurous dare devils
Living their lives out there where no one, but only a few seagulls
Land on the dreamy and soft sands of the beaches non existing
As hidden away is this exotic and praised paradise from prying eyes
Protecting those lonely dwellers dedicated to the strange but appealing life
On the island of some kind of fantasy with the good kind of strife

Wooden frames, never the same

“Old discarded buildings made out of wood, gently merging to the landscape, back to the earth from wheres they came, as they should, not too lame, huh?” Gun Roswell

Wooden frames, never the same

The island barren with only a few standing trees, but the houses they were building, out of wood you see, as the idea was to never make them be forever there, but only for the while as the dwellers stayed and lived their lives, in small hives. And now into rest they may finally lay, in the long and lingering process of decay. But do not feel sad or even sorry or for nature worry. As all that which was built from the land, by the land and with a lending human hand, will once again merge with the earth, as per rust to dust, or what ever the old saying. It is just a matter of time before they are all laid in, and one, with the ground. Then, in no time, soon to sprout, new trees, will be standing there instead, oh so proud.