On the Path

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“At least, I am on a path, to what, who knows, but still, no straying!” Gun Roswell

On the Path

The long path ahead
May be wide or even narrow
But that simple fact I won’t let
Choosing it to make my own

Navigating between the right and wrong
There is nothing to it, but staying strong
And even if I slip every now and again
The path will still be in front of me just the same

Gladly hopping on that trail
Keeping my fingers crossed I won’t fail
And if I manage to steer mostly clear
Then for the future, I have no fear

The path keeps on winding
Sometimes, my with my teeth grinding
I take a breath and stop
But soon enough, I am back on the road

Moving forward, one step at the time
Sometimes feeling sorrow, other times I am fine
But the path keeps on going
Without an end showing

And me, I just keep walking
For what else is there, to do?

Take a Hike, or to the Moon

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“When the working day is done, better have some fun, take a slow hike to the woods, or run amok trying to reach the moon” Gun Roswell

Take a Hike, or to the Moon

Take as slow hike up the winding path
Upon start, having no idea how long it lasts
Just enjoy the upon coming adventure
No matter where or when you venture

You may end up in a different place
Somewhere, where no one for long stays
But hurrying back is not an option at all
So move along, don’t try to stall

Maybe you’ll find a long lost treasure
Or just the atmosphere, for the leisure
Maybe you’ll end up to the moon
And get to swing on the stars as they loom

But once you get the urge to get back home
Just click on your heels, and think of Rome
Because every single road leads to the city
And getting lost, well, that is just a pity!

A Dreamers Dream

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“When dreaming, always dream big, unless, you have small dreams” Gun Roswell

A Dreamers Dream

The coolest of blues hit me, with the blues
As I sat in the seat, carefully chosen, by the coolest seas
Watching the skies, expanding in my very eyes
And then, what the hell do I spy?
An aeroplane, in mid air, in flight
Yeah, right!

It was supposed to be my special dream
From this dreaded place, for once at least to flee
But now, here I sit and watch, as others, obviously, have taken my spot
On that flying machine, up there, for all to see
And, where am I?
Well, down here, on this pretended life of a scene

But as I sit here, in my own fear
And the air vehicle, slowly into the skies disappear
I start to deep into my own thoughts sink, maybe even think
That this place, where I seem to always so long stay
Maybe, it’s not so bad, even if I am feeling sad
It’s an OK one, sometimes even fun
So, maybe, this is the dream after all
I just have to adjust and then, dream small!

What a waste!

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“Time’s a wasting (while working)” Gun Roswell

What a waste!

When the daily plans
Are not going well, you’re in a jam
So much time is wasted
Simply, for tall that part when hesitated
Well, actually and in reality
The waste was done during the whole daya
When all the energy was drained away
Spending so much of it all
On trying to keep the rolling ball
Of the mundane task nobody cares
Just so you can take your share
Of the needed payment of the bread
While wishing you had stayed home instead
Done all those nice things you wanted
Instead of the precious hours squandered
On just this thing called work
Which mostly is just not any kind of perk
And now it’s already dark and eve
So, cannot myself with anything please
Oh well, best get off to bed
Since soon it will be the new morning dread
And back to the coal mines to work
Oh, when oh when did I become
This utter and total corporate jerk!

On the edge, or a tall order

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“Nothing can save us now, except coffee” Gun Roswell

On the edge, or a tall order

When that specific mood hits
And you are standing on the ledge
Close enough to jump
Take that one final plunge
In good or bad the need of courage
Is like eating a bowl of too hot porridge
Some say it just may
Be that of a one too tall order
Alas a savior at hand
Just there, were, you stand
A tall glass of the darkest of liquids
Will never let you quit

Dreams and the Truth

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“When I grow up, I want to be everything, smart, gorgeous, happy and done a lot of things and maybe have some money saved too…” Gun Roswell, age 4

“Now that I am all grown up, I feel I have only grown wider and none the smarter without a clue of what will come next and there will be no looking in the mirror, especially in the mornings without all that war make up!” Gun Roswell, age 54

Dreams and the Truth

When some little kid says they want to be everything and everyone when they grow up
I look at the child, with eyes too wide and then finally huff and puff
To be honest, shooting down someone’s hopes and dreams
May be the ultimate revenge an older person with a life filled with regret might seek
But alas, after some contemplation, maybe it’s better to not give a revelation
Rather let the kid have their dreams without hesitation
As we all learn later on, the moment of truth will come
And the path planned and dreamed
Never really is what all that and often specially what seemed
With the eyes of a very small child
When all the world, is still, so open and wide

Winding Road

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“Like the little red riding hood, I am going through the woods” Gun Roswell

Winding Road

The forest so thick I can hardly see the trees
But never mind, I can, hop skip and squeeze
My way through the thick layer of greens
Until I find my way back, and the ever winding road I see
It’s not too far I don’t mind, as I’m making good time
This place filled with lush green and other critters
Is surprisingly calming, even friendly, without too many jitters
With a hop and a skip, I over the narrow creek leap
Then in the distance, something shining a blue
I think do I dare or would I be a complete fool
But the adventurer wins and so with a song I sing
I start towards the patch of water in the distance
Hoping maybe, it’s a lake or similar and then in an instance
I am there and find, the rarest beach of any kind
Immediately kicking off my shoe and in goes the toe
The liquid so cool and refreshing I am soon undressing
Taking a dip in the soothing lake, before an observation I make
The road ever winding, I have already been finding
As the staring point is right at this very shore
Knowing my way back is secure, I take another round in the water, just to be sure
It’s refreshing alright and soon again, I am on my way, despite
Leaving behind this great place I have come to appreciate
But swearing I’ll be back here, for an other run of this place called nature

Summer’s seat

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“In the tiny garden I sit, until there is snow on the ground” Gun Roswell

Summer’s seat

When the first rays of the summer’s sun appeared
I knew immediately, I could sprint outside without fear
The bright white light burning my retinas at first
But, then I picked up my old fashion shades from dirt
Left them forgotten, discarded under a pile of dust
All through the winter months, since darkness, was a must
Noted the greening and growing grass under my bare feet
The blue skies and the flowers, yeah, I am truly glad to see
Spotting the tiny seat in the corner of the garden so small
Where it had been sitting all along, under the piles of snow
I don’t care if it’s splintered and slightly dirty
As long as I can sit in it without feeling angry
Because today is the first the of the summer life starting
This great time, mostly without bad weather and plowing
So I will be sitting here, spinning all kinds of thoughts in my mind
Until the day that the sun sets for good and it is time
To turn back into the winters dark cave
And sleep, the deep sleep, before another summer saves

Summer expectations

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“There is fantasy and then, there is the harsh reality” Gun Roswell

Summer expectations

Waking up to expectations of gorgeous weather in a beautiful place ahead
But the darkness must have been an omen, as what greeted me instead 
An non-coloured greyish scene, with no natural light, anywhere, to be seen

I blinked once, twice, three times, and then pinched myself, just to be sure of what I saw, this utter vile
In front of my sad eyes now laid, instead of all the fine I had just seen, while lying on the bottom of my soft bed

Enough! I finally said

Had it all really been, a good dream, or a figment of my vivid imagination, a total fantasy, I had seen?
Such marvelous things and places, making ones heart really go to the races
All the colours of the rainbow, hardly any winds there to blow, life going, gently, smoothly and, oh so slow

Closing the curtains, feeling a tad on the side of hurting
I decided to go back to my bed, continue dreaming, until this, season of dread
Was finally over

Turning off the bedside lamp, my eyes tight shut clamped
And then, I, was back, in the place, of eternal summer, I had before of dreamt

Age

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“With age comes wisdom… Yeah, right! So not true! I am as stupid as I have ever been.” Gun Roswell


Age

“Years just keep passing by… twenty-nine, twenty-nine, twenty-nine…
Oh, wait, what year is this?
Holy shit, I am over fifty… one, two… Oh, never mind!”

Age is just a number and all the rest of the cliches, which all those nice quotes in cards keep telling me. Feeding me, with false sense of hope, that getting older, and even each dammed year (unfortunately, like Mondays, which pop up every week, birthdays too creep around the corner each year, no matter how hard you try to deny them, or push them away) will somehow make me wiser, more comfortable, more mature, more of everything really. But, all I feel, still, is the same insecure little toddler I was all those years ago (no, still not counting).
But, here I still am, waiting, patiently (read impatiently) for the promises of age to come true. Should I maybe someone sue?

“Act your age!”

Another thing I do hear a lot too. So, when I ask the person who just scolded me.

“How old do you think I am?”

They just stare at me and don’t really know the answer to that. Well, imagine the shock when I reply.

“I am nineteen.”

After some consideration, the response might be something like.

“Oh, well, looks like you really had a rough life then.” or “A tad of the weary side, or rundown maybe.”

So, what,
If I am feeling like a youngster in my wanna be teenage fashionable clothes and, then, making jokes, suited for a person, of a middle school level, when I should be dressed in business casual, retorting funny anecdotes from some adult reading proved magazine.
So what,
If I laugh out loud after reading some not so funny thing, while on a bus, when everyone else is so quiet and sulking, because the weather is bad or life just sucks (especially Finns, they never really socialize. I should know for I am one of them).
So what,
If I like to do some hopscotch or the level of my conversation is better understood by some five year old at the yard than the up stuck colleagues from work.
So what,
If I don’t feel my age, act stupid sometimes (read: a lot of times), sulk and pout like a two year old if I don’t get my way.
So what,
If I am fifty-four (yes, i did the math), like the latest gadgets, dress in colourful clothing and go out dancing, beating even the younger people at their game of staying up all night

OK, so some days, I feel like nineteen, others like one hundred and ten, but all and all, pretty good, for any age. Talk to me about age again, when I turn one hundred and fifty-four, then we really have something compare, but for now, it’s just guess work really, because I, am just, fifty four 😉