“Sometimes, spring cannot come soon enough, the sun is out, and then, it snows again!” Gun Roswell
Lurking, hiding
Trying to fit in
The little lamp post
Who almost
“It’s all in the perspective of things, right?” Gun Roswell
Catching the winds of spring
Soaring high up, my song to sing
I am a pretty bird in flight
And I may not always choose right
But I am sure this direction
Is the one I need for completion
Of my getting up so high
Even so far as the crows fly
Despite being a miniature beaked thing
There is no rule saying I cannot sing
And thusly, I am up here
In the open wide stratosphere
Higher than any other bird ever
In your face, for being clever!
“Sometimes, the sun shines, no matter the time of year it just might be.” Gun Roswell


If you expected sunshine,
Sitting on a terrace
With a cool glass of wine
And feeling, just fine
Then,
I hate to disappoint
Dearie,
But it seems,
The odds
Are heavily
Against you
The weather gods
Decided their jobs
Was to make you sob
Like the true sociopaths
Bringing on their wrath
Even if you did not need a bath
But soaking wet
Soon you’ll be
If you think
The game is set
Maybe
It is time to flee
Or then
Just forget,
The bummer
After all
It is not even summer
And just
Another day
In Paradise?
“Those mythical figures adorning our homes and perhaps lives, saviours and even spies? Alas, looking rather nice, at least, when staying on them shelves or wherever else they just might dwell.” Gun Roswell

Angels and elves,
Where do they dwell?
Filling the shelves perhaps
Putting on spells on us
Ringing the holiday bells maybe
Letting us know not to be lated
Of the seasonal celebrations
And so,
All is now well again
“Sometimes it’s just a slow week is all, but then, it’s suddenly Sunday?” Gun Roswell

The days come along one by one (usually the way they do)
It’s almost like singing a song (verse by verse moving along)
Today it’s Tuesday, when only yesterday it was Sunday (that’s how I recall it)
And now, it’s getting late, no matter how I hesitate, tomorrow will be here, I can feel it near (What do you know: It’s Wednesday and midweek, what a geek!)
Guess I need to stop worrying about Mondays anyway (Oh, did you worry before? Did not know that…)
Since the days keep on changing without my aid (Yeah, need a time machine for that!)
Why worry about some day, when there is always the next day (True, do like the Spanish do, manana!)
So, on this day of …ahem, Tuesday, I swear, not to worry about another damned day!!! (Liar! You know this promise or what ever is as good as the up and down going fever! You will never keep it, trust me, I know shit!)
Bring it on Tuesday, Wednesday and even Friday (Don’t forget Monday and something else!)
Every day, from this day on is my day (note to writer, how many times can you get away with the word “day”?)
I will start appreciating the here and now (Yeah, really! Like to see that)
And then, if not, nobody have a cow! (We already did! It’s there in the backyard!)
“Something about stepping over the lines, alas, how can you avoid it?” Gun Roswell

Lazy, hazy afternoon
Sitting, quietly, by the pool
Watching, the sun,
Painting shadows, all around
Every nook and cranny coming alive
Almost like sunlight, doing a cool jive
Nature and art, at its best
Me, with my camera, am just a guest
Recording all this beauty
As the lines and shadows, do their duty
Soon, the moments have passed
And the shadows else where are cast
But at least for now
I am glad I got the witness this, line of a show
“Sometimes, a cat simply needs a walk, but why waste them delicate paws as handbags have been invented!” Gun Roswell
“I keep my cat
In my handbag”
Said the old hag
And, with a snag
Lighting a fag
“It’s not a gag,
so just cut me some slack”
She quickly snapped
As she zigzagged
A price tag
Like a yellow flag
Flashing on her ragtag
And out of fashion coat
Stepping into a boat
Flinging in her large tote
The cat sprung out
And onto the float
In a few quick strokes
She rowed across the moat