Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep

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“It is, a different kind of fun, hanging there, under, the bright sun, but then again, I don’t like to run”
Gun Roswell

Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep

The warm winds, gently, heaved, above me, in the tall palm tree leaves
As I laid under there, in the dark shadows, looking up, only to see
The sunshine, now curiously peeking, as if for something, it had to seek
Or then it was just me, being, once again, that one special kind of a geek
As I was conjuring up, all kinds of scenarios, where the very sun, was a being
From another world, with an agenda, and some sort of a ransom, and then chasing
All us, lowly humans, here, on the planet Earth and because of just that, making
Us, to go to permanent hiding, from those ever vigilant and ever searching
Rays so brightly lit, it was becoming more and more difficult, in the shadows to fit
But, for me, the gentle, caring and soft cover, of the tall and ever green
Palm of a tree, provided all the cool shelter, I could possibly ever need

High up on the Mountain Top

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“Trying to reach the top, might seem like an effort, but the reward awaiting there, no time to spare but to keep on going without a stop!“ Gun Roswell

High up on the Mountain Top

The top seemed, totally and utterly unreachable
As I was standing there, below, fearing, the inevitable
The climb, seemed so long, and time, was running out
Because I should have already been there, to shout

“I am on the top of the world! See me twirl!
Yes, I am that gurrrl, who got here in a wind of whirl!”

Alas, the previous efforts to haul myself up there and stay
Had been, hm, shall we say, unsuccessful, in the best of ways
I had tried, really hard, well, at least, some of the times
But in honest truth, and I cannot deny, that procrastination was high
And getting ever so high up there, close enough, to the stratosphere
Had somehow always fallen into a very low priority, on any of the lists
I had oh so carefully drafted for me, with tasks far from being a jest

So, the days went by, and despite of the promise to fly ever so high
The time was never, ever on my side, at least, that was what I told myself (yes, a lie)
But, finally, here I stand, with a rope thick, in my very own hands I host
Trying to make up for all the time so completely wasted and now, also lost
When figuring out all the excuses for not climbing towards the very top
Gazing, glaring, staring, at the scary looking, feet shaking, hand breaking
Yes, yes, I know, I know, that I am so many and too many excuses making
So, here I go, towards the reward, one, step, two step, at the time…

“Hey! Guess I will be fine, after all!
This mountain, doesn’t seem to be that tall!”

Under the palm tree, at the pond, resting

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“There is nothing to it, just sit, and then, try to relax in the calming breeze, of the eternal trees“ Gun Roswell

Under the palm tree, at the pond, resting

A busy day, week or even a year, behind
The brain, trying something for you, to remind
Maybe, taking a break, would be, totally fine
As the going on beside the hard grind
Has caused never to rest and relax time to find

I know it is totally strange and unusual
To shut down that busy brain, going on as usual
But if you try, really, really hard the eternal perusal
And listen to the nothingness of sounds to lull
Into a deep state of emptiness, even a tad dull

Never mind, if the drool and the snoring
Come first when the deep rest into the boring
Finally hits and then after the night in the morning
You can start yourself utterly enjoying
This, perfect place of completely nothing

After all, even the brightest and finest minds
Needs to sometimes, take the time to rewind
Otherwise some overflow and boiling points
Will enter the normally perfect vision and joints
And then what follows is not a pretty picture at all

So, take this time off, without a single scoff
Tell yourself, you have deserved this space off
From everyone and everything knocking the doors
Then shut your eyes, and try to simple adore
The pretty views, under the palm trees by the pond

Busy Bee on a Monday

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“Mondays without colour, what a drag!” Gun Roswell

Busy Bee on a Monday

A red open flower tempted
The busy bee to relent
It’s flight in the middle of the day
And onto the open petals lay
Gathering all the nectarine it can find
Before back into its hive it will fly

But dear bee
Beware of the honey trap
Set to lure you in fact
And if you don’t soon fly away
You will forever in this flower
Trapped, remain

Mushy Mushroomy

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“It is once again that time of the year, to go out there, into the wilderness, to check out the bounty and do the harvest of it all” Gun Roswell

Mushy Mushroomy

The daily trip around the familiar park
Usually the hight light of the very day
As was the quick dash to the local supermarket
To pick up some goodies for the evening fest

So, walking the usual route around the moat
No, I wasn’t looking for any kind of boat
Just taking a stroll in the afternoon’s warming sun
Because that is the most of my daily doze of fun

Strolling along, humming off key some old song
Which I had heard, apparently years go, or so
But who is counting anyway, as getting younger, well
Yeah, that is still a thing for us old folks to slay

But, as always, I digress, and never the less
What did I spot on the path side, mouth agape open wide
As so big was my surprise, of finding these big mushy things
Oddly shaped and slimy looking nature created beings

And then, what do I do? 

Stopping right there in my very steps
Looking around like a psycho for the Feds
Then quickly as there is no one around
I dive down to the very slippery ground
Pull out a small bag I keep in my pocket
And start grabbing the mushy things out of their sockets
Soon enough the bag is completely full
I get up and start running like a fool

Because, oh boy! oh boy!
Today, thar will be served mushroom soup!

Flowers and berries, oh my!

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“So many pretty things pop up during the summer season, the nature is unbelievably gorgeous all around!” Gun Roswell

Flowers and berries, oh my!

The pretty white flowers in the corners of the yards
You can walk alongside and get so very far
The endless fields of the flora of the season
What could be a far better reason
Than to venture outdoors and spend a day
In the great outdoors with a worry or care

The berries soon will be popping up 
The garden filled with all kinds in a huff
Just make sure to collect them all 
Before the arrival of the colliding fall
Then you have a supply for the winter long
To eat, bake and then you’ll grow strong!

But even without them fine berries
Just remember, the summer will be ending
Make sure you get out there once in a while
Before sitting inside leaves you in a puddle of bile
The most important thing about the season
Is to enjoy it freely without care or a reason

Cloudy, with a chance of Sunshine?

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“Almost every Monday I wake up with a dread of a new week, but then, I look up, at the skies, and I feel, just fine” Gun Roswell

cloudy-with-a-chance-of-sunshine-3

Cloudy, with a chance of Sunshine?

Clouds across the sky, caused me to drop my smile
Only seen now, are shades of grey, to my total dismay
But, then a bright white vision in there, like a spot of joy emerged
Sunshine? Could it be? Yes, pretty in that white blur I must say!
I am singing now, getting rid of that frown, as I am on the cloud
Number nine, me thinks they say, and hey;
For me, nothing but blue skies do I see, from now on, at least!

Out there, into the Wilderness

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“To put it rather bluntly, I am not the type who wants to go back to the land; I am the type who wants to go back to the hotel” Fran Lebowitz

Out there, into the Wilderness

Urban nature
What a wild creature
Concrete, asphalt
Dog poop on the sidewalk
Grass may look green
But everyone has seen
It was spray painted
To keep it untainted
And just as a feature

Nothing quite like
The smell of petroleum
In the early morning
When riding that bike
Or taking a hike
Though fair warning
Try to avoid stepping
Onto the tossed wrapping
Made of aluminium

Reaching the heavy trafficked streets
Listening to the musical feats
Of the car horn section on the right
The jackhammers creating the beats
People shouting in chorus
Day feeling more bright
Like your name was Doris
Crossing the street at red light
Just for fun not out of spite

Come late evening
Walking through the darkened park
The streetlights broken
Someone a lurking
Deep in the bushes
Not at sea, so at least no sharks
Your pace fastening
Trying to be cunning
Then almost running

Finally arriving
To the safe haven
Entering the doorway
You realize you’re not in Norway
From the lack of pine trees
Rather the sweet smell of pee
Greeting you, making you sneeze
Not the perfume of choice
But it could be worse?

Visit Greece

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“A colourful country with a fascinating history and a turmoil present, who knows what the future will bring!” Gun Roswell

Visit Greece

When ever the is an agora to be visited
The Greek sure have it completed
Even if the whole buildings collapsed to ruins
They will find the fun in a minute
The old and the new collide
Painting pictures of the past into your mind
Those who have come and gone
Have left an imprint for us to explore
Walk down the rocky roads of the here and now
Let them take you back without the how
Explore it all, with your imagination
Soon you’ll be flying back without hesitation
Even if its all just make believe
Always remember, what here you have seen
The history, the present, the future
Mixed up in to a pleasant blow of soup

Two Drops

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“Nature painted with colours, odours and rain” Gun Roswell

Two Drops

In the early morning hours
Before the eternal showers
The soft rain fell
From the skies it came
Landing on a tiny ball
Which alone on the branch stalled
After all
It was that time of the year
When all living things should fear
The utter and total destruction
When nature goes under reconstruction
But the tiny little ball of a berry
Kept hanging on like a cherry
The pebbles of rain
Hanging on to it heavily
Dragging the tiny thing down
All the way, to the closest ground
Leaving it undone
Before the tiny ball of a berry
Too, was ultimately
Gone