“Cats rule the world.” Jim Davis
Caturday on the island of Kos
“Are you looking at me?
You, looking, me?”
“Nah, I’m just resting here for a while
It’s cool, hope you don’t mind!”
“Well, as long as you remember,
You are in my turf now
So just move along before the clock hits September!”
“A calm, cloudy, and sunny Sunday, what a contradiction indeed!” Gun Roswell
Sunday at the Beach
When the Sunday time, loudly, its present chimed
We ran, like we were on fire, out there, from the dire
Into the open wild nature, with colours so lush
There really was no need for any kind of rush
To enjoy the art work devised by our beloved Mother Nature
Was there for everyone to see, without any kind of fee
But we ran, as fast as any one can, really
For you see, there was somewhere else we wanted to be, really
Beside the calm and cooling waters, fooling around like a bunch of sea otters
We made our way, discarding all clothing, falling where ever they may
Splashing into the soft waves, letting the healing waters save
Ourselves in the process, as this was the place for us, the total bliss
We played and frolicked, until the darkness descended we stayed
Then only, reaching for the softest of sands, lending each other a hand
To find the discarded garments, a little dirty, maybe even sandy, was a mild statement
But nobody cared, as it had all been time so well spent
Out here, on the beach, on this summer’s Sunday we had reached
And if we were to be lucky, maybe next weekend, we could come back again
“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
“Just because, it’s a seat, right?!” Gun Roswell
Seated, under the cool shade
A stroll in the heat, of the hottest of summers
Looking, searching, for that perfect place, to stay in and recover
All kinds of taverns and restaurants, all of them me beckoning
A soothing tall and cold drink, for this utter thirst to be lessening
But alas, there is only one place, right ahead
The one, in the nicest, of cooling shades
And there it is, where I will, so totally spend
The rest of this hot of days. until the very end
“Fall colours in black and white! How odd!” Gun Roswell
Monochrome Magic (1)
A frozen rose
Even the strongest and prettiest rose
Did in the cold temperatures freeze into an eternal pose
Preserved, for a longest of time
In the most natural cryogenic slime
With a mixture of pure clean water and the weather
The gorgeous flower has now finally been tethered
To the very ground, it once proudly sprout from
A preserved three dee image, now never gone
Som nevnt har vi tilbragt en ukes tid på en fjellhytte på Ustaoset. Og siden mange ikke er kjent med dette stedet, så starter jeg med å dele noen …
From the Ustaoset Cabin
“I know not all that may be coming,
but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
All that may be coming…
The days, all the same, as they turn up, after each other like clockwork
One by one, fading away, nothing remembered or loving about them jerks
But I will stay optimistic about it all, even if this situation lasts from spring till fall
I promise to take what ever comes, head on
Even, if I have to stumble and sometimes fall
Life is never easy, and mostly I just feel queasy
Then I turn into my hopes and dreams and before totally beaten I feel
I piece of chocolate I steal
And then, I feel fine again, as for a brief moment in happiness I spend
As I find it’s the littlest things in the end, which life turns around again
“It usually happens, on Mondays, the blues, Monday blues” Gun Roswell
Monday with the blues
Looking out the window
Window, with a big frame
Frame, so large and pointing to the yard
Yard, between the big houses
Houses, which are built so tightly
Tightly, that you can hardly squeeze
Squeeze your tiny self, between the buildings
Buildings which are forever growing taller
Taller, while me, myself, am growing smaller
Smaller, but not that of my dreams
Dreams, of the wide open sea
Sea, with all the shades of blues and greens
Greens, like the forest hardly ever seen
Seen only, in my, eternal dreams
Dreams, so big, it makes me think
Think, if I will ever be able to see
See the true forest of green or even the wide sea
Sea, where the blues are so cool
Cool as the bluest of skies above
Above he wide open calm ocean
Ocean, which will be never ending
Ending only, if I stop, dreaming
“Sundays, yes, those fun days” Gun Roswell
Sunny Days on Sundays
Smell the roses, won’t you
When you walk out side
Pop into a garden, filled with the
Colours of nature, trees, flowers
Everything you can imagine just
For the visual pleasures of us all
Stroll around, see the marvels
Sit on the bench, inhale
All the fragrants, your nose could ever
Have imagined, feeling peaceful, watching
The butterflies, birds and bees
Busy at work, gathering their sustenance, but
Your task, is to relax
And there is really nothing wrong with that
“A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere” Groucho Marx
Ode to all Freakish Felines
Freakishly feline
Or a soft purring ball
How easy to unwind
Soon to a sleep fall
Hypnotized
By those wide eyes
The limber steps
Command respect
You can never own them
Just borrow for a while
But rest assured, the little gems
Will leave you in big smiles
Rantings Of A Third Kind 