Sunday at the Beach

“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


Busy Bee on a Monday

“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

Seated, under the cool shade

“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

Monochrome Magic (1)

“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

All that may be coming…

“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

Monday with the blues

“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

Sunny Days on Sundays

“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

Happy international Cat Day!

“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
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