Dreams and the Truth

“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

Blue is an odour too

“The elements morphing into colours, and then, into edible odours too”Gun Roswell

Blue is an odour too

The colours of the deepest blue
Were totally shining though
Which ever way you just looked
Land or sea, you would not believe
Even the sky, in total gleam
And, in the most gorgeous shades seen

Eliciting alluringly odours
In the form of the deepest of blue colour
Each more powerful than the other
So much so, you could almost taste a few
Those mighty and strong, yet cool, colours of blue

The elements soon, coming alive
In all the gorgeous shades so divine
The feeling of blues sipping inside
There really is no where else to hide
So strong the calling of the ever so fine
As of blue, there is really no denying

Some kind of weather

“It’s always too hot or too cold, never good, the weather that is!” Gun Roswell

Some kind of weather

It’s way too cold, for an outing, of any kind
As the right kind of clothing, is no where, for me to find
The temperature dropped in a flash of a chime
Yeah, not quite accurate description of the on going time
But where ever the weather, is concerned
The rhymes do not matter, when ever is their turn
Because what is more annoying for this day
Is the way the temperature keeps my mood in dismay
Plummeting from a good natured warm type of cool
Into a slippery and mind freezing, mouth kind of drool
One day shorts, the next day, really thick wool?
Yeah, you hear me weather gods, you think I am a fool
Now, I am totally and utterly going to quit
And instead in my own little shack the whole day sit
Crank up the thermostat to a nice tropical warm
Wont’ even look out the window, so bring on your storm
For I, have officially had it:
Whit this ever changing not very good kind of weather shit
So thanks again for bringing on your wrath
And the turmoil filled climate change to our narrow little path

(OK, so it maybe just a tiny bit our fault,
But if you cannot blame someone else, then what is the point ;))

Raindrops on Petals

“Gorgeous and complete balls of drops of rain fall” Gun Roswell

Raindrops on Petals

A delicate little thing
Was holding onto the bling
A gorgeous tiny and round
Lucent ball which it found
Falling down from the heavens
As they opened up at eleven
When a flush of rain
Flushed away the stains
Off the delicate petals
Of the flowery vessels
Like pieces of fine jewellery
Adorning with illusory
For the onlooker odd
Might seem a bit off
Eventually the drops will fade
As the rain sometimes fails
And sunshine takes its place
But the combination
Of rain and sunshine
Will keep the flower’s petals
Completely divine

Over the rainbow and beyond

“Over the rainbow, somewhere, sometime” Gun Roswell

Over the rainbow and beyond

The rainbow appeared to the darkened skies
Just as the sunshine and the rain were divided
And the weather gods on this day, going undecided
The colorful object painted across the clouds
Mother Nature, in the vividness now shrouded
Nothing from now on but upside frowns

Monochromatic Ride

“Riding on the monochromatic streets, on these, two wheels” Gun Roswell

Monochromatic Ride

On a highly tuned, yet very vintage looking bike,
Down the lonely, colourless, black and white streets, I ride
The cold winds, on my battered, wrinkled old face,
But that’s no matter, ’cause I am certainly not, *that* stained
And I definitely not, a person, whom in just, the one place stays
Not at least, for that long
Even if there would be, any sense of “to belong”
As I slowly, and intently, pass by the onlookers, they are watching me ride
And yes, that is really just so fine
For I am really not got nothing to hide
But heck, I may even break up in a big smile

Home sweet dump

“Ainʼt nothing like home sweet dump” Gun Roswell

Home sweet dump

After a longest time of travelling
It all comes unravelling
When you reach that final destination
Namely back at home, pause, for a long hesitation
Why did I ever leave this place
As nothing here changed remains
The house, the things, all the problems I left behind
To venture out there to unwind
The other places I search long and hard
Were none too different or even smart
But I kept looking for so long
Hoping to find something more
Something else going on
Alas, nothing better, only different did I find
Some experiences worse, some more kind
So now, here I stand with my two bags
In my tired and sore hands
Looking at the place I called home
And it seems this place is hard coded in my very bones