Snowed in on a Friday

“Maybe, this is the last of the snow for this year?” Gun Roswell

Snowed in on a Friday

The snow started falling
Just around when midnight was calling
It just kept on pouring
Until the ground was souring
With powdery white stuff
Nobody knowing if it was enough
But someone said, shut up
And then we watch as the snow kept on coming
Then soon enough, none of us was humming
The piles on piles of snowflakes
Even covered the small watery lake
No matter where you watched
Nothing, no nothing remained untouched
The world was covered in this, thing
Even the bird stopped to sing
Most likely going to hiding
Worried what they might not be finding
The chewy worms in the ground
Because that was no longer to be found
The only thing alive
Was the white snow which came from above

Working by the seashore

“It’s just another regular working day, here, by the cold, seashore” Gun Roswell

Working by the seashore

When the day breaks in the early morning
And the sunshine breaks with a big yawning
The working day is about to start
So, please, try to play it very smart

The waters seem so very cold
And the weather is even getting more bold
The sun hiding behind all them clouds
And the wind is howling ever more loud

The boats beneath us soon are shaking
As the unexpected storm from the seas is breaking
Being alright at this point is only faking
As the faces turn greener and the bodies quaking

But the working day is far from over
The attitudes like the weather getting bolder
Rolling up the sleeves
To all this heavy-duty work to complete

Minds off the shaking surface
Since this is no time for hurling
And when the attitudes are corrected
Sooner than later, the work is completed

Homeward bound the working crew now is
Even the boss said she was pleased
Back to the comfort of home they head
Because tomorrow another working day awaits

Bike and the Winter

“Riding a bike? In snow? How so very bold!” Gun Roswell

Bike and the Winter

It may be cold and it may be slippery
The weather, none to chippery
But the bike is waiting for me outside
And despite the danger, I am looking for a ride

So, when I dare out there to venture
I will make sure my ride has no dents
The wheels, seat and steering in shape
Even the smile on my face is no fake

Riding down the slippery slope of a road made of ice
But with these wintry wheels including spikes
I am rather enjoying this cold weather crisp and nice
Getting some thumbs up and even some smiles

What else could be better on this ride
On my winter geared bike!

Full moon night, without any kind of fright

“The full moon in the sky, always makes me feel high, after all, I am a moon person, without any argument” Gun Roswell

Full moon night, without any kind of fright

When the darkness of the night fell, hard, you really could tell
The noise totally earth shattering, to say the least, with all that clattering
The bright sun now settling, for the next rotation some much deserved rest to be getting
And, to finally let some much deserved time, for the fullest of moons, upon us night dwellers to shine
Because without the worshipers of the nightly moon, the sun could never come to bloom
And those adoring the daily sun, would not be able to continue with their daily fun

Golden Moment (for Mundane Monday)

“That golden moment, reflected, in the windows, in the afternoon light – looks like we live in the golden city!” Gun Roswell

Golden Moment 

The windows reflecting the light
As the afternoon’s sun is still bright
Colouring all the surfaces with gold hue
Completely irradiating the feeling of blue
A lyrical moment for the mundane grey
The feeling of dull quickly fading away
As the tall towers and the low windows
Make us believe in fairy tales and wonders
Our city now the golden one
Before the illusion comes undone
And we are back to the mundane vision
Of dull surfaces needing revision

Seat and the Red

“A perfect seat, for this ass totally in defeat, and now, I will enjoy, my Sunday” Gun Roswell

Seat and the Red

I was looking for
A bench to sit on
What I hoped to score
Something close to a lawn
To lay my tired self
On a softer shelf

Then I saw it
The bench, made of stone
When I tried to sit
I felt it to my bones
Too hard for a fit!

Moving forward
I found one, made of wood
Maybe it wasn’t hard
Rather suitably good
Too soft for a fit!

So once again
I had to complain
But I knew, the right seat
Was just in reach
I just had to seek

A little while longer
As I moved along
The feeling now stronger
I knew it wouldn’t be long
I was close to finding
As I saw the metal shining

I finally found it
A bench made of metal
For me to sit
Soft as a petal
A purr-fect fit

Slow Sailing

“The sails are hoisted, let’s set sail, to the promised land” Gun Roswell

Slow Sailing

Down the lake side
In the great open wide
It’s only slow sailing
Without too much of failing
As the window comfortably blows
The sun sometimes up shows
This is the calming life
After the weekly strife

Just a small dingy with a sail
Me, myself and I, never flail
The perfect moment just here
In this place, on this small sphere
Almost alone in the world
But somehow not, awaiting to be hurled
Into the crowded spaces
As soon as this trio is ending
But that is just fine with me
As I got this moment to spend with just me