Winding Road

“Like the little red riding hood, I am going through the woods” Gun Roswell

Winding Road

The forest so thick I can hardly see the trees
But never mind, I can, hop skip and squeeze
My way through the thick layer of greens
Until I find my way back, and the ever winding road I see
It’s not too far I don’t mind, as I’m making good time
This place filled with lush green and other critters
Is surprisingly calming, even friendly, without too many jitters
With a hop and a skip, I over the narrow creek leap
Then in the distance, something shining a blue
I think do I dare or would I be a complete fool
But the adventurer wins and so with a song I sing
I start towards the patch of water in the distance
Hoping maybe, it’s a lake or similar and then in an instance
I am there and find, the rarest beach of any kind
Immediately kicking off my shoe and in goes the toe
The liquid so cool and refreshing I am soon undressing
Taking a dip in the soothing lake, before an observation I make
The road ever winding, I have already been finding
As the staring point is right at this very shore
Knowing my way back is secure, I take another round in the water, just to be sure
It’s refreshing alright and soon again, I am on my way, despite
Leaving behind this great place I have come to appreciate
But swearing I’ll be back here, for an other run of this place called nature

Summer’s seat

“In the tiny garden I sit, until there is snow on the ground” Gun Roswell

Summer’s seat

When the first rays of the summer’s sun appeared
I knew immediately, I could sprint outside without fear
The bright white light burning my retinas at first
But, then I picked up my old fashion shades from dirt
Left them forgotten, discarded under a pile of dust
All through the winter months, since darkness, was a must
Noted the greening and growing grass under my bare feet
The blue skies and the flowers, yeah, I am truly glad to see
Spotting the tiny seat in the corner of the garden so small
Where it had been sitting all along, under the piles of snow
I don’t care if it’s splintered and slightly dirty
As long as I can sit in it without feeling angry
Because today is the first the of the summer life starting
This great time, mostly without bad weather and plowing
So I will be sitting here, spinning all kinds of thoughts in my mind
Until the day that the sun sets for good and it is time
To turn back into the winters dark cave
And sleep, the deep sleep, before another summer saves

Summer expectations

“There is fantasy and then, there is the harsh reality” Gun Roswell

Summer expectations

Waking up to expectations of gorgeous weather in a beautiful place ahead
But the darkness must have been an omen, as what greeted me instead 
An non-coloured greyish scene, with no natural light, anywhere, to be seen

I blinked once, twice, three times, and then pinched myself, just to be sure of what I saw, this utter vile
In front of my sad eyes now laid, instead of all the fine I had just seen, while lying on the bottom of my soft bed

Enough! I finally said

Had it all really been, a good dream, or a figment of my vivid imagination, a total fantasy, I had seen?
Such marvelous things and places, making ones heart really go to the races
All the colours of the rainbow, hardly any winds there to blow, life going, gently, smoothly and, oh so slow

Closing the curtains, feeling a tad on the side of hurting
I decided to go back to my bed, continue dreaming, until this, season of dread
Was finally over

Turning off the bedside lamp, my eyes tight shut clamped
And then, I, was back, in the place, of eternal summer, I had before of dreamt


“With age comes wisdom… Yeah, right! So not true! I am as stupid as I have ever been.” Gun Roswell


“Years just keep passing by… twenty-nine, twenty-nine, twenty-nine…
Oh, wait, what year is this?
Holy shit, I am over fifty… one, two… Oh, never mind!”

Age is just a number and all the rest of the cliches, which all those nice quotes in cards keep telling me. Feeding me, with false sense of hope, that getting older, and even each dammed year (unfortunately, like Mondays, which pop up every week, birthdays too creep around the corner each year, no matter how hard you try to deny them, or push them away) will somehow make me wiser, more comfortable, more mature, more of everything really. But, all I feel, still, is the same insecure little toddler I was all those years ago (no, still not counting).
But, here I still am, waiting, patiently (read impatiently) for the promises of age to come true. Should I maybe someone sue?

“Act your age!”

Another thing I do hear a lot too. So, when I ask the person who just scolded me.

“How old do you think I am?”

They just stare at me and don’t really know the answer to that. Well, imagine the shock when I reply.

“I am nineteen.”

After some consideration, the response might be something like.

“Oh, well, looks like you really had a rough life then.” or “A tad of the weary side, or rundown maybe.”

So, what,
If I am feeling like a youngster in my wanna be teenage fashionable clothes and, then, making jokes, suited for a person, of a middle school level, when I should be dressed in business casual, retorting funny anecdotes from some adult reading proved magazine.
So what,
If I laugh out loud after reading some not so funny thing, while on a bus, when everyone else is so quiet and sulking, because the weather is bad or life just sucks (especially Finns, they never really socialize. I should know for I am one of them).
So what,
If I like to do some hopscotch or the level of my conversation is better understood by some five year old at the yard than the up stuck colleagues from work.
So what,
If I don’t feel my age, act stupid sometimes (read: a lot of times), sulk and pout like a two year old if I don’t get my way.
So what,
If I am fifty-four (yes, i did the math), like the latest gadgets, dress in colourful clothing and go out dancing, beating even the younger people at their game of staying up all night

OK, so some days, I feel like nineteen, others like one hundred and ten, but all and all, pretty good, for any age. Talk to me about age again, when I turn one hundred and fifty-four, then we really have something compare, but for now, it’s just guess work really, because I, am just, fifty four 😉

Control, really is, an illusion

“The illusion of control, huh? How funny is that?” Gun Roswell

Control, really is, an illusion

I am in total control of everything and all surrounding me
As you, can clearly see, this illusion of control is a perfectly built delusion
Which I am keeping up all day and all night
Never, ever even considering, giving up the fight

As I have managed myself to convince
Of this, state of being, in control, that it really exists
I am now in the process of turning other over
To my perfect side, of this, perfect place of order

But the more and more I try to keep the mode on
Of being the one, with everything and anything under my thumb
I feel the drain, even to the point, it starts to stain
My poor face, my hair, even my body, all going down the drain

And then, as I slowly realize, that being int total control is agonizing
Really is something of an imaginative thing, a hoax
Invented by some marketing people after some bad smokes
And then, I give up, saying I am a mess, and there is only chaos around me
And guess what, you are all in it too!


“Ain’t nothing wrong with some shade” Gun Roswell


Ain’t nothing wrong in being shady
Ain’t nothing wrong in staying in the shade
Ain’t nothing wrong in letting the shade in
Ain’t’ nothing wrong admitting to shade

Being inside the grayish shade
Might make you feel all cool and great
But remember to follow the rules of the shade
As they might let you avoid of becoming a fool of a big grade

If you are determined of being shady
If you are prepared for always laying in the shade
If you are living your life in the gray side
If you are always right with your shade
Just do it!

Versus I one

“From the busy streets, towards the calm beach, that is the goal in life” Gun Roswell



Busy, and too loud, are the streets I now walk
There is so much noise, I cannot her anyone nor myself talk
As I move forward, a lot of unhappy people I stalk
Sometimes just to the nature of things I this chalk

But then I start to dream, as I continue still with much steam
My face lights up, almost see the gleam, as it beams
When a blurry vision, almost seeing the image, of place without scrimmage
As it appears to my mind, but it seems so hard to focus, before I have crossed the line

Just then, I see it, I can feel it, grasp it
Then something happens, shit!
I start running, ever faster, chasing the shadow
What is it? A green meadow?

To be continued