the celebrated sailing frog
     from Montgomery County
     went a court'n, or so the tale iz toad
to a grand ole mansion built around 1910,
     and e'en 'pon

     being razed ~2012 ah no dummy
     sea worthiness still plainly showed,
twas February 28th, 1968,
     when my father
     bought the house at 324 Level Road

majority deuce score plus nineteen years,
     rush back with unfettered exuberant zeal  
this aging elf spent psalm tranquil
     May days sung sotto voce
     atop memorialized, prized,

     shingled out, ship-shape valued,
     venerated, vip voted faux ****** demesne
     "Glen Elm" named private
     100+ acre wooded common weal

many a pitch perfect spring day
     found yours truly
     frankly basking atop the spacious roof
oft times begging the cosmic force

     irrationally lyft ting this Earthlinked bing,
     this uber dreamer
     willingly taken with "****"
(magic amazing dragons)

     presuming my absence,
     would not be missed and whereabouts
     no cause for alarm,
    but the usual antics of a contemplative goof

ball, and aware
     a minor for hair (Sunkist) gold
Helios innocently beckoned,
     this then sole Sol tanned

     within the solar raised fold
surrendering while atop
     the multi acred roof where any cold
melted away, whence became bathed
    like a bronze statue of auld.

zip pose zing the weather forecast
     donned wafted air
fragrant with flowered flora
     visibility for miles
     if ether crystal clear,

this high da way countless yards
     off the ground presented flare
approximating pristine floral display
     with powerfully poignant immunity
     against cackling, jeering, scowling,

     parents or other nemesis with glare
ring (smoke emitting nostrils),
     an idyll escape for this heir
to the throne of the mountain king,
     this make believe verdant submerged lair
unwittingly left a gaping hole,

     when Gambone Brothers
     industrial machinery voraciously
     made clean sweep,
     without a trace of former imp pier
     real resilient stately structured heart
     of "Glen Elm" could no longer rear

the well built when helplessly, holistically humbly
     brought to her knees
     (gory detail aye will spare),
nonetheless more than one pearl shaped tear

trickled down chafed
     sad reddened cheeks,
     whose head must veer
away asper thine subsequently
     blotted out never never never land

     eclipsed by transient rubble,
     thence vinyl city (dis) graced sacred space,
no doubt a great ache,
     when Saint Nick sought
     sought in vain for
     324 Templed throne every where!

than
i ain't
you
an
me
we
are more
?































...
..
.

Good night my love
How I wish you well
The respect of The Gods
The eyes that tell
The truth of hearts
That secrets concealed

Intentions seem harmless
Yet still I feel
To breathe you in
And not exhale
I believe that love
Is a magical spell

Our world is infested
With the thoughts of fools
Yet trust is a knife
In the hands of two
Fear is an issue
We must cut through...

His heart is a furnace,
Burning ever, furiously

And in the brightness, there is no language,
To try and describe what it is he sees,
Within his eyes of steel

He laughs at life, and grits his teeth,
To bear the weight upon his chest

A road of Tankas beneath his feet,
To pave his way,
Both in and out of the wilderness

And to speak his sound, is most profound,
But it will never sound out quite the way you think

Because his word are but a memory,
A jarring song, which for some reason,
He never bothers to sing

So you can wait, and you can hope,
That steely glance you might just catch

But hold your breath beside a furnace,
Because all things good, and all things burning,
Will not forever burn nor last