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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I hanker and pine for wood burning stove weather I haint no spring chicken, ("Buk buk buk buk ba-gawk!") but in Summer re: long in tooth sexagenarian nostalgic for the following imagery evoked yesterday with very little effort (aside from sweat of my brow – just existing) June twenty second hazy, hot, and humid at least here within the environs - of Montgomery County, Pennsylvania tooth thousand and twenty four, the air analogous to a steam bath outside, though such insight strictly predicated on meteorologist as seen on the flat screen. Now before scrolling down lemme forewarn you of dire prediction reading about how yours truly doth suspire for Old Man Winter returning with a vengeance delivering a white July Fourth, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Groundhog Day, Saint Patrick's Day... yours truly desiring experiencing becoming comfortably numb, after envisioning, invoking then summoning forth cold spell. Should deep freeze rain (reign) crystalline precipitation pure as the driven snow blanketing large swaths of webbed wide world wreaking havoc courtesy unparalleled blizzard conditions, would stump and confound earth scientists suddenly finding themselves pensively trumped subsequently becoming overnight skeptics and staunch Republicans to boot - argh, who grudgingly, hesitatingly scrap what seemed to be irrefutable air tight evidence with reams of data proving global warming and side with deniers – mostly non Democrats courtesy artificial intelligence hinting at inexplicable significant ice age approaching, barreling, and coming fast as a freight train virtual models prognostication would show Polar Vortex engulfing the entire planet clamping down hard much of the United States likely a couple short months in the future, forecasting temperatures to register absolute zero taxing the electric grids to heat lovely bones chilling, freezing, immobiling civilization, whereby government agencies regularly issuing permanent code blue declarations, which teeth chattering cold scenario impossible mission to imagine or avoid with wind chill factors in triple digits Jack Frost overstayed courtesy welcome, when climate controlled central heater allows, enables and provides man/woman made respite hooray, apartment cozy as a poetry nook, whereby yours truly his head he doth lay (under crocheted blanket) quickly slipping into deep sleep; the missus (madre) and her padre (me) taking a siesta until spring in my dream I take treadway from such new zzz land to Piccadilly Circus, London, welcoming me to early twentieth century balmy weather all year round place named Willoughby, where one unnecessary to get bundled and wrapped up – like a mummy dearest kvetching in vain at frigid forecast oy vey, where surveillance cameras take x-ray of suspicious character - Not Me, while actually in reality outside apartment B44 one after another Nor'easter howls like bajillion banshees vents wind chill factor as temperature dips into low double digits as high, and subzero higher negative number as a low, I summon (with a puff) fire breathing friendly quasi magic dragon, an acceptable and laughable substitute calls for none other than Barney purple anthropomorphic Tyrannosaurus Rex dinosaur. Though a non-smoker of cigarettes, I discover pleasure slowly puffing on my pipe, and chose one at random from among the collection made of briar wood, meerschaum, corncob, pear-wood, rose-wood or clay listening to crackling flickering hearth, yours truly snuggling (curled up in a little ball) with favorite reading material close proximity warming, thawing, and quelling lovely bones. For no particular rhyme nor reason I lapse into a reverie and hear the brutal and nasty wind plaintively howling the song Molly Malone her lilting voice distinctly heard Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!" Meanwhile atavistic visitations hover after hypnotizing mindscape of twenty first century Homo sapien as flashback visions of proto humans commingling with competing short and nasty brutes brushes within subconscious purring, mew zing catacombs jump/kick starting, harkening, dawning lion eyes zing thawing ordinarily dormant memories, where forebears alive bajillion years ago battle him of the republic thumping their chests and uttering primal sounds against vastly outnumbered predators, who make mincemeat of weakest warbler similar to contemporary beastie boy punk bands survival of the fittest linkedin to anonymous Monkey's Uncle recherché representatives toehold barely latched precarious niche easily activated punctuated equilibrium evolutionary quirk imperceptibly bumped uglies begot robust progeny offspring expanding comfort zones penumbra expanding edge of night dark shadows receding further outer limits of twilight zone phantasmagoric shifting shapes images in the flame (hint...think Plato's Republic in general – and Allegory of the Caves in particular - synonymous with Allegory of the Metals) alluring, beckoning, daring... establishing, foraging, growing... harvesting, invoking, jabbering kowtowing, livingsocial, Ashley Madison matchmaking tinder (ha)... now lemme zip forward back to the future bajillion years somewhere in time circa 1970's British comedy troupe nudge nudge wink wink, say no more know what I mean courtesy Monty Python's Flying Circus rollicking humorous sketches oft times tackling primal urges proto humans initially verbally grunted, where guffawing laughter rewarded survivalist basic instinct temporarily staving rabid quivering premonitions outside creature comfort boundaries, whereby Geico Caveman will remain till... dis ember by George thoroughly good appetizer, viz good chilled Wren plus Pheasant under glass burns away hunger pangs.
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