Parental Advisory

Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Here we propose to posit prose poetry
forming a form of continuous connectivity,
to communicate considerable contemplative reflectivity.

Simply put, we pose this where
prose poetry is what you’ll hear
when wondering where the time went
while reading such rhyme wonderments
as oft are wrought, and revealed thusly,
each whit of wit written Hieronymously.


 What stiffness parts your lips, and comes

softy out? No doubt some gum’s
flavor, savored while it’s chewed,
will stick unto your shoe, eschewed.  

Oh, come on now! Just TRY to think! 
I know you MUST be on the brink 
of understanding what I'm saying, 
as If every word were playing 
tricks with thicknesses and lengths, 
the things that brought you to the brink 
of thinking. Blink your eyes! 

Concentrate now on your thighs. 
Those worded loins, (to coin a phrase)
that you once used in bygone days, 
to make your point clear, will work here. 
Is that a Q tip in your ear 
or are you happy that you've read 
these words that I've stuck in your head? 
You have to laugh, although this sucked, 
because you know you've just been [expletive deleted].

My Invitation

  Here I write, and thereby invite

the thought that this appears

to suggest you should invest

more time to the rhymes you hear. 

As you see, lines one, two, three 
and four support this thesis,
and the notion that such devotion
will benefit the ears it pleases. 


Take a deep breath. 
Make a wish for someone. 
Think of a word. 

It could be any word, 
but for the sake of unity, 
let's think the same word. 

Let's think the word man. 
Consider the word man, 
and all that it means. 

Think of a man. 
Say the word 
in your head, 

Think of the sound 
that the word man
makes in your mind. 

Hear the sound of the word
as you say it out loud, man.

Think of the letter 
in the word 
that makes the sound. 

Think of the sound 
the letter A makes 
in the word man. 

Hear the sound.
Make the sound. 
Keep that sound in mind. 

Think of a woman that you love - 
a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife. 

Think of your love for her. 
Think of her love for you. 
Be embraced and enveloped by it, 
engulfed and absorbed in it. 

Wonder in it. 
Think of love. 

Think of a woman you love 
hearing the sound of the word man. 

Think of a woman you love 
making the sound of the word man.  

Think of the woman you love 
thinking the sound of the word
that you took a deep breath for.

Think. Love. Sound.


Pink & Blue Light


it’s just a word you've heard before. 

So, Hallelujah, 

I praise the Lord once more. 

Praise the day. Awake, and see.
Dawn alights, bright as can be. 
See, between the sky and sea, 
pink and blue hues of poetry. 

 Pink and Blue lighting 

highlights my writing 

when what I’ve to say 

dawns, like each new day. 

It dawns on me now 

what you read may allow 

you to see pink and blue 

light the wonders you do too.

Healing Business

 She used to have hair. People stared at her mane. 

Now she has not. She smokes pot for the pain, 

and so uses the cannabinoids sent 

to her brain for both pain and enjoyment.

Friends, our binding commitment is this: 
That the compounds found in cannabis 
are cause to pause at passing screens. 
What this puff puff passage means 
is, now you see, so now you know. 
Welcome to The Hieronymous Show,
where what you see is what it is, this 
bit of revealed, healing business.

Our Garden

Speak these words softly for those who hear hard. In 
a moment, a man naked will run through ‘Our Garden’. 

Okay, so the truth is he won’t be quite nude. 
He’ll bear boxers, briefly, to not appear rude. 
‘Our Garden’ is properly private, in a sense, 
but of course it’s quite easy to see through the fence. 

If you look past the plum tree, through timbered split rails 
you’ll see little dogs playing, just chasing their tails
as the man sits still on his hill, talking silly. 
Look if you want, please don't point at his ... Will he 
or won't he? The question remains 
regarding his guarding. ‘The Garden’ pertains 
to all the odd things a man can't compromise. 

This much is certain. You needn't surmise 
that there are things without which a man can’t do.
Kept unto myself as I give mine to you 
in a word, just a whisper, this quieting sound:
For those hard of hearing, it’s hardly profound. 

We live with masked bandits, and burrowing hogs. 
Relating that extends this ideologue 
to show how we know to dispose them as such. 
We might not mind them, except for how much 
they can damage good stuff like our veggies and fruit. 
Were it only a few, we might not give a hoot,
but it isn't that simple. Excuse this brief rant. 
Each hog and masked bandit can eat a whole plant.

So, rather than complain, or get all intense, 
resolve is our answer. At first came the fence, 
but that wasn’t enough to keep all varmints out. 
To find resolution, again, there's no doubt 
that is why I'm writing, so you'll understand. 
Protecting ‘Our Garden’, I’m only one man 
with one clear solution to problems in the yard. 
If you've followed along, then you know just how hard 
we’ve worked to keep critters out from back there.
So, this year we’ll plant more. They will just have to share.