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.

Existential Angst

Speaking now, for just a minute,
as if my world had you within it,
of where we'd be, my world and me
within this whispered poetry,
and see that we'd be bound by just
time, this rhyme, our faith and trust.

So stop right now, or follow through
step by step. First one, then two
feet advanced by chance and choice
give my sieve-like mind its voice.

I have soles for sale. They are partly used,
and some may think that they've been abused,
because they have dents. I’ve spent a few
days pounding pavements, cement, asphalt too;
a feat I do to meet the man who buys
soles, when I’m told that my fortune lies
waiting. In fact, stating this could be
the reason for their end, you see.

So send I will, these coupled lines
with ease. And please, if you don't mind
this ending, my sending this brief tale
about these loveless soles
 for sale
to you, then please do not resuscitate.
They're too far gone. It’s way too late.

See, this morning I’ll run myself blue in the face.
I’ll run myself all the way through the rat race.
I’ll run until I am way, way out of breath,
because I’ve learned. I can run myself to death.

I can run miles with a smile on my face.
Smiling thus whiles away time as I space
out. There's no doubt about who I am. Why,
when I run, I'm a mouse with a great runner's high.

Okay, let us play with that cadence a bit.
Let's say that today we display some wit fit
for running. If fun brings us higher, the point
of running high must be why I love a joint
commitment. If it's meant to be, let it be
the reason this pleases. My loves, poetry
and motion, convey the notion of angels in flight,
and should explain “sacred names” here on my site.

So tender heart, please flail me now!
 Although you know I plod, a cow
 could pass my ass as I run, oddly
 looking like some dumb, ungodly
 sheep. So please, just keep on beating
 hard, and never mind my bleating