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.

“High Runny Mouse”

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
have given my sieve-like mind its voice.

Sieve-like minds like mine can talk
as if to gift, like a man can walk
mellowly through the Yellow Pages,
considering his steps as stages
stood upon in bygone days,
the Globe an anchor as Shakespeare plays
poet. You know it now is true
that steps are taken, two by two.

My soles are For Sale. They are partly used.
Some people may think that they've been abused,
and they do have dents, because they’ve spent a few
days pounding pavements, cement and asphalt too;
a feat I do to meet the man who buys
soles, when told 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 two loveless soles, For Sale
to you, then please do not resuscitate.
They're too far gone, those two. It’s 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 our 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 love, poetry
in motion. The notion of an Angel in flight
should explain “sacred names” here on my site.

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