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.

Fencing

Behind our house stands a fence.
What that means is, in present tense, 
  the fence can now be seen out back,
but out front, quite bluntly, a fence we lack. 

The fence is required per rules
 regarding backyard swimming pools,
 lest kids returning home from schools
 fall in when acting out like fools.


Of itself, the fence is standing
still. Beyond, are tails demanding
view, two deer whose tails unveil
they’re doe and fawn upon a trail.

Two deer, two tails, four ears in the clearing.
One must walk softly, while hardly hearing
two deer tails swish from left to right.
True tales, two tails incited this insight.


Mourning all the times our meeting
passed us by, we fly. Our fleeting 
thoughts we ought not waste on hasty 
talk. We gawk, as if such a tasty 

morsel, forced upon our senses, 
causes us pause, per our defenses,
near our fears of reproachful moments
brought to mind by new encroachments.

Now, I think the time has come for 
fencing words upon our front door. 
Swords are drawn upon these lines 
for reasons cut by sharpened minds.