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.

Oh, Sit

It really feels good to be left
behind! I find my mind bereft 
of any ill conceived notions. 
So, now my devotions 
rest upon my gluteal cleft.

On what this depends, I hope you've some left,
this thing likened unto my gluteal cleft.
To have, then have not, can cause you to miss.
To covet thy neighbor's creates an abyss,
a schism, a chasm, consumption and bile.
Fear not to own your own vertical smile!

 I am the one done wrote ‘Oh, Sit’,
and I am sure glad you got to see it,
since sitting is one thing I do best,
but I’m sure you sit too, so be my guest.

 Shiver me timbers! An ember's aglow,
alight from a night, sitting, in a shadow;
alone by the phone, wishing only to know
your voice. I rejoice when I hear the cock's crow!