Parental Advisory

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

Simply put, we pose this where
prose-like 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.

Sweet Nothings


There's nothing to see here. I've nothing to say.
So, nothing is passed between us in this way.
Nothing I think, 
and then nothing I write
is worth more than nothing. 
Almost, but not quite.
Thanks for your time, 
as I rhyme nothing to
puffing. That's enough, 
when there’s nothing to do. 

What stiffness parts your lips, and comes
softy out? No doubt some gum’s
flavor, savored while it’s chewed,
sticks unto your shoe, eschewed.  

May I whisper in your ear
a word without a want, or fear
of hearing any repercussions
stemming from our brief discussions?

Stemming from this poet's tree,
a leaf. So, briefly, blessed be
its fruit. My suit is black, and collar
white. So write, or give a holler

if a gift of presence needed
has you ranting. Plant this seed: Did
soft thoughts rain? I plainly mean
sweet nothings toward your screen.




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