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.

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 I have nothing to do. 

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, my collar
white. So write, or give a holler

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