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.

Go Fish


Imagine yourself on a bay, in a boat;
riding each swell as you sway while you float; 
fishing and wishing away with each cast 
that lines will soon find fish you’ve wished for, at last. 

And when, now or then, such a fine fish is landed, 
imagine how far, if StarKist was your brand, did 
that one sorry Charlie, your fish, have to swim 
for you to catch on, reading this rhyme of him. 

As you will see, there will be more suggestions
regarding retarded things, like stupid questions.
Take them to heart, in friendship, and in jest. 
Well, that's just one more thing I'd like to suggest. 

With respect to love, and why some people hate, 
there’s this one little thing I've been thinking of late. 
When I say 'in jest', do you hear, and ‘ingest’ 
the content, exactly, of what is confessed? 

Can we still be friends, or will it end our beginning 
when you find something fishy is wished for by sending
essences in questions, suggesting the same, 
lest they cause indigestion by invoking their name, 
like the fish, or the brand, or the stand that you take 
on the boat, still afloat, in this rhyme as you make 
your way through sea spray to the last pinned in line 
to see if the sea has your fish yet defined?

If you tell your friends about me, tell them how you think I am.
Describe me like an Angel would, “Frootloops, like Toucan Sam”.
Then, tell them what I said when I say, “Who do you call friends 
when you are calling all your enemies, anemones with fins?”,
as if you think that means clownfish aptly describe who to oppose,
and by suggesting, invest them in the thought that means you chose 
to wish those fish their endings by bending words in line 
like this. Of course, the mission of these fishy words is mine, 
and what I mean by writing is to invite people to cast 
their lot, all that they’ve got, into an ocean of thought, vast 
and endless, saint and sinless, as each universe is made. 
In essence, it’s the quintessence of a children’s card game, played. 

So, having played the game we’re playing, now you must decide
here within this sphere, how universes will collide,
because with each collision a decision must come and pass,
regardless of which fish you wish for, tuna, trout, or bass.