PARENTAL ADVISORY

Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Here we
propose to posit prose poetry,
forming forms 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 we've wrought, and revealed thusly;
each whit of wit written Hieronymously.

Hi Spirits



A rule of thumb for riddled rhymes: 
Tap, tap, tap, at least three times 
into what makes each word you see 
sound somewhat like a poet's tree, 
leaving lofty laments left 
right before you; thought bereft, 
as though they'd passed by sight unseen. 
'Unthought', is what I really mean 
to say in ways you'll understand. 
Consider that a rubber band 
can stand when struck, and fearsome blows 
sound, often as not, like someone knows 
that tones alone, as thumbed above, 
when mixed with a well labored love 
of sound, resounds into a sky 
where words, thusly thumbed, sound sung, like 'Hi', 
when someone new means it in greeting 
someone else who's been seen beating 
rubberband-like chords, thumb-struck 
by happenstance. In terms of luck, 
each season brings a chance; a thing 
like thumb-struck rubberbands that sing 
to you, and all those you are thinking 
might best read these rhymes while drinking. 

But since this writing, and this page 
presents to some who are underage, 
I won't condone such seasoned spirits 
to all who read, and think they hear it 
said instead such thoughts not thunk 
pertaining to those spirits, drunk. 
A thought thusly thumbed, while of sound mind, 
produced this type; one of its kind.