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.


Mourning all the times our meeting 
passed us by, we fly. Our fleeting 
thoughts we ought not waste on hasty 
talk. We gawk, as if a tasty 

morsel forced upon our senses 
caused us pause at backyard fences 
near our fears of new encroachment. 
Change and Hope is what my vote meant. 

Now, I think the time has come for 
fencing words upon our front door. 
Swords are drawn upon these lines 
for reasons cut from sharpened minds.