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.

Gump Run

I reside in Perryville.
 But for this note, I'd be very still.
 For I am here, but moving now;
 not still. My will and words allow

 that, at this time, you read what's writ
 by such as me, a true nitwit,
who put on screen this stuff to read
whenever you feel the nitwit need.

I'm not very clever, nor truly that smart.
My IQ, when measured, falls right off the chart,
which leaves me confused. So, I use what I know
to do what I can. Then the dumb doesn't show.

The pieces of mind that I find here and there
are posed in the prose and the poems I share.
So, if I've no gift for portraying these pieces
in rhyme, at this time, please consider this thesis.