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.

See Saw Macaw

I just heard a bird attack
while whiling away time out back,
its rustled feathers tethered to
a pip. The tip of a canoe
danced, enhanced by my kaykak's
wake for sake of seeing said attack.
So, being me, I have to say
I saw it happen just that way.