The Hymns Of Hieronymous707

Good Buy

2012-01-25T17:03:00.000-08:00

My soul's for sale. It's partly used.
Some people think it's been abused.
It does have dents. I've spent a few
days on pavements pounding two
feet to meet The Man who buys
souls. I'm told his fortune lies
waiting. Stating this could be
reason for the Death of me,
so sell I will with coupled lines
like these. So please, if you don't mind
my ending, sending this brief tale
about my lovelorn soul for sale
to you, Do Not Resuscitate.
I'm too far gone. It's much too late.

Corpus Christi

2012-01-16T08:38:00.000-08:00

Jesus saved a pebble to
take up space within my shoe
to tenderize a hardened sole.
Jesus, He's just Dr. Scholl.

Ride Captain Ride

2012-01-12T05:09:00.000-08:00

That Flacco Fool's got Fu Manchu
All on his face Now I do too
To show my faith with facial hair
To those who doubt I shout I care
About the outcome dumbly quiet
Lest such mustache cause a riot
Ridden here while the world watches
Wishing mention of their crotch is
Not what got them here and riding
Rhythmically on rhymes colliding
Consciously You see a Young like
Passer backing On his tongue Hike!

If You

2012-01-03T06:20:00.000-08:00

Come now! Just try to think!
I know that you are on the brink
of understanding what I'm saying
as If every word were playing
tricks with thicknesses and lengths,
the things that brought you to the brink
of thinking. Blink your eyes!

Concentration on your thighs,
your girded loins, to coin the phrase
that once was used in bygone days,
will make my point quite clear, you hear?
Is that a Q tip in your ear,
or are you happy that you've read
these words that I've stuck in your head?

You have to laugh although this sucked
because you know that you've been [...]
Well, you have.

Hearing Things

2012-01-03T05:45:00.000-08:00

An Angel's voice came to me
just a short moment ago.
I'll tell you what she said,
in case you simply didn't know.

She said that she was coming
home along the old Hi way,
and bringing me my supper.
What it is, I'm going to say

quite clearly and distinctly.
Think about a platter
filled with frills and fishiness,
more former than the latter.

Don't get the wrong idea,
for fishy words can falter,
lest I jest of ingestion
thrown upon the alter

of discretion. Your reflection
is now patiently required
for you have seen upon the screen,
exactly what transpired.

Angel Song

2012-01-03T05:32:00.000-08:00

I emerge from the cocoon of winter borne onto the shore of a small tree surrounded lake. A late evening light glows in the sky as tree swaying wind moves delicately through branches and gently touches my face. The sound of water trickles itself through the threshold of quietness. Before me she lies petaled with blossoms by her side. I approach and she smiles open to me. Taste I hear. I taste and find myself at large in the immensity of a womb seeded with stars then once again descend into being. Glorious Angel.

See Food

2011-12-28T11:17:00.000-08:00

Still a phrase, amaze a mind.
Pause upon a prawn's behind,
and ride beside besaddled beasts
of burden herded from the least

suspecting place in space and time
to where we stare. Au pairs in rhyme
can mean protein de decapod
to those who've chosen to read odd

request like jests. Ingest selfish
thoughts. One ought eat more shellfish
phrases. Place me spaced out, dock-
bound. The sound of good shrimp stock

fills the stillness. Will this pass
for lunch? My hunch, we broil sea bass;
stuffed rockfish chock full of crab lumps
like we were friendly with the Gumps.

Jump Rope

2011-12-28T11:11:00.000-08:00

Picture here the dark Abyss
as if such a space could co-exist
between us, seen on screen with text
to illustrate its placement. Next
time this rhyme suggests that chasm,
think first not of dry sarcasm,
for such a well kempt hemp rope knot
can mean a lot of hope for pot,
and hope for dope-like knots might sate
that piece of mind some blind with hate
of one another. Brother man,
as if the gift of thought, 'I can',
provided a leaping impetus:
I Can Abyss Hieronymous,
Poet Lariat [anonymous].

I Meant Hi

2011-12-28T08:55:00.000-08:00

I was just going over some things that I’ve said.
As letters I’ve written form words in your head,
sometimes they may not always make too much sense,
perused here, presumably, in your own present tense.

Their reading can cause you to ask yourself why.
Then, while looking for answers, to look to the sky,
the planets, the stars, and the expanse of it all
so that when you look back, you might find yourself, small.

So small in fact that you could stand on your word;
a sound to find pleasing. Perhaps you have heard
of the word, and the sound that resounds in your head. Why,
it’s the word you heard in your head when I said Hi.

Consider word rhythms, and what they can do
in terms simply written, and rhymed just for you.
Consider rhymes written, with words in betweening.
Consider the content as if this had meaning.

Then, as you consider these things in your head,
perhaps you'll take one more thing yet to be said
into consideration as our course has been set;
a plan has been hatched, and a wager is bet.

Invest yourself now, and the attention you pay,
to laughter hereafter. Then, have a great day!

The Garden Off Me Den

2011-12-28T08:49:00.000-08:00

Read words written softly for those hearing hard. In
a moment, a man, naked, runs through Hi's Garden.
Okay, so the truth is he isn't quite nude.
He'll bear boxers, briefly, so's not seem rude.

Hi's Garden is private; all his in a sense,
but of course, it’s quite easy to see through Hi's fence.
If you look past his fig tree and timbered split rails,
to two little dogs minus most of their tales,

see Hi running still on Hi's Hill, talking silly.
Look if you want, but don't point at his [...] Will He,
or won't He? The question remains
regarding his guarding. Hi's Garden pertains

to all the odd things a Man can't compromise.
This much is certain, you needn't surmise
there are things without which I won't do,
kept unto myself as I gives Hi's to you

in a word, just a whisper, a quieting sound.
For those hard of hearing, Hi's hardly profound.
I live among bandits, and burrowing hogs.
Relating that extends my ideologue

to show how I know to dispose Hi's as such.
I might not mind them, except for how much
they damage good stuff; all Hi's veggies and fruit.
Were it only a few, I might not give a hoot,

but it isn't that simple. Excuse as I rant.
THE HOGS AND THE BANDITS DESTROY THE WHOLE PLANT!
But, rather than complain and get all intense,
resolve is my answer. At first came the fence,

but that wasn't enough to keep all varmints out.
to find resolution again, there's no doubt
that is why I'm writing - so you'll understand.
Protecting Hi's garden, is only one man

with one clear solution to rats in Hi's yard.
If you've followed along, then you know it's not hard
to keep unwanted critters away from out back
when you believe in Dog. Hi's got two Russells, Jack!

Thumb Rule

2011-12-28T08:43:00.000-08:00

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 it pass by sight unseen,
"unthought" is what I really mean

to say in ways that 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 thus 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 such spirits drunk.
A thought thus thumbed with sound in mind
produced this type, one of its kind.

Dungeon Run

2011-12-28T08:39:00.000-08:00

I run in a dungeon underneath my house.
Done mostly for fun, I run just like a mouse
on a wheel, and I feel that simply by going
around and around, in a way, I am showing

the steps to be taken to make running fun.
I know as I show this, we all have dungeons
that bind, and confine us to who we are now,
with thoughts that we ought to find some way, somehow,

to show that we know we can better ourselves.
We read, then concede all our books to bookshelves.
We act, 'cause in fact that is all we can do.
My act’s satisfaction runs these words by you.

I'm going to the dungeon now; sentenced to only three.
If that rehabilitates, the results you will see
in every thing I do, compared to everything I was.
Hopes are high, and that is why I wrote this. Just because.

Hi

2011-12-28T08:36:00.000-08:00

Salutation Assignation is the reasoned explanation for this poem's appellation, i.e. why it's titled Hi. Before affirmation of specific correlation to Hi's current situation, look outside the Constellation.

Don’t let this chance pass you by.

Read dirty words with big black birds, and pretty soon you'll know it’s
now a Who you know. No Shapiro, or Edgar Allen poet
would write what you see, prose poetry so simple in its core e-
motional content. Each rhyme here rends wonders of Hi's story.

As you look within, begin to read what’s written down
and see exactly why it's known that Hi said here is like propound-
ing that a verse can serve, yet be reserved, for those who would think fun-
ny sounding little things. A riddle brings this rhyme to conclusion:

See simply posed, a finger on
specific prose with which are con-
fidently illustrated facts
related both to Jills and Jacks.

In trade, I've spent some time misspelling
my own name, and Four Tone telling.
Consider that a tone’s "Core E"
(its MC2, Hi pitched like me),

is just as I have said before,
Four Tones intuned intent to bore
through muddled minds and humbled heads,
as remedial rhymes pass through instead.

Hi Consciousness, it can be said
by word of mouth from head to head,
is something that without a doubt,
by reading this, has you psyched out!

For through these words you see the bond
between the conner, and being conned.
My name, so you'll know 'cause I'm less than discrete,
can be found here within, entirely and complete.

In reference to "Hi", both the why and wherefore,
two facts you now can't simply choose to ignore:
1. I'm pleased to meet you. 2. Indeed, it's an honor.
By the way, let me say, Hi. I’m Jacks Core E conner.

"The dirty word hops in the cage of the mind like the Pondicherry vulture, stomping with its heavy left claw on the sweet meat of the brain and tearing it with its vicious beak, ripping and chomping the flesh." -'The Dirty Word', by Karl Shapiro

"Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, "art sure no Craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore'." -'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe

Healing Business

2011-12-28T08:24:00.000-08:00

She used to have hair;
people stared at her mane.
All gone. To pot,
Is it blessing, or bane?

Can we use cannabinoids sent
to the brain for pain? Enjoyment
from the plant extant, and word Hi,
[thus Hieronymous] be heard by

friends, my ending comment's this:
The compound found in cannabis
is cause to pause at passing screens.
What this puff puff passage means

is, can you tell me? Do you know?
Are we Hi now? Does it show?
Or is it fine just as it is, this
bit of revealed healing business!?!

Stoned Rodent

2011-12-28T08:20:00.000-08:00

See me as a rodent, running
right across your floor.
I'm no rat, I'll tell you that.
I'm so much less. No more

than the suggestion of blunt questions
has it come to pass
that you see yet, a teacher's pet
at the head of the class

running in a wheel of steel;
a cage, and me within it.
Words that rhyme are doing time,
no matter how you spin it.

Who will say, "Hi, runny mouse,
and how are you today?"
Who can see prose poetry
As something to convey

Endo Fins that make wheels spin
for the high life, and living.
If it's a gift to give a lift,
Accept these thanks, and givings!

Ulysses-esque Rant

2011-12-28T08:14:00.000-08:00

Let NOT this task be onerous! Allow Mirth to prevail, and Humerous relations kept to simple Shapes and Styles! Recall the Ancient Iliad; the boats afloat in the Aeneid, where verses kept 'em rolling in the Isles. Sense the name over the misnomer. Snarl the famous words of Homer, master once of words, and master still. In his lines is a great depiction - truth and myth, both fact and fiction. But, of course, he too was no Virgil. You know, I once was a Marine. No sh**! No stuff "a la latrine"! In fact, I even outranked Gomer Pyle. Of course, that isn't saying much about myself and rank as such, for seldom do Semper fi tempers rile. Should any think this writ pure babble, do not fancy your chance at Scrabble. I'm a virtual virtuoso of the tiles. I simply do the best I can, as a simple, married, working man, and member of the local rank and file. This conveys my simple passion, writing in godawful fashion, hoping maybe it will bring a smile. When I write godawful verse, people know things could be worse, and feel better than they've felt in a while. So smile we two, like lovers do, in treacherous defense of wit and guile. Like hieroglyphic maniacs whose frenzied, fevered, brain attacks sent others chasing up and down the Nile, people here are "out of sight!". I know that by the things they write, and advise all out there just waiting on some isle; stay true to who you say you are as that's what will make you a star, or get you within a good ol' country mile.

Fish Faith

2011-12-27T08:09:00.000-08:00

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 the fish wished for at last.

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

It's obvious! I mean, as you've seen, there's a question
regarding retarded things like this suggestion.
Take it to heart. Take it friendly - in jest!
Well, that's just the first thing I'd like to suggest.

As pertains to likes, and to what 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 be friends, or would it end our beginning
if you knew something fishy was wished for you winning?
For my part, I've a question, suggesting the same,
lest it cause indigestion invoking a name

like a fish or a brand, or the stand that you take
on a boat, still afloat in this rhyme as we make
our way through sea spray to the last pinned in line
to see if the sea has your fish yet defined.

So, tell your friends about me.
Tell them how you think I am.
You can describe me like my Angel
or more as some "Son of Sam".

You can tell them what I said
when I say Who do you call friends
when you are calling all your enemies
anemones with fins,

like I think that means a clownfish
can describe who to oppose.
By so suggesting, such investing
of a thought just means I chose

to wish those fish their endings
by so bending words in line
like this. Of course, the mission
of these fishy words is mine,

and what I mean by writing
is inviting you to cast
your lot, all that you've got,
into an ocean of thought vast

and endless, saint and sinless,
as each universe is made.
In essence, the quintessence
of a really good game played;

and having played the game
we're playing now, it's been decided
here, within this sphere,
our universes have collided,

and with such a collision,
a decision must come to pass.
As pertains to fish and doubt,
your wish is trout, or bass?

Wink And Nod

2011-12-27T08:02:00.000-08:00

Would you call this hectoring?
Conjecture makes me ask this thing
about which I've been wondering,
and so I've done some vectoring
to prevent you from blundering.

Is this really that, I'm thinking?
Or, is it more like I'm stinking
up this places with nods, then winking?
Were you watching? Was I blinking
on and off in time while thinking?

Nods need not suggest a noun.
Indeed, to nod means to bow down
one's head, instead of frump or frown.
That knowledge came with cap and gown
I bought in some brownstone downtown.

Frumps and frowns are [pause] you know,
like someone putting on a show
of all the places they won't go
to defend either friend, or foe
from fee-fi-fo-fum, ho-hum Joe.

I think winks are pretty sly.
Every time I wink I try
to show both how, as well as why
people like to think I'm "Hi",
not Joe, you know. [some other guy]

Plow Sharing

2011-12-27T07:55:00.000-08:00

"It's snowing, dear. It's two feet deep.
I think I should be fast asleep,
considering my options here."
I sure hope I have made quite clear

exactly the predicament;
that while I wrote this, God had sent
at least another inch, or two.
Come to think, now wouldn't you

do just as what I said I should,
be fast asleep, and dreaming good,
relaxing dreams of far off climes?
That is, until these silly rhymes

began and ran; still run along.
They make my dream sound like a song
about a snow past. Two feet, deep
into this poem now, digging. Keep

your eye upon me; faster now,
digging faster than a plow allows
until it has been shared.
Consider words that you see paired

as if they represent a thing -
a prosed out poem you can sing
along with while it's in your head.
I'd give you something else instead,

except that what I've done is done.
I'm here to share a bit of fun.
White and dark are needed here
to make each point as crystal clear

as words can be upon a page,
or acted out upon a stage,
or sung as in this lovely song.
I'm glad it didn't take too long

for me to think, and then suggest,
that such as I might thus invest
in a dad's doing, blowing snow.
Shovel this: as blowers go,

I think snow's a passing fad,
so I don't use fancy doo-dads,
but thanks for thinking. What I see,
relative to the gravity

in places such as these, knocks
twice. At first, it strikes the clocks
of times well spent in places white;
the joys of youth, a mind's delight;

a memory of days gone by,
which makes me think to wonder why
a darker day would ever come.
I know this rambles sounding dumb,

as white and dark, like night and day,
are used as words as if to say
that happy have I been just now,
having you here to share my plow.

Ode To Joys

2011-12-27T07:46:00.000-08:00

I'm living The Experiment
by wondering where care is sent
when someone cares enough to cast
their cares away like this, the last

and final time a rhyme I write
will grace this space, amidst the bright,
and shining faces, noms du plum,
wits of promise in this room;

this group, this troupe of bon vivants
and ne'er do wells who spell their taunts
and praise to raise the banner high
for those who'd write, or even try

to say something, use care filled word
to make their sound profoundly heard;
who pass along their songs and thought
to where such songs and thoughts are sought.

I'm running out of time and space,
so carefully I leave this place
to those who would continue on
with words, after mine are long gone.

Please Gs Us

2011-12-27T07:41:00.000-08:00

Anybody can run flat,
and anyone can coast.
The only thing I say to that
is I love hills the most!

Hills are where I hit my stride,
and hills are when I stretch it.
Hills are how I show my pride
and joy. Did you just catch it?

Did you see my rhyming time
each word, measured precisely,
ascending stares as each rhyme climbs
to reach this? Peek concisely.

First of all, You'll love my gate, though
how much higher can your fate go
on without? A doubt remains so
Please abstain mainly from pain flow.

Pain flows right on through and out. See
gain remain. No stain; no doubt. The
efficacy of this shout? Please
Ease your doubt by shouting out, "Gs!"

Eye Mirror

2011-12-27T07:37:00.000-08:00

If mirrors remind us, let's reminisce a bit.
Consider each phrase here so syllables fit.
Listen between words you’ve seen, or find missing,
for [pauses] what causes us such reminiscing.

[Defined by those limits, points may be conceded,
related, restated, and perchance repeated.]

This poem can mean, and be seen consequently
as touching the heart of a matter so gently
that though it pass by, or fly just overhead,
it's still better than having left one word unsaid.

As you follow along with the song, hum my tune
to greater your chances to see that [quite soon]
despite its distractions, didactically speaking,
you'll find peace of mind in the process of seeking.

The farther you read of this, knowing how it
relates mirrored matters, and really commit
to interpretations, translations in kind
of all the paired things one might expect to find,

yet be unable to say, or convey, or converse
about what mirrors mean, or pertain to in verse
as to which is the twin. This begins then explaining
the facts of the matter, and thereto pertaining.

To make it sound more like a cogent epistle,
take note of your humming, and then start to whistle
the tune in your head. As I said, "It's a song
consisting of whistling whilst humming along.

Hear my thought. It ignites as I write this conclusion.
I write that fighting might result in contusions,
and bruising a losing of tempers would bring,
or worse. If this verse wasn't whistled, you'd sing.

That is the reason for such circumstances
as this. You are giving these words certain chances
to have your attention, considering why
you're here lending ears [as they mirror your eye].

The Waste Not Land

2011-12-27T07:27:00.000-08:00

Waste not land, and waste not places.
Waste not what will fill the spaces
in between. These sights are sounds
like lightning strikes. Each word redounds.

What you see first is the light,
and letter perfect language rite.
The sound that follows booms the word
like nothing you have ever heard.

The sound you hear, and words that follow
lightning, like light, you swallow
hardly noticing the taste.
See, no wasted spaces in this place.

So waste not land nor space nor time
for understanding in this rhyme
relates the situation, clearly
nothing much to speak of, nearly.

Carry The Day

2011-12-26T06:16:00.000-08:00

Holy Smokes! A ghost just sat
upon that chair right there. In fact,
I know this ghost, the guy before who
died, and I would now implore you
read Carry very carefully there
together rhymed for timely stares
with feeling better lest you deign to
think Day carrying insane. True
and Just advice, think twice or not
at all. To call, a ghost posts what
is present, and since he's just sitting
there I thought this post most fitting.

Layaway Angel

2011-12-24T05:50:00.000-08:00

There was poetry in motion.
The commotion in the isles
of garments was alarming.
Many charming shapes and styles
were sold. One could behold
if looking, books, and many shelves
were red. Instead of shoppers,
I saw dancing, Santa's Elves
on scene in green and ready.
Heady thoughts moved me to say,
"My God, the thing cost that much?",
as I paid that layaway.

[It wasn't my idea.
Angel made me do it.
Merry Christmas!]