Finish Something Every Day

Finish something every day.
Many birds have flown away.
Can you count needles lost in hay?
Who knows what the future holds?
Lengthy formats are too bold,
Terrorists might have a fit –
This is it!

Little poems that get to the point,
Little stories that startle and anoint
Anyone who still reads for fun
Into mysteries of form that tease,
Into sounds that shift with ease –
Then come – undone!

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“Like a piece of ice on a hot stove
the poem must ride on its own melting”:

Robert Frost’s great country-jazz simile
For the unpremeditated, fated way
A poem flows from and on its own
Startling, crystalline inception!