I try to write at least three poems a week.
The exercise promotes ideas and themes.
I won’t pretend my passions teem, or seek
expression fervently. The process seems
a bit like dreaming, juxtaposing line
with image, pulling or compressing time,
and synthesizing odds in fine design,
employing dormant words to serve the rhyme.

It’s seven score of syllables I aim
to put in ink handwritten or wordpressed.
I’ve tried haiku, sestinas and blank verse,
but sonnets are my favorites, so my game
is fourteen lines. They tell my stories best,
condensed to careful truth, devoutly terse.