As a poem evolves, a stanza is one moment a clear contender for the final draft and another redundant. When a good stanza cannot be salvaged, I confess I take a moment to mourn its loss!

I move heaven and earth to achieve internal rhyme in a poem. There are few things quite so satisfying to the traditional poet—it is like solving a puzzle of one’s devising.

One can easily lose sight of a poem’s original vision in the midst of its development; exploring a maze of possibilities, new paths appear that lead one astray. Yesterday, I came to my senses regarding the direction of the “Cranes and Sheep” poetic sketch; I realised I was diluting its basic concept, writing variations that were promising but divergent. I breathe a sigh of relief as I return to the original idea.