| Released from poet's mental cage, a raucous flock of eager words descends upon the waiting page to capture sound of morning birds, and, thus, the written narrative becomes a gift for him to give. As long as ink keeps flowing down that swirling stream of consciousness, his pen will spout verb and noun, to be arranged with great finesse, until artistic fury dries and his Muse must re-energize. Notes on the Short Heroic Sestet form of poetry ▶︎ |