These partial birth poems,
Doomed before my pen hits the paper,
A thought that serenely slips into me
Vanishes as I make a noble attempt to exploit it.

Poems should be written with a chisel and stone,
The words chosen with delicate persistence
Like an oral historian of ten-thousand years ago.
No meaningless data.
No rabbits chased into the creek, unless
The rabbit laid golden eggs that grew into metal feet,
And gave me the perfect strategy
So I might be the next
Bobby Fisher.
And I’ll tell a story
Of being too dumb for my own good.
And I’ll pass on the tall tale.

And here lies umpteen lines
That passed the time,
But were doomed to die.

this poem is great...i am no scholar...nor am i a learned man, but i do enjoy the way the poem develops as it continues and how you write about the poem inside the poem...using some great analogies for your thoughts...this one..."poems should be written with a chisel and stone, the words chosen with a delicate persistence, like an oral historian of ten-thousand years ago."...in this line...you have fulfilled the very thing you are suggesting..awesome

Great write..

misty