Start with a first line as glorious as something out of Dickens. In fact, perhaps it is. Who would be the wiser? Has anyone the leisure to leaf through “Hard Times,” anymore? The body of the poem should be arcane, whatever that might mean. I find that lots of foreign phrases, some Canto this and Canto that to tell them Ezra Pound is near, and lots of similes and metaphors— the clouds, the sun, the sea are nice and have such fine collective meaning. Use rhyme a time or two, so scholars swear your verses sing. Sonnets, Quaterns Rondels and the like are best left to those both highly skilled and long-departed. You’ll need a twist by stanza three, to keep your reader’s head above the paper. Perhaps a bit of plot, or better yet some sexual innuendo or peccadillo, for that matter, will get Joe Blow to plow through your awful mess even if you’ve penned it in pig Latin. Near the end, think family. A little dementia is fine-- I find the early onset best. Through your thesaurus find fresh phrases for twisted, tortuous and the like, even if your mom and dad, like mine, could never do enough for you—and seem to be still helping from the grave. Remember, “near tears but no tears,” as poems that make you sob are merely doggerel and end up in the Sunday supplement surrounded by limericks and drawings of a daisy, by Chris—age six. The ending must tie the first line to the body through the title. Or the body through the title to the ending. Get it? How could you? Be cleverish here, so that your reader, in overcoming his bewilderment, can feel quite clever too. Remember to leave the learned room to grasp for meaning— hint: put common “words” in quotes to feed the meaning’s frenzy. Think happy thoughts and write glumly. And now, let us begin.