I believe verbal felicity is the fruit of ardor, of diligence, and of refusing to be false.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence.
War is pillage versus resistance and if illusions of magnitude could be transmuted into ideals of magnanimity, peace might be realized.
The weak overcomes its/ menace, the strong over-/comes itself.
I never 'plan' a stanza. Words cluster like chromosomes, determining the procedure.
In a poem the words should be as pleasing to the ear as the meaning is to the mind.