Here's something that I started as a little block poem:

How easy it is to see the yellow wildflowers and not the agricultural runoff in the creek. Is cutting down eucalyptus worse than planting them in the first place? The smaller the surround, the sturdier the fence.

And then broke into lines and discovered it wanted to rhyme:

We don’t notice how easy it is to see
the yellow wildflowers and not
the agricultural runoff in the creek.
Is cutting down eucalyptus worse
than planting them in the first
place? The smaller the surround,
the sturdier the fence. Or what
separates the sky from the ground.

But now it doesn't fit into anything else. Maybe I'll add six lines and call it a sonnet. I'm with Dillon on the whole Big Project scenario; I have such trouble writing single poems that I don't know what to do with them when I get them.