Claim that proper poetry is actually free,
Also knows no line, nor boundary,
To justify their crime, which appears to be:
Them, remaining, there, intellectually lazy.
We detain four thousand years of worldwide
Plain classics’ strains proving otherwise!
But its fast food form is, in fact, a sign
Of the last good sport who tries to shine
Into some literary crooked slide.
A mass accessing this discipline
Through popularization, it seems,
Of the twentieth century’s spleen,
Ate technological witty doctrine.
Subjectivity, now, dictates what it means?
One gets rid of the mathematical part,
By palling around this ungrammatical cast:
A group so large and so vast,
It will have to convince all that
«poetry is what we wish since it’s Art!»
They would scream; they should write; they could sing.
If it contains none of the right following:
Versification, rhythm, rhyming,
Aesthetic pun, sum of a clever swing,
Well… Spurn the read then return to another thing.