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Poetry is an art form in which language is used for its obfuscatory qualities in addition to, or instead of, meaningful and useful content. Poetry has a long history, and early attempts to define poetry, such as Aristotle's Poetics, focused on the various uses of speech in rhetoric, drama, song and charming the togas off of potential bed buddies. Contemporary poets, such as Dylan Thomas, often identify poetry not as a literary genre within a set of genres, but as noble way of remaining unemployed and virtually useless to society. Poetry often uses condensed forms and conventions to reinforce or expand the meaning of the underlying words or to invoke irrational or sensual experiences in the reader, as well as using devices such as assonance, alliteration and the rhythm method to achieve musical or incendiary effects.
"I guess the definition of a lunatic is a man surrounded by them."
Well, writing a poem or two would surely help... Make a new poem
Too lazy? Search for someone else's work:
Poetic justice is when justice is carried out with poetry. In court, for example, the defendant, plaintiff, justice, lawyers and jury all have to perform the whole trial in poetry or in rhyming prose. Blank verse is not permitted.
This can be done at the defendant's request (and amusement). Or, if the justice hearing the trial wishes it, whether or not the defendant wants it.
The best poetic justices and lawyers are Vogons as their poetry, even in judicial language, is the 33rd best poetry in the galaxy. Appeals are rare, as appellate court judges can rarely bear to read the transcripts. You see, the poetry judges are all Vogons, and a Vogon's idea of what is good poetry is unlike that of any other member of any other race in the multiverse.
Frankly, almost none of this is true. But I'm not telling what.
Edgar Allan Poe was an American writer (1809-1849) best known for his cheery visions of a utopian future, and colourful tattoos. His best known poem, The Raving, is about an excitable crowd of Britney Spears fans tapping on his chamber door, rapping on his chamber door, and occasionally crapping on his chamber floor. This crowd of lunatics repeatedly chant the word "Nevermore", on the Night's Plutonian shore. The half-sane narrator grieves over the loss of his Lenore™-brand cleaning detergent:
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Debating all the irrelevant issues
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