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An over educated twit,
An algorithm he has writ
To analyze poetic Lit
And sort the good stuff from the shit.

No, this is not a silly joke;
I’m not aware that he’s a soak.
He’s just a poor misguided bloke
Who got in with some dodgy folk.

In coding up his little app
This un-poetic confused chap
Post modern brains set out to tap,
But all he got was free verse sap

From pros at universities,
Where each with everyone agrees;
Where rhyme and reason no one sees
And all are paid quite handsome fees.

He reasoned these guys write the best
So used their methods for his test.
No matter how their words were messed
These must be better than the rest.

‘Twas engineering in reverse:
These poets on the public purse
Told him theirs was the proper verse;
All other styles – well they were worse.

He took these shysters at their word;
He’s not a poet – he’s a nerd;
Knows not a sonnet from a turd.
(I’m just repeating what I’ve heard)

He wrote the program based on these
Parameters the system grease;
That keep it turning – stop a seize.
(The works that those in power please)

So rhymes must best be slant or sight;
No satire please – ‘twill grade it “light”
And if the meter’s neat and tight
It gets a fail – imperfect’s right.

So let his program run its course
With Keats or Shelley as its source;
Without a skeric of remorse
They’ll be rejected – and with force.

So too will Shakespeare and Bob Frost;
Into the garbage both are tossed.
All works of Poe and Brooke are lost.
“Just how much did this program cost?”

Now feed the thing some broken prose,
Say, of your inner fears and woes,
Or of the jam between your toes –
“Good Poetry!” the screen now shows.

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