Poetry: It's ALIIIIVVVEEEE!!!

I occasionally run into ridiculous opinions about poetry. Of course, the worst is the one attacked in Dead Poet's Society, that poetry is something to dissect like a frog. You dissect dead things, assholes. Poetry is alive!

Then there's the attitude that poetry is for snobs. Bullshit. Snobs just want you to believe that so you won't intrude your grubby self on their pristine territory. You don't have to be a holier-than-thou literati bastard to understand and appreciate poetry. I daresay the grubs get more out of it. They don't have to be moaning wankers about it.

Don't even get me started on the all-the-brilliant-poets-are-dead crowd. Neil Gaiman, Guy Gavriel Kay, oodles of others are brilliant poets, and last I checked they were still breathing.

The sheer creative genius of some poets astounds me. You have our very own Magnetic Poet, who can take a handful of random words and somehow work magic with them. Who would have thought someone could wrestle profound meaning from frickin' magnets?

And then you have The Digital Cuttlefish, who is master of the science poem, among many others:

Rainbows and Rubies...

Once upon a time, the rainbow’s end
Is where a leprechaun would hide his gold
Then Newton showed us how a glass would bend
A beam of light—a rainbow we behold!

And if you click on the link, you'll see why science adds magic to the universe, rather than taking it away.

Yes, my darlings. Poetry is gloriously alive, full of whimsy and wonder, and sometimes snark.