HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: from Z.
Date: 28 Dec 1992 17:39:41 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Reply-To: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
NNTP-Posting-Host: hela.ins.cwru.edu


          uneasiness

am new at posting in r.a.p.
afraid my language is inadequate ...
my syntax horrendous ...
i have no meter.

can i a poet ... a weaver of words
alien to my neural networks?
will i be a shaper of visions
of this strange and foreign language
called called english?

i welcome your words ...
through this electronic
pathways called e-mail!

         ***

zita maria  evensen
c1992, dec 28




-- 
.. i am a romantic .... no apologies ......
From: beh@kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu (various Howellses)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: two songs
Date: 28 Dec 92 03:20:22 GMT
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation
NNTP-Posting-Host: kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu


If I have two songs to sing,
which should I sing?
Should it be the song of there,
the song of past and wonderful things,
each revealed in shining memory lights,
dancing in the early-morning moments of my sleep?

Should I sing the to-be-sung song?
The song of future, yet-to-be-revealed,
bright and flowing in the almost-asleep lands,
which are rocked by your hands?

If I have two songs, which should I sing?

--nalh
27 December, 1992
Somerville, Massachusetts
--
If it's me, it's not the other one.  If it's the other one, it's not me.
But then again, we're basically one and the same... oh bother, we're
--Various Howellses (Bruce and/or Nancy)
beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu
From: eric@npri6.npri.com (Eric Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: An Act of Kindness (was: Re: a rose-fingered...)
Summary: arf! i say, arf!
Date: 22 Dec 92 19:27:29 GMT
Organization: NPRI, Alexandria VA

[a slab of severe criticism deleted]

>Remember that, in the wise words of Cyril Connolly, the author's only 
>valid purpose is to create a masterpiece. Everything else is at best a 
>loveless excuse for sloth, and always a crime. 

From a theoretical standpoint, I agree with this, but as far
as practicality goes, it is nonsense. If we were to follow this dictum
to the letter, there would be no publishing industry, few galleries,
no commercial or personal art. The world would be a bleak and bare
place. Even the masters of art have produced bowsers, all the better to
encourage humility in their followers.

>But one must always try one's level best. 

The target of your tirade may insist she is trying. What then?
Should she apply for a welding job at the local shipyard?

>Don't seek to charm anyone, Marek: only great masters are entitled to 
>that sort of thing. 

Even Joyce Kilmer, that pariah among hacks, has managed to charm enough
schoolmarms to elevate his name to commemorative status in
directories of US public schools. It is fallacy to say that
quality leads to popularity or that success is based on care,
good breeding or mastery of art.

[more entertaining bullying deleted]

>Philip Nikolayev
>nikolay@husc.harvard.edu

Keep up the good work, Nick! Although your verse doesn't scan and
your themes tend to be repetitive, I think your niche is assured
in r.a.p. as the poet who poses as a raving, elitist critic with
a sawtooth bite and a butterknife soul. Exemplary!

-------- eric@npri.com ---------- or ---------- ...uunet!uupsi!npri6!eric -----
            "You know it isn't massacres and laughter all day long."            
Eric C. Williams/ NPRI/ Alexandria, VA/ USA/ (703) 683-9090/ Usual disclaimers.
From: metraton@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: SKINNY NOSE
Keywords: nose, skinny
Date: Tue, 29 Dec 92 15:27:58 PST
Reply-To: metraton@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us


Skinny Nose, Skinny Nose,  
Have you seen the Skinny Nose? 
From his head down to his toes.
Skinny Nose. 

Skinny Nose, Skinny Nose,
Here he comes, The Skinny Nose!
Down the highway that he chose,
Skinny Nose.

Skinny Nose, Skinny Nose,
Time for fun! It's Skinny Nose!
Nostrils, can he breathe through those?
Skinny Nose.

Skinny Nose, Skinny Nose,
Hanging out with Skinny Nose.
Eating rice in Life's Depots.
Skinny Nose.

Skinny Nose, Skinny Nose,
Look out! It's The Skinny Nose!
He wore gauntlets, but they froze.
Skinny Nose.

Skinny Nose, Skinny Nose,
Gosh, but it's a Skinny Nose.
Tears of women stain his clothes.
Skinny Nose.

Skinny Nose, Skinny Nose,
Quite the fellow, Skinny Nose.
Never time for sad repose,
Skinny Nose.

Skinny Nose, Skinny Nose,
Always moving, Skinny Nose.
Boogah! Boogah! There he goes.
Skinny Nose.
. ...-....1200 N81N      -- 
If the "X" in "Xmas" stands for Christ, what does that make the X-Men?
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: Holly Hughes on language etc/ hippo birdy Marie / Marek
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Mon, 21 Dec 1992 17:08:05 GMT

In article <1992Dec21.072208.5453@news.acns.nwu.edu>, marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu
(Marek Lugowski) writes:
> 
> The text below is an exerpt from the section on Holly Hughes.  It is my
> birthday card for Marie Coffin (Winter Solstice, 21 Dec.), and a general
> interest follow-up to several recent threads on rap concerning language.


Thanks, Marek.  I guess.


	-- Marie
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: kt1@herahera.cc.bellcore.com (tellefsen,karen a)
Subject: Cuppa Joe
Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ
Date: Mon, 21 Dec 92 21:41:11 GMT
Keywords: coffee


Cuppa Joe

Turkish with sugar
Brazilian with milk
Oh, what I'd do for
A nice cuppa joe

Frothed capuccino
Or cafe au lait
Espresso and perked
I just love it so

On Monday morning 
There isn't much time
I must have my fix
To instant I go

12/21/92

-----------------------------------------
 The news poster gives a bad address;
 send e-mail to kt1@cc.bellcore.com  
 or it will be lost in the ascii aether.
 Karen Tellefsen
From: ch526@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Les Jensen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: The Human Profanity (C&C Welcome) / Marek
Date: 2 Jan 1993 21:48:24 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
NNTP-Posting-Host: hela.ins.cwru.edu


Marek,

Your interpretation is just about exact.
The only thing you missed, which is my fault as the poet,
is I intended "The Human Profanity" to be the closed minds
of "Putrid Puritans."
My little twist of irony failed...back to the drawing board.
Thanks for your input, I found it helpful.
I'd hate to have my failures go any farther than r.a.p.

Les
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Terrans - a Repost
Date: 2 Jan 93 14:48:49 GMT
Article-I.D.: leela.1i4a0hINNe6p
Distribution: world
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University
NNTP-Posting-Host: jacobs.cs.orst.edu

I wrote this poem exactly one year ago and posted it then so please
forgive me if you have already seen it.   And a Happy New Year to All!!!



                         TERRANS



               The time is now upon us
               What time is that you say?
               The time I thought I'd never see
               Has somehow come our way.

               From Kruschev's violent ravings
               With hardsoled shoe in hand
               To Yeltsin's smooth charisma
               And power to command.

               I grew up with the fear
               Of imminent demise
               Not nameless monsters in the night
               Sure death lurked in the skies.

               We'll bury you he said
               His fist a tightened ball
               I wondered at the words he used
               And then up went the "Wall".

               A city was divided.
               Our world became as well
               And everyone just wondered when
               The world would go to hell.

               Then suddenly it's gone.
               The wall no longer stands
               And quick as day does follow night
               There's change within those lands.

               Can this be really true?
               Can I believe my eyes?
               The threat I've lived with all my life
               Just disappears and dies?

               My hope is that it's real
               We'll truly get the chance
               To live together free of fear
               As Terrans to advance.


                            December 26, 1991
			    Kathleen O'Toole


-- 
*************************************************************************
"Insufficient facts always invites danger, Captain."- Spock in Space Seed
	Marg Petersen	petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu
*************************************************************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gaillard@panix.com (Ed Gaillard)
Subject: another caffeine poem
Date: Wed, 23 Dec 1992 03:44:11 GMT
Organization: PANIX Public Access Unix, NYC

I always woke up first,
made coffee,
brought her a cup.

I take my first sip,
gaze out the kitchen window.

I wonder who brings her morning coffee now.


-ed g.
<gaillard@panix.com> 
I can't see the lines I used to think I could read between.
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Poetry Request
Date: 21 Dec 92 18:21:31 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054


I will also mail this poem to Kimberly.  C&C Appreciated..


Keywords:  NEED!!

 Hey all you poets out there I am considering entering a pagent, but instead of
doing a lame talent that everyone does I intend to read a poet. I need a very
deep poem about believing in yourself and the potential of belief, or about the
environment and how we are killing it.  This poem needs to be about 2 minutes in
length when read expressively.....

	Please help me out. If you desire to, please send your submission to 

			kellis@nimitz.mcs.kent.edu

                      thank you....

			 kimberly



She Coughs Politely, Bobs Her Head, And Speaks


Out in some desert a cactus died
as an indirect result of man's inhumanity to man.
I felt its distant prickles and the green need
of its awkward Christ arms and neckless head.
I wanted to lick the sharpness like salt on a pretzel.

The hunger I felt was Somalian,
The fear I felt was Bosnian,
I put my beliefs in,
I put my tired eyes out,
I did the Hokey Pokey
and I shook them all about.
I wept while dancing
for a cactus I've never seen

Someone should declare me obscene
and revoke my right to beauty titles
if only because sometimes I can't see 
beauty in deserts.  Sometimes I can't express 
the potential of belief in two minutes or less
because I'm stuttering on the question
What do I BELIEVE in?
It takes a while for me to grab my elbows
AND feel the bumps and strands there
AND tighten my little ceramic fingers
AND pout defiantly
AND convert my eyes from inward to outward
AND force myself onto things--
a list of activities that are sometimes required
to create an atmosphere for belief.

Can any woman on stage here,
categorized by the color of her hair,
offer something better than this home-made cobweb grid
to support the fragile need of judges
to believe?  to judge?  Probably not.
Think of my gift as a silk scarf
and smell the flowers of Spring strangling you
with the force of a dry kiss.


Don Zirilli
12-21-92
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig
From: ag167@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Don Pavlish)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: we married last night... [poem]
Date: 25 Dec 92 02:17:07 GMT
Reply-To: ag167@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Don Pavlish)
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
NNTP-Posting-Host: slc10.ins.cwru.edu


NOTES:
1) This work is still a bit rough, (I think).
2) I welcome any comments & criticsm, posted or e-mailed.

--

(for Michelle)


we married last night under the milky way,
last night in the deep hours before dawn:
our last night together &
in front of your fireplace
a silent proposal was made,
embers glowing sunset red and us holding each other 
lost in the post-midnight blackness
and drifting...

the dream-time was years from now:
parent-years, grandparent-years, all passed
and long behind us, and a certain pressure filled
my head funneling towards my soul
searching for memories that
inexplicably 
weren't yet there

I then entered a state of duality
a state where I was both here and later;
holding you against me and
watching us from a plateau
twenty, thirty, fifty years high:
it was a barren landscape and we were
each wandering alone
across lost, drifting sands
blind to each other's paths
grey and dying

and by the time I woke in your arms
continents had drifted apart and fresh stars had
supernovaed and collapsed inwards

we soon headed outside:
ice cracked
frost snapped &
snow softly broke underfoot,
pronouncing us man and wife
and
the stars above honored the newlyweds with clear blue song;
december showered us with heavenly snowboughs;
porch-hung icicles cried tears of crystal joy;
barren trees bowed in the bitter winds,
tipped their tophats &
gravely shook hands with man and wife across the deep-gray backyard,
wishing us the best of luck in the
future

----

-- 
 Preserve liberty:    <<    D o n   P a v l i s h    >>   Cleveland, Ohio
 Vote Libertarian!    << ag167@cleveland.Freenet.Edu >>               USA
  |                    -------------------------------  
  |-> Want more info?  Libertarian Party National Hotline: 1-800-682-1776
From: jessop@ljohub.enet.dec.com (Class Dinosauria)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Crushing...
Date: 21 Dec 92 22:38:30 GMT
Reply-To: jessop@ljohub.enet.dec.com (Class Dinosauria)
Organization: Digital Equipment Corporation




	Crushing...

	I know the future.
	Sucking funnel-like,
	Closer and closer they whirl,
	A migraine ball of gravity,
	Stars crushing in my skull
	And me without my Advil.


		Mike
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Coffee Need - A Sonnet
Date: 22 Dec 92 15:16:28 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA




		Glassy smooth skinned,
		gracefull lines 
		give pleasure to my hands wrapped 'round 
		your curvacious body.
		And when my lips are pressed close to,
		such liquid passion flows from you
		and warms me inside out.
		Dear coffee cup!





		Cecil Williams    12/22/92
		**************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--What I never told
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 3 Jan 93 16:39:57 GMT


                                What I never told

What I never told
anyone
is
during the war
in the plane
dropping the bombs
I enjoyed it
relished in the knowledge
of the screams
of the torment
of the enemy
of the enduring pain of those less fortunate than the dead
I never told until now
when killing is generally accepted
in our lives
in our country
as a central value
now that it is accepted that inflicting pain and murdering
is a sin preferable to the enjoyment of pleasure
about which we do not speak to our children
lest they bring us discomfort
and unwanted babies
I now feel an outcast no longer
I have come home.




-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: wjames@cse.ucsc.edu (John Amenta)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Burning of the Leaves
Date: 29 Dec 92 01:43:00 GMT
Organization: University of California, Santa Cruz (CE/CIS Boards)
NNTP-Posting-Host: pal.ucsc.edu


To D.

Centuries come, and centuries go,
And only you did smile so.
Rain drops down in falling heaves,
And in my mind of falling sea,
You will find, the Burning Leaves.

JA
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Promise
Date: 27 Dec 1992 12:19:00 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: jacobs.cs.orst.edu

This is just my small offering of a bit of humor to add to this
after Holiday exhaustion.  Enjoy!


     Promise

rush around, hurry, hurry
faces lined with stress and worry
checking frequently the list
making sure that no-one's missed
choices made and quickly changed
running here and there deranged
aunt and uncle, father, brother
children, nephews, neices, mother
have to get to grocery store
buy a turkey, sprouts and more
try to get the baking done
hell this turkey weighs a ton
hope I will survive this day
and if I do I promise myself that I will never do this again
next year I am going to buy a ticket to the Bahamas and just lay
in the sun for the entire season!

December 24, 1992

Kathleen O'Toole,
Bringer of Light

-- 
*************************************************************************
"Insufficient facts always invites danger, Captain."- Spock in Space Seed
	Marg Petersen	petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu
*************************************************************************
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: a quick note
Date: 28 Dec 92 01:24:34 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054

Hello, rap,

I'm just stopping by work for a moment, so I won't see any replies or
posts or such until Monday, but I thought I would share an interesting
telegram I received from a woman who was dressed conservatively, but
disturbed me with the sensuous bulbous shape of her nose's tip:

POSTHUMOUS STOP A TOO SMALL TABLECLOTH STOP VULNERABILITY TO THE WET
BOTTOM OF A DRINKING GLASS STOP NOTHING TO PREVENT A MAN FROM SEEING
THE ANKLES OF A LADY STOP LOVE CANDLESTICK STOP


As I try to decipher what the lovely candlestick is trying to tell me
from her place of hiding, I also share this note from my little
brother, who seems intrigued by this poetry network...and after all,
this is family time, right?  Why else would the solitary and lonely
attempt suicide in vast numbers this time of year?


So saieth my brother:

-BEGIN-

Hello, this is my first and last entry on this poetry thing.  I'm
Don's brother, but don't hold him accountable for that.  First of all,
what's up with you, Phillip?  And to that guy who wrote the criticism
of "Storm", poems don't have to rhyme, they don't even need meter.
I'm not a poet, but I do know how hard it is to rhyme especially a
word like sortie, so give the guy a break.   There is a lot worse
garbage on here.  Miss Chien or is it e.e. chien, "explosion" doesn't
need to be capitalized but I enjoyed the poem anyway.  Thanks for
representing the creative side I so effectively neglect in my own
existence.  And thank You for reading, Love and Roses, Dave

P.S.-   Roses are Crimson

Roses are crimson 
Violets azure
You are not, but
I am pure.

-END-


Enjoy. 

Yours,

Posthumous O'Toole
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig

Aaron Radomski, where are you???
From: dan@jonas.berkeley.edu (dan graves)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: by request / dan graves
Date: 29 Dec 1992 23:46:28 GMT
Organization: University of California, Berkeley
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: jonas.berkeley.edu

i saw Jesus in berkeley today.

his Eyes burned
 atop his frail cage of Bones.
his Hair hung down
 over thin Shoulders.
i hear those Shoulders
 can carry the Pain of the world.

but i don't Believe it.


dan graves
dan@barkley,berkeley.edu

This is a repost.  When someone actually
requested i do so, i was deeply honored
(floored more like it).

if you have anything to say about this poem,
PLEASE email it to me or post it.
From: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (John David Blake)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: False God (a poem)
Date: 27 Dec 1992 07:24:30 GMT
Organization: Computing Services Division, University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: 129.89.7.4
Originator: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu

This poem was written by my good friend, Dave King.  He asked me to post
these poems, intending to receive endless comments and critiques.  Please
reply to me, Joe Wicentowski, at jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu.  Thanks!
----

False God

You were the cause of my pain, my torment.
Born from the helplessness of Your blind followers,
You were raised to deceivingly divine proportions.
I loved You then.

There is no room for toleration
In Your detailed robes, and Your stainless altar.
From where can perfection spring
in Your simple, closed mind?

I used to love You more than myself.
You were virtue, benevolence, and salvation.
But your sacredness holds a grasp
On my heart no longer.

I am satisfied now.
Free from You, my once withered soul
Returns to life,
And dances in the ecstasy of my world.

But now that I have killed You,
Am I a saviour or murderer?
From: eric@npri6.npri.com (Eric Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Crtical Comments and a Bonfire Carol (was: Re: STORM)
Summary: moya zhena
Date: 31 Dec 92 18:34:11 GMT
Organization: NPRI, Alexandria VA

In article <NIKOLAY.92Dec30213549@husc10.harvard.edu>, nikolay@husc10.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev) writes:
[two really good poems in one package deleted]

There, now, was that so difficult? In this message you have amply 
illustrated what you consider to be good poetry, and you've supplied
verses born of your literary brainpan. (We suspect they were all your own, 
but if Zhenya is out there, I telegraph my fiercest apologies.) 
Please don't abandon enlightenment-by-example.

> Ciao,
> Philip Nikolayev
> nikolay@husc.harvard.edu

C'novim godom... I hope to rejoin USENET/Internet one of these days...

-------- eric@npri.com ---------- or ---------- ...uunet!uupsi!npri6!eric -----
      "Sirius the mystic was burning with love... This was astral horror."      
Eric C. Williams/ NPRI/ Alexandria, VA/ USA/ (703) 683-9090/ Usual disclaimers.
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Christmas gift - for Sheila
Date: 22 Dec 92 15:07:33 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054


This poem is my gift to Sheila.  I didn't really write it to pop her 
bubble, so maybe it will.  One warning:  these gifts are given pretty
arbitrarily, so don't automatically expect to get one and then be
disappointed.  Just keep in mind that if you send me specifications,
I'll always be happy to write a poem for anyone (but I get to keep it,
too).


	THE MOON IN TEXAS


	I was lying on this hardwood floor
	somewhere in Texas
	and the moon came up to me and said,
	"How can I come up to you?
	I have my own up
	so when I move
	my up moves with me,
	unless you mean my photons
	which the ones that came up
	to you did come up
	according to my up
	though some were diagonal up
	and a few went sideways up,
	which makes sense since you're
	only going to see photons anyway,
	but how can you hear me?
	Maybe I am not saying with sound.
	Maybe I am saying with photons,
	the same photons or different.
	If it's the same photons
	then instead of saying
	"The moon came up to me and said"
	you could say
	"The moon's saying came up to me""
	I blinked twice and she was gone,
	the lovely silver moon
	worth more than any dime
	who, in saying, shone
	and who said shining,
	sometimes wearing clouds,
	sometimes wearing shadow,
	sometimes butt naked.


	Posthumous O'Toole
	Merry Christmas
	Happy Solstice
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig
Posted-Date: Mon, 21 Dec 92 23:48:23 CST
Received-Date: Mon, 21 Dec 92 23:47:14 CST
From: Rian Schmidt <rians@cfsmo.honeywell.com>
Subject: Re: Cuppa Joe (E-mail didn't work)
To: rec.arts.poems
Date: Mon, 21 Dec 92 23:48:23 CST
Cc: rians@blkbird.CFSMO.Honeywell.COM
Mailer: Elm [revision: 66.25]
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Organization: mailEnteringNews at Honeywell SRC

 Subject: Re: Cuppa Joe
 Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
 
 Que buena poema!
 
 Cuppa Joe!  Bravo!
 <clap, clap, clap>
 
 Your poem took a swat
 At a habit in which I endulge
 Some mocha-java hot
 Gives me a semi-bulge.
 
 I likes it black or doctored up
 I likes it hot or cold.
 To use your phrase-- A CUPPA JOE
 To me's a cuppa gold.
 
 I have a little problem
 With one idea you did state
 You must NEVER touch the instant
 Noone is that late.
 
--
Rian Schmidt - rians@cfsmo.honeywell.com
             - RISCHMID@vx.cis.umn.edu

Honeywell Commercial Flight Systems
Minneapolis Operations
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems