HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: ieeug470@Eagle.oscs.montana.edu
Subject: Re: A LITTLE MADNESS TO SHARE
Reply-To: ieeug470@Eagle.oscs.montana.edu
Organization: MSU
Date: Fri, 14 Aug 1992 06:32:55 GMT

In article <1992Aug13.140031.574@ccsvax.sfasu.edu>, z_templetocd@ccsvax.sfasu.edu writes:



>SHOULD I TAKE ANOTHER LIFE TO EASE THE PAIN?
>
>


You're askin' the wrong guy!!!   






Razor's edge
Cut them all 
Piece by  piece
Slice by slice
Cut them all
To little pieces.

Stomp on the blood
Drink up the clots
Smear the walls crimson
Cut the walls of their hearts
Drink up the clots
Enjoy thier screams.





Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha 


I think I lost my final marble.



|       |    __      _      _    _ _ _    __ 
| \    /|  /    \  /   \  |   \         |    \
|   \ / | |      | |__ /  | _ /    |    |     |
|       | |      | |  \   |   \    |    |     |    MIKE
|       |  \ __ /  |   \  | _ /  _ _ _  | __ /

Death is boring;  slaughter is fun.
Thank you for not smoking!!
From: tmhoff@oogoody.Corp.Sun.COM (Todd Hoff)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: haiku: together
Date: 16 Aug 1992 00:22:17 GMT
Organization: Sun Microsystems, Inc.
Distribution: world
Reply-To: tmhoff@oogoody.Corp.Sun.COM
NNTP-Posting-Host: oogoody.corp.sun.com


Two hands holding
Side by side in the dark
Still breathing hard
From: jaguar@netcom.com (Crazy Poem Head)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: other Japanese poetry
Date: 14 Aug 92 22:29:21 GMT
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest)

If from the beginnning
You had not made me trust you
Speaking of long, long years
Should I have known now
Such sorrow as this?

	--part of a poem by Lady Otono of Sakanowe (8th C)
-- 

*jaguar woman*				words are not enough
[jaguar@netcom.com]			
[jaguar@ardath.slisp.cs.cmu.edu]
From: ipc@zoo.bt.co.uk (Ian Coleman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Forest
Date: 17 Aug 92 15:19:27 GMT
Reply-To: ipc@zoo.bt.co.uk
Organization: BT Laboratories


                Forest
                ~~~~~~

Ragged grey lines of evergreens, upright,
stretch ever onward to distances dim,
the ordered arrays are ocassionally broken
by dead slanting boughs, that cannot lie down.

The underfoot loam is rich, dark and springy,
aromatic, crackling, needle strewn,
peppered with clusters of crisp dry bracken,
orange, aflame where sunlight bursts through.

Rich velvet cushions of emerald lichen,
moist dangling tendrils, limply hang,
clusters of toadstools, gathered like vultures,
stand by the dying to nurture decay.

Insects abound and swirl in the sunbeams,
muted low droning, filling the air.
Wood ants scurry, on errands important,
nest quietly rustling from pattering feet.

Shrill distant birdsong rings through the woodland,
muffled replies come from further afield,
echos of woodpeckers, drilling for dinner,
tap out a rythmic machinegunners beat.

Frogs sit and croak on rocks by the stream bed
or swim in the depths of the dark crystal pools.
A Kingfisher swoops, patrolling the water
gone in a flash of blue and of gold.

9/7/92


The wanderer,
lost in a maze of electronic news,
flits fitfully from group to group.
Alighting momentarily
to view and inwardly digest,
perhaps linger
and then move on.

Senses battered
by bits of byting communication,
floundering in a sea
of oh, so humble, opinions.
 
17/8/92

But after a long absence I'm back!
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--The great performance
Date: 23 Aug 92 11:52:10 GMT
Organization: Real/Time Communications


                                The great performance

There is soon to be
no place
which will offer you refuge
it is coming
the day when you will be unable to hide
from the bright sun of your being
no lotion available
to cover the skin of your sensibility
no doctor remaining
to sit down with your reservations
your life is readying itself for the great performance
in which you sit naked
before the beauty of your own soul.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska)
Subject: The Old Fashioned Flavor 
Keywords: aren't they all?
Reply-To: frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1992 16:00:24 GMT

          The Old Fashioned Flavor

         Find those with your ears
         carefully maintained
         except suddenly,
         fiercely, without thought
         fill my salad plate  
         kill the faithless heathens

         See the secret shadows 
         finer than she remembered 
         painted by pale rain,
         with anything more permanent than firm - pressed lips



Dream piece #2
Some mangled bits and pieces from:
Tom Wachtel, jestem oczarowana,jtrue, Ralph Cherubini, 
Christian Dylan Losinger, Dave Roberts, Ian D. Stedman,
Mary C. McDaniel, Tom Boutell

--
Frank Poduska                 frank@iastate.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: colby@tsd.arlut.utexas.edu (Colby Leider)
Subject: untitled
Organization: Applied Research Labs, University of Texas at Austin
Distribution: usa
Date: Tue, 18 Aug 1992 14:27:46 GMT


i think i thought
i thank i think
think i thanking
this that is there
therefore i am
thinking that is
thinkingthankingthinkingthanking
i think
From: cass8806@elan.glassboro.edu (KYLE CASSIDY)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: First Attempt
Date: 13 Aug 92 14:08:47 GMT
Organization: Glassboro State College, Glassboro, NJ

In article <1992Aug13.095507.14515@canon.co.uk> wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel) writes:

>Stephen P. Guthrie writes:

>> This love, violent, savage, 
>> Cries to be tamed, cries to be heard;
>> Unwanted tenderness, I am alone.


and Tom Wachtel adds:

>a thought:

>       A silky breeze caresses and enfolds.
>       Glowing embers envelop with gentle warmth.
>       Lapping waves, their soothing rhythm comforts. 
>       Shroud of snow, soft, silent, pure.


to which i ad my own (slight) editorial jabbering:

	A compassionate breeze caresses and enfolds.
	Tender fires envelop with gentle warmth.
	Lapping waves, their soothing rhythm comforts.
	Layers of snow, soft, silent, pure.

-- kyle
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lugowski@ils.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: The Walk of the Arisen / Wislawa Szymborska / trans: Marek+Joanna
Organization: The Institute for the Learning Sciences
Date: Wed, 19 Aug 1992 23:48:17 GMT


		The Walk of the Arisen
		(translation of Spacer Wskrzeszonego)
 		------------------------------------------------------------

		The professor has died now thrice.
		After the first death, he was asked to turn his head.
		After the second death, he was asked to sit up.
		After the third, they even put him on his feet,
		braced by a fat round nanny:
		Let us take a little walk, professor.
		 
		After the trauma, this deeply damaged brain...
		but, look, watch it go and not too slow:
		Left right, bright dark, tree grass, hurts to eat.
		 
		Two plus two, professor?
		Two, says the professor.
		It's an answer better than any given before.
		 
		Hurts, grass, to sit, a bench.
		and, at the end of the promenade
		again, old as dust
		pale, unamused, thrice now excused
		apparently a genuine nanny.
		 
		The professor wants towards her.
		Again, he attempts to break away
		from us.
		
		 
			Wislawa Szymborska
			Poland
		 
				translated from Polish
				by Marek Lugowski / Joanna Trzeciak
				Dallas, 1989
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: in my music / Marie Coffin
Date: 20 Aug 92 22:54:22 GMT
Article-I.D.: IASTATE.1992Aug20.175422
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University


	in my music
	------------------------------------
	
	you are the rest
	between notes
	the pause that punctuates.
	your silence
	whispers always to me
	yes.
	
	i turn over shells
	on the slick beach
	and find slugs
	underneath 
	and you say yes.
	
	i see in your huge quiet
	the world
	and you find me
	not beautiful.
	
	from this tension
	we write our music.
	
	jazzy notes of rhythm
	dominate my life
	and you are all the rest.
	you are the time 
	out of time.
	when i'm with you
	in a rocky cavern,
	the vast empty
	between us
	echoes yes.
	
	you have carved me 
	into the calm
	between your hands.


Marie Coffin
August 20, 1992
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: lunch
Summary: poem concerning lunch
Keywords: autumn,fall,lunch,Radomski
Date: 17 Aug 92 16:56:47 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

A Quick Lunch


A tree one moment stood tall,
the next, a child was falling,
his blonde hair all a mess
and his wee voice squeaking calls of distress
as his dainty arms pushed through the air
like a swimmer, but his eyes were clenching fear.
"Autumn again?" he noted somehow in his gestures.
Like bad stock, like a bad investor,
he publicly plunged--and at noon, during lunch!
"Yes, it IS Autumn," I thought.  "Well, back to the crunch!"


Posthumous O'Toole (The Gray Man)
8-17-92


p.s.  Aaron Radomski, where are you??
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: pritiraj@next03epsl.wam.umd.edu (Pritiraj Mohanty)
Subject: samuel beckett  revisited
Keywords: beckett
Organization: Workstations at Maryland, University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Wed, 19 Aug 1992 13:54:41 GMT



--
Hi, this is raj...........


I remember,when I was about 7 or 8 years old ,someone had recited
to me a beautiful poem by Samuel Beckett...I can't remember the 
words ( my memory was yet to be digitized )..but I hope I retain
the spirit in the following recollection....

Could anyone send me the complete poem ?

Memories of samuel Beckett Revisited.......

-----------------------
           and it would be raining 
           .....on my grave....
 
	   she would walk with flowers in hand
	   and for a moment 
	   she thought she loved me......

-----------------------

it might sound like a mindless childish prattle...but surely it is..

-Raj
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rojcook@halls1.cc.monash.edu.au (JACQI COOK)
Subject: A kiss
Organization: Halls of Residence, Monash University 
Date: Tue, 18 Aug 1992 04:18:05 GMT

I'm not much of a poet, and I don't have many I can remember off hand, but 
here is one I *enjoy*... =)

A KISS IS A KISS

A kiss is a kiss
On any man's lips
By all other names
Is still a kiss
By any other name
Tastes exactly the same
On any man's lips
A kiss is a kiss

A tongue is a tongue 
Is a hot wet tongue
Is still a tongue on my breast
His tongue and my tongue
Dance hot together
We press wet together 
In bliss

        Jac (Apricots) Cook

(There is some real talent in this newsgroup *applaud* It's wonderful)
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Midnight Ramble
Date: 16 Aug 92 13:17:41 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland

>  [Cool text omitted]
>
>  These words you see
>  upon the page
>  disappear
>  here

Grr. I find it kind of annoying when a promising poem
 fizzles at the end like this. Self reference isn't even
 fractal.

-m.	:-)
From: tpl@eng.cam.ac.uk (Tim Love)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Bedside
Date: 12 Aug 92 11:43:54 GMT
Organization: cam.eng

csmcm@ux1.cts.eiu.edu (Mary C. McDaniel) writes:



>Bedside

Enviably stunning. I just wonder how much literature's famous Crows and 
Ravens are being alluded to. One could read a lot of lit-crit into this.
From: jeannie@vaxdad.scri.fsu.edu (Jeannie West)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: I seem to have lost it.
Date: 19 Aug 92 19:47:00 GMT
Organization: Supercomputer Computations Research Institute
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41


Casualty
---------------------
I love you I hate you,
the words are so trite.
Within me a  war rages,
I suffer from the fight.

Can't seem to make the words
come together in my mind.
My creativity is a casualty,
I hope it isn't fatal this time. 

Jeannie West 8/92
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (Queen of the Netherlands)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: a touch of green
Date: 22 Aug 92 00:10:49 GMT
Article-I.D.: u.1992Aug22.001049.363
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle


 kupixel@oread.cc.ukans.edu writes:
> zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (Queen of the Netherlands) aka Candlestick writes:
>> 
>>>Has Josef resurrected himself in me?
>> 
>> no.
>
>   oh, c'mon now--is that an answer an o'toole would be proud of?  ;)
>
certainly.  
if one word says it, then it is enough. 

the artist must know when to stop.  even though most o'tooles
are lovers of words, all except don zirilli crave brevity, and know when
enough is enough.  and don generally does his rambling well.

i suppose that is why he is archivist. 

and that is why Monica O'Toole is muse (what WAS her original title?)
she crafts words like no one else - inspiring many to song or tears.

words.  sometimes one is enough.

-Candlestick
From: bob@netxcom.netx.com (Robert Thralls)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: search for poem ("water, water, everywhere, and not a stop to think")
Date: 13 Aug 92 16:21:22 GMT
Organization: NetExpress Inc., Vienna, VA, USA


>episode of "Murphy Brown."  I believe that the title is: "At The Well."
>The poem tells of the coming of age of a young man, who, upon
>finding the well dry, finally realizes that he must rely upon himself.
>The well, so it seems, is a metaphor for wisdom and knowledge.
>
>Can anyone help me find the poem?  I'll be truly grateful,
>for all that that is worth.  ;-)

Perhaps it would be easier just to look for the well?? Perhaps, Candice would
appreciate that approach!?

You know the old saying, 
"You can, indeed, school boy too well, but you can't make him think"  ;^o (moo)

Interesting: "school boy too well" seems to work both on a physical plane 
as "well" as on a logical one.

no signature required.
From: ryanp@lclark.edu (Ryan Powell)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Love through my eyes
Date: 20 Aug 92 07:15:59 GMT
Article-I.D.: lclark.1992Aug20.071559.1688
Organization: Lewis & Clark College, Portland OR


Love,
   Eternal,
         Winding,
               Snake.
Ever,
   Lasting,
         Falling,
               Flake.
Cooling,
      Hearts,
           Engulfing,
                   Flame.
Laughing,
       Weeping,
             Fool's 
                  Game.

-_-Ryan-_-
From: ccsdgdc@gdr.bath.ac.uk (Douglas Clark)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Scottish Harp
Date: 19 Aug 92 13:08:46 GMT
Organization: Bath University Computing Services, UK





The Scottish Harp

I am of words, I made my mark;
The fleeting light before the dark.

The clarsach plays this morning in the barren Hall;
The books were a disaster,
Written to bring her back
They have attracted no-one.

Fritz Cat and I poured our hearts into those books;
The sufferance of lifetimes,
Sae Mirrie as We Hae Been
The Flowres of the Forrest.

The horseman rattled down the centuries of history;
All the cards were played,
Fritz Cat creaks in his joints
I face early retiral.

I wrote her books for company in the wintry night;
I woke up this afternoon,
To find grey hairs and an uncertain future
The passage of time spent in a dwam.

Back at the game I was born to (in the evening sun);
The last rose of summer clings to my eye,
Solitary is the path thru life
Write it down for what it's worth.



                               4
-- 
Douglas Clark                                  Voice : +44 225 826039
Regional Services,                       JANET : D.G.D.Clark@uk.ac.bath
Bath University Computing Services, UUCP : ...uunet!mcsun!uknet!gdr!D.G.D.Clark
Bath, Avon, England BA2 7AY    ARPA : D.G.D.Clark%bath.ac.uk@nsfnet-relay.ac.uk
From: hovis_ea@lrc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Labyrinth
Date: 12 Aug 92 13:03:07 EDT
Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC

		Come, oh sweet death to me:
			swiftly flying,
		        lay hands on me.
		
		   Complex labyrinth with
			briny sea.
		
		Blackness of the depth and sleep
			which calls
			 the inner
			    me.

		    Flow of life and death
		      on transient lines
			    of
			time and space.

		        Souls pleading,
			   waiting
			for their place;
			on the other side.
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: love and take
Date: 16 Aug 92 12:32:09 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=


	love and take love back
	take love and love back



-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: family binds, revised
Date: 12 Aug 92 20:33:54 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA


 root@bing.UUCP (Administrator) writes:
>
> ...excellent poem deleted...
>
> i just wish i could fly to the moon.
>
>Bing H Bang

close your eyes and fly
 the universe is yours now
moon sun stars and more




Cecil
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jondarr@macadam.mqcs.mq.oz.au (jondarr c g h 2 gibb)
Subject: Her Highness
Organization: Macquarie University, School of Mathematics, Physics, Computing and Electronics
Date: Mon, 17 Aug 1992 23:03:06 GMT


        Her Highness

Her Highness takes her entourage in tow
Through scarlet carpet corridors and halls
Of tapestries where servants bow down low
And any man who stands before her falls.

Within these castle walls the Princess rules
Contented hearts - they love her for her style,
Her regal bearing, how she suffers fools
And some say that they've seen her lovely smile.

But 'though she seems at ease, a loneliness
Beats heavy in her breast, so ever since
She lost her kin, and it has come to this :
She searches out the hallways for a Prince.

There one man strives : although no Prince by name,
He walks not tall, but loves her just the same.

				18th August, 1992



                    
              Anyway the wind blows ...
                                                //\         /\\
                             /                 || * \ . . / * ||
               .  _   _   _/  _   _  _          \\____\X/____//
              / /_/ / / /_/ /-/ /  /             / *  /O\  * \
          ._/                                    \__/  "  \__/

jondarr@macadam.mpce.mq.edu.au  (137.111.216.12)
jondarr@mpce.mq.edu.au
jondarr@macgraw.mpce.mq.edu.au

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--It is your openness to me
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 16 Aug 92 21:01:02 GMT



                        It is your openness to me
                               (for She)

It is your openness to me
how you present yourself
like when we were kids
and the birthday invitation
invited visions of endlessness
it is like that when we are
together
a pair of opportunities.
And when we become tangled
as we are wont to do
it is your
obvious
pleasure
in my
obvious
pleasure
in you
which makes me happier
than I have ever been
it is your hunger for me
so much more than mere desire
that informs my love for you
yes
to be wanted
so very much
is the kindling
for the fire
which you build
out of me.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ktw@cbnewsb.cb.att.com (kenneth.t.wolman)
Subject: Lancaster County
Organization: AT&T
Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1992 21:20:57 GMT


LANCASTER COUNTY

The landscape is a disharmonious
nightmare Amish quilt.  Corn fields abut towns.
Auto body shops are passed, ignored
by bearded men like black and white images,
imposed upon an undulating wave
of summer Kodachrome colors:
ride in black buggies, horses sway-legged,
horseshit on the roadsides
a rebuke to their century.

Kenneth Wolman, August 12, 1992
-- 
Ken Wolman   AT&T Bell Laboratories   (201)564-2866   ktw@hlwpk.att.com
	"Stare.  It is the way to educate your eye, and more.  
	Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop.  Die knowing something.  
	You are not here long." -- Walker Evans
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rita@eff.org (Rita Marie Rouvalis)
Subject: Re: Magazines, etc that publish poetry?????
Originator: rita@eff.org
Organization: Electronic Frontier Foundation
Date: Wed, 19 Aug 1992 15:41:58 GMT

	
	Why don't you have your friend submit to ULowell's very own
magazine?




-- 
Rita Marie Rouvalis              rita@eff.org 
Electronic Frontier Foundation   | 
155 Second Street                | "Stop me before I post again."
Cambridge, MA 02141 617-864-0665 |
From: v131p9t3@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (Ninstar Cybermage - Back Again from the Mists!)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: *Goals*
Date: 17 Aug 92 01:40:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41

After a year of dealing with Leukemia, and some time off to get things into 
perspective, here are my thoughts.  I'd appreciate a review.

Goals

I want to write a book
A series maybe too
I may not have a future
Or the time to make it through.

So instead I'll write a story
Line by glorious line
And I'll string them all together
If I can find the time.

Or I'll write for us a poem
One I can write whole
And in every single epic line
I'll pour my heart and soul.

Making up the pieces
Wholes all by themselves
And adding up the totals
To fill up my life's shelves.

One day at a time, my friends...
One day at a time...

Black Phoenix brightening up, and definitely on the rise...

I'll be back at school this month.  Look for me.

James Shank           	#		v131p9t3@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu
AKA: Ninstar Cybermage  #	or	shank@acsu.buffalo.edu
###############################################################################
"Ten thousand years old...He could be trouble." -Vampire Hunter D
"Every night I say a prayer, in the hope that there's a heaven..."-Styx
"How do you make ammends for a god's sins?"-Forgotten Realms
##############################################################################
Sneaky Types,Inc.:Clandestine operations for the common man.
	"Don't call us.  We'll just bill you when it's done."
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Alone -- a poem by Tom Tasset
From: ttasset@vax1.umkc.edu
Date: Thu, 20 Aug 1992 01:46:45 GMT
Organization: University of Missouri - Kansas City



Alone

I sit here in my office,
I don't think that I'm alive.
My mind is not at all settled,
I rush to my car and drive.

I race at incredible speeds,
The car goes out of control.
I fly off of the high-view cliff,
and dangle out my window.

Breathing my last few breaths, 
I think of how I'll get...
Back into the swing of things,
Oh god, here it comes... oh shit.


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: wizard@wixer.cactus.org (John P Onorato)
Subject: poem about Anne Sexton
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 23 Aug 92 06:43:36 GMT




Comments always welcomed, of any sort.





	For Anne Sexton, Posthumously
	--- ---- ------  ------------


a thousand fragile poems
a hundred thousand poems
batter at the insides of my head
surging
from one side to the other

screaming for release
but there is no release
these poems nee concepts
won't fit
through my arm
through my fingers
into my pencil
and onto the page;

thus the demented poet am I,
the mad poet
whose brain cries
 -- I've gotten used to it --
with a thousand poems
a hundred thousand fragile poems
all screaming for release

the poet whose poems can fit through
his arms
& fingers
& pencil
only one
at
a time.


		10.50p  5 June 1991


(c) 1991 John Onorato.  All Rights Reserved.
-- 
John P Onorato             |   "Softness without strength is weakness.
wizard@wixer.cactus.org    |    Strength without softness is meanness."
cactus.org!wixer!wizard    |             -- Mahatma Ghandi
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Formalities
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Thu, 20 Aug 92 02:19:33 GMT


                                Formalities


What I meant to say was
well
you know
you can infer it
from my indecisiveness
an invitation to inference
as to a formal ball
or celebrity bash
where you can only enter
by means of such an invitation.

Here too
you may find that the occasion
hardly merits the formality.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems