HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Date: 13 Oct 92 12:45:02 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <7710577@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM> daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
)In rec.arts.poems, donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:
)> Yours,
)> 
)> Posthumous O'Toole, Defender of the Realm
)
)You LIE!  You LIE!
)
)I am the defender of the realm.  I am.

This is ridiculous.  You are a no-account militant rebel.

)I always have been.  Not you, you 
)son of perdition, you dead thing,
)you offal of Pluto and Cerberus.

If you weren't Messiah O'Toole, I'd be really angry.  As it is, you will be
sacrificed soon enough  (though not soon enough for me!).
)
)Have a care O'Toole 
)or this just might lead
)to a duel.
)
I fear not thy miscreant hands.
)
)doug

Yours,

Posthumous O'Toole, Defender of the Realm
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: sheila's hair & face tips to sensible living / Sheila+Marek+Marie
Date: 9 Oct 92 01:57:07 GMT
Organization: University of Minnesota

SUAVE just came out with a really nice facial cleanser that smells and
feels just like NOXEMA, and it's much cheaper than NOXEMA, so i buy it
and wash my face every morning and night with it (i use a white terry
wash cloth- tepid water) but the only drag is that i do not enjoy saying
SUAVE, as much as i love to say N-O-X-E-M-A- what an absolutely, incredibly
unclean word.

sls
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:9999 alt.prose.d:211
From: larryw@lclark.edu (Larry Westdahl)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,alt.prose.d
Subject: Re: Reading
Date: 16 Oct 92 05:50:52 GMT
Article-I.D.: lclark.1992Oct16.055052.28328
Organization: Lewis & Clark College, Portland OR

The first time I had to read in public, it was pretty scary.  Many people 
said of the format that the WAY that an author reads his/her work 
alters the way the story is perceived.  In other words, different things
may come across when reading silently, as opposed to listening to the work 
read aloud.  Often, a nervous reader will not 
do justice to the story.  Thankfully, I got over that, and now enjoy very
much reading in front of an audience.  

- Lawrence

-- 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: shyamani@rtsg.mot.com (Nick Shyamani)
Subject: Sonnet submission from a new subscriber
Organization: Motorola Inc., Cellular Infrastructure Group
Distribution: rec.arts.poems
Date: Thu, 8 Oct 1992 06:54:59 GMT

Hi!  I'm just new to the 'system' and think that its great
that people are sending in and sharing their poetry. So what
the heck, I'd thought I'd send in something I wrote recently.

I'd appreciate any comments that the regular readers of this newsgroup
have on this sonnet I've included. I've tried to keep the same
Shakespearian beat ie. abab cdcd efef dd (which is sometimes borderline
at best!)

Thanks in advance.



           SONNET II

In quiet times, when many things are dreamed,
I often find that you are on my mind.
In such little time we're closest friends it seems.
And a person such as you is hard to find.
Since the day you and I first met,
We shared a lot of laughs between us two.
And times that that began to drag so quickly went
Whenever I could spend some time with you.
And times we share our thoughts from day to day,
Are times I'll often cherish long from now.
And though there's many things I'd like to say,
Fate I know, never had it planned somehow.
   But someday when we find we've grown quite old,
   This will be the finest secret silence ever told.

                                (c) Troy Tinnes.


        ______________________________________________________________________
       /\                                                                     \
       | \_____________________________________________________________________\
       |   Troy Tinnes                          |       Disclaimer:         |
       |   Programmer/Analyst                   |  I said what I said before|
       |   Service Group                        |  I meant to say what I'd  |
       |   Osaka Cellular Support Center        |  said to whoever thought  |
       |   Nippon Motorola Ltd.                 |  they'd heard I said which|
      _|   Osaka Japan                          |  wasn't what I said in the|
     | |   tinnes@ocsc.nml.gss.mot.com          |  first place, Dummy.      |
     \/____________________________________________________________________/


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon)
Subject: Re: Shades of Green
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Thu, 8 Oct 1992 16:02:52 GMT

In article <264@uiunix.ui.org> donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:
>In article <1992Oct8.134002.1425@cbnews.cb.att.com> webdw@cbnews.cb.att.com (bruce.d.woods) writes:
>>In article <262@uiunix.ui.org> donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli) writes:
>>>
>>> [my article deleted]
>>
>>
>>BIGGEST WASTE OF BANDWIDTH I'VE EVER SEEN!
>
>Well, NOW the biggest waste of bandwith you've ever seen is your re-posting
>of my entire article.
>
>
>Yours anyway,
>
>Posthumous O'Toole



I think he was making a joke. How do you know he isn't referring
to his action? 
If he is just being serious, then I don't understand.

I'm jealous because everyone picks on you now and never me. I just
try and try to get all the attention but darmit, you keep out-witting
me. :p 

laugh laugh laugh.
I'm going to stick my hand in your mouth until someone picks on me.
-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Bread
Keywords: d-Dada haiku
Date: 9 Oct 92 19:32:42 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA







			Grandma's home made bread
			sliced and buttered 
			hot from the oven 
			olfactory delight
			taste buds danced
			in anticipation 
			of love that came
			in thick slices




Cecil Williams
10/9/92
**************
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Alpha
Date: 11 Oct 92 19:42:08 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


ALPHA

You condescend to join a beth?
Unlike you.
A simple game, beneath my grasp,
challenges me and I learn.

Aleph, bored beyond mere tears,
this exercise dulls your senses
as it heightens mine.

Are you so intrigued by form,
and turn,
and tone that even one such as
Yourself
couldn't, wouldn't dare attempt...

that you blind your eyes and weaken
your grasp
to be in its presence?

I am not even beautiful for your pains.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Teacher
Date: 9 Oct 92 04:36:20 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


TEACHER

I must have been a simple fool to fall
the hopeless way I fell into his lap;
he taught me more in standard fare than
he could ever know in what he hoped to teach
the language fair a tool he used to draw
me there into his clumsy-handed trap.

He laughed at my attempts to speak the
foreign tongue he wandered through from
year to year in hopes of catching
unsuspecting, pretty little "Bloendchen"
as he called us all - his golden flowers -
catching us with soothing nets of words.

He tutored me through German Grays',
anatomy a simple way to learn the blush
and temper blunder, touch "der Arm"
(forget the Dative!), stroke "das Knie",
remark upon "die blaue Augen", tilt
"das Kinn" touch "Nase" to "Nase".

He liked the way I said "der Bauch" and
poked me there a kindly tickle; let his
"Haende" wander more, then picked me up,
all innocence, my "Beine" being good for
all the schottisches and polkas that he
danced with me imprisoned, overwhelmed.

My "Koerper" pleased him quite profoundly,
made him drunk on me as well as wine; and
made me prey to other soft and sly advances
as he taught me bits and pieces, words 
and wisdom that seemed omnipresent in the
classroom, well without and on his mind.

My ignorance of life, and love, and men
was surely part of every lesson, filled
agenda danced around my youth and his
position mingled gently deep within the
system he provoked and I revered; and
innocence was sure to lose in this affair.

The last time that he danced me 'round, and
kissed me with unsteady lips and groped my
"Huefte" with intent to shatter my reluctant
no into (at least) half-hearted yes, I
understood, at last, my Gray's complete in
two distinct, disparate and disarming tongues.

The words all clicked, the dams were broken
everything I'd ever heard in German now came
crashing through with clarity, disparagement the
only new thing now to learn and that, at last,
to pave the way to wiser actions carried out
with both "Fussen" stepping firmly in control.

-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mccullou@cae.wisc.edu (Mark McCullough)
Subject: Re: While Cleaning the Apartment...
Organization: U of Wisconsin-Madison College of Engineering
Date: 16 Oct 92 21:17:26 CDT

In article <msluyter.719261100@ponder> msluyter@ponder.csci.unt.edu (Michael Sluyter) writes:
>
>This is still in rough draft form.  The shifts are abrupt and there are some
>other problems as well.... but what the hell...                              
>
>
>WHILE CLEANING THE APARTMENT
>
>found today: a thin strand, black and straight,
>and suddenly I was at the lake that night,
>though now your hair was wet and moon glossed.
>Bangs danced about your face   
>as we made love in the water.
>
>Death should be
>a grinning skull, scythe, flowing robes,
>and perhaps even a black steed
>snorting flames.
>But I have seen the face of Death, and
>she wears a scraggly beard.  Her eyes
>are frosted; skin like crepe paper:
>ripped by the touch.
>Her face melted slowly, 
>leaving only a grimace.
>Day after day I drew her blood,
>hoping always that the room would
>be empty.  Did she even know of
>her soft descent?
>
>In death the rose burns with a crimson flame.
>But we have no graceful sunset, my love.
>The lake grows cold.  The strand    
>is already in fragments, and I have nothing left
>but my own unanswered letters.
>

I like the second two stanzas, but I am not sure about how the first stanza
ties into the others.  A line or two to smooth that transition slightly
could help, but abrupt transition has its value.

Just my crazy ideas.
:)M^2
From: leoncioe@balsam.ppc.ubc.ca (leoncio estevez-reyes)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: HIDDEN DESIRES
Date: 12 Oct 1992 21:55:31 GMT
Organization: University of B.C. Pulp & Paper Centre
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: balsam.ppc.ubc.ca
Keywords: poem, rhymes


		HIDDEN  DESIRES

				(To my alter ego, who loves flirting)

Your silence still deafens me
and hurls me over the edge.
It pushes me to battle 
bloody wars of emotions 
with nothing but my skin.

Your silence pours the poison
I'm trying not to drink.
It forces me to wander
all the roads that lead nowhere
but to those maddening dreams.

How come your voice lays silent, 
knowing what we both know?
How come you hide the words that 
could free the both of us?

Your silence stills deafens me
and strips me out of hope.
I'm let alone to mourn 
the death of those desires 
that you sowed in my soul.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope)
Subject: e-Dada haiku #1
Keywords: Dada haiku
Organization: AT&T
Date: Fri, 9 Oct 1992 14:37:36 GMT


                      e-Dada haiku #1
                      ---------------
 
 
                       hidden natural
                  floating over their mother
                       macro molecule




collaborative poets:
--------------------
line 1: tim@research.nj.nec.com (Tim Van Der Avoird)
line 2: JABOLLIGER@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu
line 3: gj156879@freenet.carleton.ca ( gj student 156879)

---

c         _     m         
 o        \\     i        
  l      ((\\     c      
   o      (\___    r      
    s      ||       o                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
     s  ========     s                      -=-=-   jack thomas weres   -=-=-
      a               c                       -=-=- jtw@acpfs.att.com -=-=-
       l               o                        -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
                        p                                  |||
                         e                                 |||
From: mrxall01@uctvax.uct.ac.za
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: ALLAN MUIR:POEM I
Date: 8 Oct 92 15:48:20 +0200
Organization: University of Cape Town

          SPLINTER
          --------

        TOUCH
        TENSILE  STATIC 
        STEEL  AND  STARE
YOU           STOP  (TO  BE 
        TAUT
WE'RE       TAUGHT  TO 
        STRESS - S - SO
          HIGHLY)  STRUNG
        SNAPPED  BACK
        TIPPED 
               TOPPLED   
        E
          LEC
              TRICITY
WITH    TACIT  TRICKERY 
        ATOP  SOME 
          (SIC)K  STRUCTURE 

OUT     TO  KNIGHT 
        TONIGHT 
ME      TO  DIE
        TO  TRY.      



ALLAN MUIR
----------
From: 2ftolonger@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Goodbye....
Date: 8 Oct 92 18:53:28 CDT
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Services

Goodbye....


She stepped out of the store
With the grocery bags piled in her arms,
Milk, eggs, potatoes.
On the way to her car she saw him
Across the parking lot over shiny car tops--
A familiar face from a time long ago.
Not a forgotton face, but one cherished
With memories of youth and discovery
Of long walks into the night talking of God and of life
Of happy trips to the amusement park and courageous rides over hills
Of shared goals, dreams, and secrets
Of a short romance and innocense shed,
But mostly of friendship found and dear.
She waved to him,
Across the parking lot over shiny car tops,
With arms of milk, eggs, and potatoes,
And with his scowl and feigned ignorance,
She was shaken with the final memory
Of the unwated parting.

--AKA

With help fromCa friend with a few suggestions.

C&C always welcome and desired!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Angela Kathleen Ayers          |  "A mathematician who is not also
2ftolonger                     |   something of a poet, is not a complete
@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu (Internet) |   mathematician"
@UKANVAX  (BITNET)             |                   --Karl Weirstrauss
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mccullou@cae.wisc.edu (Mark McCullough)
Subject: Take Not This One (Comments Welcome!!!)
Organization: U of Wisconsin-Madison College of Engineering
Date: 16 Oct 92 21:26:36 CDT

Take Not This One

Life, once a bright flame, is now gone.
The darkness has come again.
No sound exists, A symphony plays its glory,
Together, at the same time,
None can know why, why this one?
Why this time?  This one's time is not yet,
Let this one live, not die.
The cries are wasted on deaf ears,
The desparate pleas go unheard.
Death never seems to hear, the job he holds,
He holds with total devotion.
He shall take without remorse,
Without caring what happens to those left behind.
The silence so loud it drowns out the symphony,
The dark comes in death's wake,
It, and the silence.  The symphony seems to die,
Yet it plays its beauty.
Is the music greatest at death?
Nay, for what of life?
Surely, the music is even greater then.
But it plays unnoticed.
A figure stands in the dark,
Tears in her eyes, staring at her father's coffin.
So much life, shattered like glass,
All at the single stroke of death.

:)M^2

Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:9819 alt.suicide.holiday:2297 alt.prose:1370 alt.personals:20196
From: megazone@obsidian.WPI.EDU (MegaZone23)
Newsgroups: wpi.students.vox,rec.arts.poems,alt.suicide.holiday,alt.prose,alt.personals
Subject: Dark Side
Date: 11 Oct 1992 01:38:59 GMT
Organization: Worcester Polytechnic Institute
NNTP-Posting-Host: obsidian.wpi.edu

Why do you write suicide? - they ask... Well, becuase I don't like to hurt
others so I turn it upon myself in my writing. I write with myself as the
subject...

But it started me thinking, and rereading, and rewriting a bit.... This was
Relativity II, but I like Dark Side better....

Dark Side

Rack
Time stretches onward
     the
Back to the beginning
         slide
Distaste for the rules
Muzzle
Withdrawal from society
       pressed
Avoid the constraints
               to
Living on the edge
                  skull
Comfortable alone
Hollowpoints
Lies became truth
Safety
A new identity found
       off
Limitless freedom
Firm 
Step over the edge
     grip
A reality of illusion
Polished
Destiny clear
         chrome
When lies are truths
Finger
And truths are lies
       on
Judgments lose balance
          trigger
Without balance the lines are blurred
Slight
No right
       pressure
No wrong
Violence
Do as thou wilt
A life taken
Shall be the whole of the law
Grinning

megazone, Hey, at least it isn't suicide this time, 10/10/92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: Criticism
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Fri, 9 Oct 1992 17:01:13 GMT

jason,

i am sensative to your notion that as long as the artist is true to
themselves, then they are true to their art, and i am never looking
for new and improved ways of sorting out the "good" art from the "bad"
art- i am, in fact, a champion of the idea that there is never "bad,"
art.  but i do, however, believe that there is art that fails, that is,
art that doesn't somehow connect or touch the viewer (have you ever
written something and after you finished you still felt like all the
passion and motivation were still swimming around inside of you, instead
of swimming around all over the page, where you intended them to live? i
guess i feel like i'm always being true to myself, my convictions and my
constitution when i write.  i am never consciously aware of "lying" to
myself, my passions when i engage in writing.  but i've come to learn
that i don't always know myself as much as i'd like to (and for some
reason this always shocks me) and most importantly, i guess, i've come
to realize that getting to know myself will never be complete- it will
always be a process, and process implies change, motion, a moving,hopefully,
forward, and discovery.  so, when i argue for the importance of criticism,
of learning how to read it and give it, i am asking my colleagues and friends
to help me discover, to help me get to know myself a little better, to help
me understand the world and how my art affects the movement we're all
engaged in. criticism is a positive, life-giveng practice for me, and 
perhaps i'm wrong to insist that it be so to everybody else. i'd like to
believe though, that we're all on this road to discovery together.

i will pick up rilke's book when i have the chance. and do you believe me
when i tell you that the two of us have been practicing the art of
criticism with this exchange of ideas?

i've enjoyed it.

thoughtfully yours,
sls
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: I am looking for a poem about time
Date: 13 Oct 92 18:26:32 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA


This is probably not the poem you were thinking of,
(since I just wrote it, anc choose not to name it SunDial...), 
but time seems like a good subject for a poem this week. 
This isn't finished to my satisfaction, but I'm out of....time.


	 	T I M E 



	Time,
	that fourth dimension.
	Time is a concept,
	an agreed upon set of rules
	to explain the movement of everything 
	from the infinity behind us
	into the infinity ahead,
	by way of the now. 
	Time is non corporeal,
	without beginning or end. 
	But distance between 
	any two points in time 
	is precisely measurable
	in units of time. Finite units 
	of the infinite...
	Like the other three dimensions,
	length, width, and depth, 
	time has no mass. The concepts 
	of length, width, depth, and time
	are not bent by gravity nor
	altered by the speed of light.
	Time is no more tied to
	the speed of light than 
	to the speed of sound.
	Some once said the sound barrier 
	couldn't be broken.
	It's now broken every day.
	Time doesn't speed up or slow down,
	although it is possible to speed 
	(relatively) through space
	and catch up with old light 
	from earlier times...
	The concept of time is 
	deliciously independent of the 
	existence of anything - us, our planet,
	or the current configuration of the universe. 
	No matter how big the bang, 
	it didn't impact time. 
	Time is, after all, only a concept.
	Time is conceivable, and linearly so,
	before, after, and outside 
	the boundaries of, an expanding universe.
	Everywhere that is, time is there.
	Anywhere in space, more space surrounds.
	Anywhere in time, more time surrounds.
	And however much time it took to get there, 
	it could have taken longer.
	Time after time,
	there will always be more time. 



	

	Cecil Williams
	10/13/92
	***************


C&C welcome, but I'll be off the net for the next 10 days...
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors )
Subject: Sporadic Tennis?
Organization: Memorial University of Newfoundland
Date: Fri, 9 Oct 1992 04:19:51 GMT

              "Sweat socks On Gravy"

          There was a celebration.
          Dancing. Games. Bowling.
          The magenta kittens waltzed in their aluminum smocks.
          Bemmister appeared envious and attacked the Queen.
          His wiry hands descended from above, leaving us with a desire
          ... for cornmeal, gone bad.


             "Life Would Be Great"

         Life would be great for every man, woman, boy.
         Every dog, cat and lady.
         Especially if I were rich.
         Life would be great without the troublesome thoughts
         of competent cabbage.
         But right now, life would be better, without this concrete slab
         on my chest.
 
            "Sausage made with fashionable buttons"
 
                     I eat 6.
                       No
                  Pancake havoc.
 
        tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca
               Tim Connors
 
       Poetic Wheelbarrow, where everyday is beige, unless viewed from
within the malcontent veins of Bartholemew.
e
k 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors )
Subject: Re: Poem - Pillow Fight
Organization: Memorial University of Newfoundland
Date: Fri, 9 Oct 1992 04:41:19 GMT

In article <2811@bsu-cs.bsu.edu> bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh) writes:
>
>PILLOW FIGHT
  (poem deleted)j>
> Tracie Marsh 

       "Pillow Fight"
 
 Feathers fly! Children laugh!
Giggles abound, father warns.
Again they fight! Steven falls.
blood stain. (Weeping)
He's done it again.
Thats a vacuum cannister, not a pillow.
 Silly injuries?
 
    Tim Connors
tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca
 
Poetic Wheelbarrow-Who's turn to buy the cheese?