HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: beh@kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu (various Howellses)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: desire, like a hot wind
Date: 6 Oct 92 21:35:17 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation


Desire, like a hot wind,
swept my soul one autumn night.
Can you remember, my child, my light?
Desire, like a hot wind,
swept my soul one night.

It was in October, two years past,
Can you remember, my child, my soul?
It was in the time of the growing chill
when desire, like a hot wind
came to sweep my shattered will.

It was not of my doing,
out of my innocence,
into the agedness of every woman's being
when desire, like a hot wind,
came to touch my heart.

It was not of my wanting,
more out of needing,
and yet it has only come once more
to pass,
that desire, like a hot wind,
has come to touch my heart.

Desire, like a hot wind,
came to rape my soul
one autumn night.
When the cool breezes blew
in the end of the summer-beginning
of winter
he took me, held me,
taught me, used me
and
left me again
to weep.

--Nancy Howells
(beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu through the good graces of my husband)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: armenon@top.cis.syr.edu (Anil Ravindran Menon)
Subject: Deep C Mail
Organization: Syracuse University, CIS Dept.
Distribution: usa
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 92 09:00:34 EDT


Date: Sun, 27 Sep 1992 15:09:46 -0400 (EDT)
By: SDK
Subject: Re: Poems are never unique events - so...


Deep C email


Early winter mornings in bed

a special clarity
inthe dawnlight
in my window

whale in the sea
weightless tons
gliding noiseless

soft silknesses
water on skin

the massive body
sighing
caressed
helpless

-until-

leaping
unbound
joyous
fins slapping the waves
the huge shudder
of the plunge

a deep calm
below the surface
and in the 
vast silence
a new song

whale songs.
Email songs.
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Extinction
Keywords: save the rainforests
Date: 28 Sep 92 01:41:05 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


EXTINCTION

Hematite, tick-tock,
marigolds marigolds
yellow feed, yellow skin
Maine-bred, bloody hand
tick-tock, tick-tock
split teak, ebony,
black horn (Spanish fly)
god it hurts ithurtsithurts
tick-tock, more gone,
Angels iced, damning swelter
six seconds, one down
life death head heart
meaning gone, a puff of smoke
tick-tock, tick-tock
pigeon flock, black sky
dark sky, light sky
more gone, tick-tock
beat-beat-beat-beat
can't stop, strong beat
tick-tock

INFERNAL CLOCK!

out-of-time, all gone.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sharon@netlabs.com (Sharon Hopkins)
Subject: Not A Love Sonnet
Organization: NetLabs, Inc.
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1992 04:26:46 GMT


    Not A Love Sonnet

    I watch you in the slowly changing light,
    as eyes turn brown from gold (though ever green).
    I watch your smile crinkle, shift and fade,
    and watch your hands move (wishing over skin,
    my skin, they moved).  Perhaps you're not so thin
    as once you were -- but still my eyes have strayed
    to watch your body (wishing over mine).
    I watch the curling hairs around your ear,
    the back of neck, -- the play of muscles there,
    as slow you move (or quick).  My eyes are tuned
    for every motion, weaving light and air
    (and something magic: heat, and not-quite-fear)
    to make a music eyes and skin can hear:
    that music makes my world, if just tonight.


--Sharon Hopkins
  sharon@netlabs.com
  Sept. 27, 1992
From: beh@kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu (various Howellses)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: of autumn and music
Date: 30 Sep 92 21:32:57 GMT
Article-I.D.: kropotki.BEH.92Sep30173257
Distribution: rec
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation


Of autumn and music
I have grown weary.
Of seeking and needing,
I have grown tired.
Restless, as the chords which
plunder my dark soul
and plumb light into its depths,
I wander,
under the swirling cloud storms 
of this empty, strange place.

Every day, I lose a little of 
myself
to boredom
to fear
and even, my love,
to you.
I feel stripped,
even as I look at my body
with distaste, disdain.
What was I once?
I have forgotten
the long-sung evenings in
royal taffeta.
And as the dress has faded,
and the summer past
so let my voice be silent
except in sobs
like memories.

Of autumn and music,
I have grown old...

--Nancy Howells
(beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu through the good graces of my husband)
From: 2ftqrune@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Is this a love poem?
Date: 1 Oct 92 14:58:49 CDT
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Services

In article <1992Sep28.185817.43427@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu>, 2ftolonger@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu writes:
> 
> Another untitled.......:(
> 
> 
> Faces--
> Noses, eyes, ears, mouths, lips,
> Hair, skin, bones, muscles
> Looking, touching, talking, acting
> Happy, sad, angry, bored, crazy
> 	Reach--
> 	Find the one,
> 	Someone...
> Walking, skipping, talking, listening,
> Laughter, screams, jokes, sobs, gossip
> 	Where is the one,
> 	The one who will really listen?
> Cars, drinks, clothes, music
> Friends, parties, dates, people--
> 	Too many people.
> Too many who don't listen to themselves.
> 	Where is the one?
> 	The one for me.....
> 
> --AKA

Question:  Is this a love poem?

Answer:  For me, no.  This is a person-feeling-sorry-for-themself-because-they-
don't-have-reason-to-write-a-love-poem poem.  This could be a love poem if it
included some hope of finding love (or having already found it and just not
quite realizing it) or if the person chose to find love within themself until
they find it outside themself.  Personally, I would like to see a love poem.

D--

--2ftqrune@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ktw@polaris.att.com (79243-wolman)
Subject: AMISH DOLLS
Originator: news@cbnewsb.cb.att.com
Organization: AT&T
Date: Sat, 26 Sep 1992 20:18:41 GMT

 
       AMISH DOLLS

       They are faceless images,
       not graven but grave
       in rejecting the known,
       throwing us back to ourselves
       and memory's palsied hand
       that tremblingly shapes recollection
       with faith only in the pattern
       long since shattered.
       In Pennsylvania tourist shops,
       the dolls hang in rows,
       freezing the viewer who stares
       into the heart's winter of
       their icy linen blankness,
       gazing not on a nightmare
       but on the images of childhood dreams,
       their very shapes misshaped
       and half forgotten.

Kenneth Wolman, September 26, 1992
Organization: University of Illinois at Chicago
Date: Sunday, 27 Sep 1992 00:09:52 CDT
From: <U27317@uicvm.uic.edu>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: poem-Any Afternoon

Any Afternoon

I sit and I watch
I see the birds fly by
Not just birds, pigeons
PIGEONS,MAN!
Get real
Get the feel
Get the chick in the white shirt
I need a smoke


      Mel
From: RMacMichael@cup.portal.com (Ryan - MacMichael)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: STANZA
Date: Fri,  2 Oct 92 15:07:31 PDT
Organization: The Portal System (TM)

Hiya -- I'm offering a free e-mailed copy of STANZA, the free online
magazine... just drop me a note and it'll be to you in a day or two.

I
I'm also accepting e-mail submissions for the next issue.


TTYS... Ryan MacMichael
rmacmichael@cup.portal.com
GEnie -- R.MACMICHAEL

"Educate 2 Elevate"
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alix@indetech.com (Alexandria North)
Subject: What I Remember 
Organization: Independence Technologies, Inc. Fremont, CA
Date: Wed, 30 Sep 1992 18:12:45 GMT


WHAT I REMEMBER
---------------

I can't say I remember
not seeing you that day
because how can I remember
what I didn't see?

I do remember
seeing the cherrywood hall table
smooth surfaced and clear
no bundle keys to mar 
its gentle perfection
nothing for me to complain about

I remember 
your closet door rattling louder
with the echo created by void
I thought I wanted more closet space
and yet I see it isn't so

I remember well the walls
painfully bare in patches
a scalp with tufts torn out
where your favorite pictures hung 
only the day before
Even the mirror of Elvis 
where I longed to hang that wreath

I remember how 
the cat meowed, louder and louder
almost a howl
How she searched our bed
helplessly
for the jeans she loved to sleep on

I remember the whiteness 
of the comforter
blank and sterile 
and cold against my cheek
as hot tears spilled without a sound
until the silence couldn't hold
and I howled with the cat


Copyright 1992, Alexandria North
-- 
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Babies, babies, babies. Why did God make so many babies?
 But no, God didn't make them. Stupid people made them."
      -- Margaret Mitchell, Gone With The Wind
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mccullou@cae.wisc.edu (Mark McCullough)
Subject: Where and how to publish?
Organization: College of Engineering, Univ. of Wisconsin-Madison
Date: 4 Oct 92 15:38:48 CDT
Originator: mccullou@sun-15.cae.wisc.edu


Anyone out there have any ideas about how to get some poetry published?
I know that some magazines will take poems, but I would like a bit more
information than that, such as, what magazines, what kind of chance of
being published is there?  Even if the check is very small (like $5.00),
it is still gratifying to see the check come in for something you have
written.

:)M^2
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:9393 news.groups:18408
From: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,news.groups
Subject: Re: Creation of Urdu Newsgroup
Summary: why not ...
Date: Sun, 27 Sep 92 11:35:31 PDT
Reply-To: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us



Why not propose a soc.culture.urdu.poetry extension? If the poetry
in the soc.culture.* group is bothering people in that group and
the intent is to placate them, this would seem to me to be a better
solution. Especially if the idea is to provide only untranslated
versions of the poetry. 

It seems to me that your prime motivation is cultural, not artistic ...
Society, not recreation ... 

                                   JJWebb
--
From: mzaransk@ux4.cso.uiuc.edu (>> MR MOJO RISIN <<)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: the drowning sun
Date: 30 Sep 92 23:22:58 GMT
Article-I.D.: news.BvEzMC.56F
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana


 ***

 blood is drawn from the sky
 trees are black familiar
 shapes against horizon's
 rusty orange
 the ancient eyes observe
 from above
 our planet
 no strange fangs obscure
 the sight
 only stray abodes
 quarters to elder breed
 long-lived and now dying
 otherwise only claws of plants
 witness sun's 
 drowning in its own fire
 the planes lie
 indifferent to this glorious death
 only shadows dare whisper

			    by Marcin Zaranski <mzaransk>
From: ekankaan@kaira.hut.fi (Eero Kankaanp{{)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: brown
Keywords: :) :)
Date: 29 Sep 92 21:08:03 GMT
Organization: Therapeutic Easy Reading ltd


               Brown Sunday 
         
         Afternoon is reahing above
         the trivialities of the week.
         Taking hold. Waking slowly.
         Comfortably.
         A good afternoon.
         Clear sky is letting sun shine yellow
         above multicoloured autumn maples.
         Cool, crisp air tickling, red chins. Breathing freely.
         Strolling along, relaxed.
         An old cafe, inviting. 
         A Bach-tune quietly sounds brown.
         Ornamented brown chairs.
         Coffee, fragrant, soft and tasty.
         Piece of a Sacher-cake.
         Chocolate. Flavor hinting at coffee, melting on tongue.
         Comfortably warm.
         Elderly gentleman, reading, 
         smoking cigar over a quiet newspaper in the corner.
         Maples beautifully framed in the window.
         Girl at a wooden table opposite.
         Her brown features, sweet lips,
         beautifully framed with shiny hair.
         Looking up from the book, smiling.
         Smiling.
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Date: 6 Oct 92 18:40:15 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

armenon@top.cis.syr.edu (Anil Ravindran Menon) writes:

> Oh start the damm group for chrissake.

this is not a meta-comment. nor is this.

tom


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: hush now, bells are
Date: 30 Sep 92 14:40:16 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=

	hush now, bells are ringing
	but they're much too far to hear
	though they're ringing in my ears
	far too near
	close your eyes and let me watch
	the windows and the doors
	while you sleep your proper dreams
	and all the rest
	in this plain dark peal of bells
	your skin is softly pale
	and your hand around my finger
	melt, inhale...
	hush now, baby, baby, time to sail


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: dvan@spumco.cts.com (David Vandeven)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Shiva's Dance
Date: 29 Sep 92 18:42:28 GMT
Article-I.D.: spumco.D2150025.o12neb
Reply-To: whoever posted this thread first
Organization: SPUMCO:Better living through wasted time
X-Mailer: uAccess - Mac Release: 1.5


								Shiva's Dance
								^^^^^^^^^^^^^
	
					Father, death to me theiving my last
					breath from me a spirit small 
					and abstracted from the comfort
					of oblivion
					lost in fleshly trails and thoughtful
					paths i wander the prison garden
					stealing the songs from the birds
					and waters to appease the mother/
					father while I the child open slowly
					to the stars strewn like phospherescent
					flakes of falling snow on a peaceful
					winter evening's death
					my last breath uncoils from my body
					glowing with magic as the universe 
					begins anew


Written in winter 1985 in San Diego, CA.

One of my favorites: Technically flawed but transcendent.

Enjoy.


 David Vandeven    ********************************************************
Systems Progammer  *   "I don't believe in Pinochle, I don't believe I'll *
    Deadhead       * try: I do believe in Captain Crunch, for I am the    *
    Cyberpunk      * Frizzle Fry!"  (dvan@spumco.cts.com)      *PRIMUS!*  *
Zen Agnostic Guru  ********************************************************
From: baldwin@cogsci.ucsd.EDU (Ken Baldwin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Sonnets
Date: 2 Oct 92 16:38:12 GMT
Organization: University of California, San Diego

In article <1992Oct1.031312.4102@nntp.uoregon.edu> rbear@inferno.uoregon.edu (Richard Bear) writes:
>
>Sonnets, because they have generally been epideictic (exercises in praise),
>or otherwise concerned in some way with male/female tension, and most often
>written (or rather most often published!) by males, tend to be sexist.
	<example sonnet deleted>
>So, question: anybody here got any *un*sexist m/f sonnets? Or just
>sonnets? They are the devil to write...

The following m/f sonnet of mine doesn't strike me as sexist
(though it *is* an "exercise in praise" of female sexual 
energy). My apologies in advance to anyone who may find it
otherwise.


Sonnet
_______________________________________________

These limpid mirrors, waters of her skin,
the snaking streams from some deep hidden source
still following out their so ancient course,
in these warm pools my baptism begins.
The holy waters of the feminine,
they flow out in waves of transforming force
to bathe this new-discovered intercourse,
and here reveal a sacrament, not sin.

If once were all that such a giving gave,
then I might agree that I with her found
a fruit where man by woman misbehaved;
but ever in nights far from garden ground
the tide of her sacred life-giving waves
returns to water trees still more profound.
______________________________________________

by Kenneth Baldwin  	         [02 OCT 92]
From: mcelmury@plains.NoDak.edu (Michael McElmury)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem: The Man I See
Date: 28 Sep 92 02:11:16 GMT
Article-I.D.: plains.20741
Distribution: usa
Organization: North Dakota Higher Education Computing Network


I'm posting this for someone else:


THE MAN I SEE

I see him every morning
before he has a chance to hide
what he is thinking...
what he has become.

I see the lines of
regret and pain that
have been carved in 
his face.

I see his desperate
attempt to cover the
hate and fear that have
intesified over the years.

I see his daily ritual
of becoming something
he is not...
something safe.

Then I leave the bathroom
and go to work.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rbear@inferno.uoregon.edu (Richard Bear)
Subject: The Angel in the Nave
Organization: University of Oregon Network Services
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL5
Date: Thu, 1 Oct 92 03:15:00 GMT


The painted angel with his heavy wings
paced along the footworn ancient flags
of the deep cathedral nave before the quiet 
congregation, awaiting the three Marys, 
ready to proclaim the great and terrible emptiness 
of God's tomb: Non est hic; surrexit,
sicut praedixerat! So that a friar 
preaching to a dubious crowd at length 
advised them: "If you believe not me, go 
to Coventry, where you may see it acted 
every year." Faith enacted may
be faith, or it may not be faith, and yet
thousands were thrilled to hear the angel cry,
and homeward bent their weary peasant backs,
some with missing limbs or eyes, and some
all poxed, yet talking as they went, of God,
and of the brightness all around, one night,
that vexed the frightened shepherds long ago.


rbear
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: news@news.iastate.edu (USENET News System)
Subject: Jhakmar
	Once, long ago, there was a great battle between the animals on Earth.
	Out of the middle of the animals arose a strong fearsome creature. His
	The hoard of Jhakmar spread across the lands and anything in it's way
	The goddess, Artemis, looked down upon the Earth, and saw the horiffic
	Jhakmar's amry awaited on the far side of the bridge that connected 
	Dead animals marched over the bridge. Their furry brown coats matted
	Artemis began to sing. Her voice washed over the attacking hoard and
	-Tim-
Organization: Iowa State University, Ames IA
Date: Thu, 1 Oct 1992 17:15:36 GMT

This article was probably generated by a buggy news reader.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: deborahz@titan.ucc.umass.edu (DEBORAH L ZANDELL)
Subject: Abyss
Organization: University of Massachusetts, Amherst
Date: Thu, 1 Oct 1992 06:15:00 GMT

Gaze into the darkness,
Poignant as it seems, 
Philosophic agent, of my catastrophic dreams.

Gaze into abysses, 
The black Abbesses' habit,
Peer deeply into black holes, 
As it seems:
Philosophic agent, of my catastrophic dreams.

Tell me something, will you,
Abbess of darkness and deception,
Abbess unbounded blackness,
Darkest of the dark:
Can you hear the voice, that I hear, shouting? 

Can you feel the bats, 
Black-winged creatures, as their black wings brush against you?
High-pitched, chalk noise catastrophic cowboys thinking working
Plotting, riding in the Preakness, betting on the horses,
Can you hear the hearkenings toward the darkness?

You can hear them loudly, you can hear them clearly,
Bats in the background, bullets biting dust now 
Death and destruction, blackness, Abbess, poor lonely Abbess,
Living life of blackness, healing her destruction:
Seven angels having seven plagues while they dance
In the darkness, plagues, of darkness, of deception:
Seven times seven being forty-seven or so, plus or minus two,
Mathematical darkness, couldn't write a theorem in this lifetime,
Couldn't learn the math, couldn't do it, just took it, and wrote of it,
Adding up dollar signs, hating everyone, hating all the blackness,
Christus Jesu!  The blackness envelops you.

Deborah Zandell.
deborahz@titan.ucc.umass.edu



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marsi@oz.plymouth.edu (Marsi Wisniewski)
Subject: Jitters
Reply-To: marsi@oz.plymouth.edu (Marsi Wisniewski)
Organization: Plymouth State College - Plymouth, N.H.
Date: Thu, 1 Oct 92 04:10:42 GMT

Jitters

Nervous, she rises before dawn.
She looks in the mirror,
And smiles that secret smile.
Soon, her mother and sister arrive
To help her prepare.
The sevice is simple.
Her father leads the way
To where her love stands.
As she says her vows,
Her legs feel weak.
When they exchange rings,
Her hands slightly shake.
She kisses her new husband
With newly found confidence
And the union is made.

	-- Marsi G. Wisniewski

(Sorry I sent it wrong before)

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Quite wonderful
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 27 Sep 92 00:47:56 GMT


                                Quite wonderful

It's really quite wonderful
you can let everything other drift
invest all your certainty in one thing
allow everything else probabilistic existence merely
they call it
falling in love.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moonbeam@iastate.edu (Timothy J Cockerham)
Subject: Re: Yes, A Sexual Poem
Organization: Iowa State University, Ames IA
Date: Mon, 5 Oct 1992 01:11:59 GMT

I thought it was apropriate to employ the old 'seed of my love' trick...
Anything else might be a bit graphic... :)

Mud...? 

Thanks for the responses anyway.
	-Tim-

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien)
Subject: Dionysus' Children
Organization: The Land of Flowers (Stanford U.)
Date: Fri, 2 Oct 92 01:16:18 GMT


	Dionysus' Children
	

	This is not a generation
	without gods -- why,
	Dionysus himself has taken the briar crown
	of the Almighty.

	(the fine-woven lace of a whore's garter belt, twined
	with the pungent breath of an inebriated student)

	Did we learn this in humanities class?

	No, we learned false lessons, outside of the magi's
	academia:

	of laughing up stairs of a parking structure
	     under the lamp-whitened sky,
 	of kissing those of one's own sex,
	of wrapping father in a fire-warmed blanket
	     in a nest of Easter morning eggs,
	of stepping gently near dandelions,
	of rollicking to rock music beneath the branches
	     of primary tri-colored leaves,
	of hiking at sun-up through dusty scrub brush,
	of bracing against the september breeze
	     as quadriceps strain to propel bike wheels,
	of licking ice from the fridge in midsummer,
	of lurching through unsafely-furnished rooms
	     for an active child carried piggyback . . .

	"These are false," the magi said.  "Wantonness,
	luxury, laziness, epicureanism, indulgence, sin."

	So we relearned:
	     Dionysus is god,

	(and of crying for solace, midnight midday midmorning
	     holding these blood-stained palms, waterproof)

	and the bottle is mother of the soul.



					-- jennifer crystal chien


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cs101ta5@sumter.cso.uiuc.edu (Zeba Kimmel)
Subject: Poem - untitled
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Sat, 26 Sep 1992 21:32:17 GMT

Oooo! A newsgroup on poetry! I hadn't seen this group before. May I  
contribute an original work? Thank you! Ahem.

A disembodied brain, his body gone,
Said, "My love life isn't off, but on!
    "For if a girl," said he,
    "Should fall in love with me,
"She'll love me for my brain and not my brawn."

Thank you, thank you!  --Zeba Kimmel, kimmel@cs.uiuc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors 9158262)
Subject: Parties!
Organization: Memorial University of Newfoundland
Date: Sun, 27 Sep 1992 05:32:54 GMT

            "Party Sounds"

      Sploosh! Scraponga-shimmey shimmey!
      Aieeeeeee! Fweeeet! (drip) Boom! (drip)
      Sploooooooooooooooosh!
      (amidst sobs) "Guys, call an ambulance,
      I think Clara passed away."



           "Ants Play Checkers"

            The red ones win.
               checkers. 

            "Gunters Amnesty"

           "Why is this pain filling my chest?"
           (Theres a pen in his back)
           "Damn! I feel so inky!"
           (unrealized irony)
           "I wish to sing"
           He screams:
             "SMOCK!"

               checkers.