HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: mzaransk@ux4.cso.uiuc.edu (Marcin Zaranski)
Subject: my other names r "ALIVE SHE CRIED, and U KNOW WHO"
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Mon, 7 Sep 1992 02:23:57 GMT

 <mzaransk>

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: beaufort@wam.umd.edu (Jennifer L. Beaufort)
Subject: Re: I give up...
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Distribution: usa
Date: Fri, 4 Sep 1992 23:09:58 GMT

In article <.cs.unc.edu> burgin@hatteras.cs.unc.edu (Robert Burgin) writes:
>In article <3nx.unm.edu> rsquires@cyclops.eece.unm.edu (Roger Squires) writes:
>>	Judging by the number of responses, I'd say that either
>>	this is an incredible piece of work that everyone but myself
>>	has read many times and memorized, or it is very easy to find in
>>	popular quote books.  Which is it?
>
>	It's both.  What concerns me most is not that you
>	didn't know the poem, but that you couldn't find
>	the quotation in as commonplace a reference tool
>	as Bartlett's Familiar Quotations.  Did you try 
>	looking there?  Did you think to ask a librarian?
>	--rb

Hey...sometimes those of us who work in libraries appreciate it when people
at least *try* to figure things out for themselves.  Sure, he could have
checked Bartlett's, but then he would have been deprived of your clever
commentary.  ;)
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Celebrating my return to RAP
Date: 14 Sep 92 10:45:11 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

In article <lb2i5uINNg5f@exodus.Eng.Sun.COM> simran@inkstone.Eng.Sun.COM writes:
>
>Oh, and I do have to add that I still think Kathleene O'Toole (nee "Lux Donor")
>has forgotten about her trailing "e" (Oh would that she remembered those
>circumstances, it would ratify so many memories!).

This Kathleen O'Toole never had a trailing "e" to forget.  The only thing
I have trailing is the hem of my green robe as I roam from room to room
in the dark of night searching for my muse.

>  (Signed?) George O'Toole (maker of trouble)

(Very funny nursery rhymes deleted).

Kathleen O'Toole, Bringer of Light
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: donahj@nuge102.its.rpi.edu (falchion)
Subject: First Posting-What of Tomorrow
Reply-To: donahj@rpi.edu
Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, NY.
Date: Tue, 15 Sep 1992 18:11:40 GMT

	This is my first attempt at posting anything so if I mess it up let
  me know. Thanx *)


			What of Tomorrow?

The snow has fallen
The cold cuts like a razor
Darkness reigns supreme

You pray for the light
You long for its warmth
You desire its life

The Walls are growing 
The prison encompasses all

You struggle to reach the light
You wait for time to stand still
You hope for the one with the key

Alone you fall to stand no more
Darkness smothers the final embers of hope
Dreams give way to nightmares, to nothing, darkness

What of tomorrow?

		-Falchion
	  	   The Happy Mutant *)





Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: witham_t@apollo.hp.com (Teri Witham)
Subject: Poem:  (no title yet)
Originator: witham_t@yaz
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 14:54:45 GMT
Organization: Hewlett-Packard Company, Apollo Division - Chelmsford, MA

Comments and title suggestions are very welcome!


   Wax poeticaly
   and never say never
   let's have a chocolate
   war smear campaign
   save the whales
   and the fetuses too.
   Your rhododendrons
   are beautiful my dear.
   
                  4/7/92  Teri Witham


| Teri Witham  (508)436-4036                 | Internet: witham_t@apollo.hp.com  |
| Hewlett-Packard Company                    | UUCP: ...mit-eddie!apollo!witham_t|
| Distributed Object Computing Program       |       ...uw-beaver!apollo!witham_t|
| 250 Apollo Drive, Chelmsford, MA 01824     |         ...attunix!apollo!witham_t|
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bross@spartan.ac.BrockU.CA (Brian J Ross)
Subject: Re: Poem:  (no title yet)
Organization: Dept of Computer Science, Brock University
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL4
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 17:10:25 GMT

witham_t@apollo.hp.com (Teri Witham) writes:
: Comments and title suggestions are very welcome!

     The Year I Woke Up To Find Myself Surgically Attached to Dom Deluise
     -------------------------------------------------------------------- 
:    Wax poeticaly
:    and never say never
:    let's have a chocolate
:    war smear campaign
:    save the whales
:    and the fetuses too.
:    Your rhododendrons
:    are beautiful my dear.


-- 
Brian Ross                         "At the end of the day, all money gets you
bross@sandcastle.cosc.brocku.ca     is a better place to watch television."
                                    -- Dana Carvey
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Knight in Shining Armor
Date: 10 Sep 92 08:04:04 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

Back before the *Great Firing* my SO and I celebrated our anniversary.
No, I won't tell you what number as it is probably more years than some
of you have been alive.  :-) Anyway, I was extremely distraught because I
couldn't think of an appropriate gift for him.  His gift to me was to be
side markers for my 1976 Fiat Spider and I wanted to give him something
that was just as meaningful to him.  I was wandering around the mall when
I cam upon one of those weird little shops that sells a collection of
strange items.  Right in front of me there stood a little suit of armor
about 3 feet tall.  I looked at the price tag and started to leave the
shop.  The grey-haired denizen of the shop called me back by saying that
it was the last one she had and she would sell it to me for whatever I
thought it was worth.  I said "thirty dollars" and she started to write
up the saleslip, even though the price tag clearly said $75.

As my daughter and I left the mall with our little Knight in our arms
we did get quite a few stares.  On the way back home I composed this
poem to my SO.  My daughter thinks I'm crazy!  By the way, I've never
seen this shop before and perhaps if I return again to the mall, the
shop will be gone.  My SO *loves* his Knight in Shining Armor and his
poem!


KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR

So long ago
when knights were bold
And still saved 
damsels in distress
You smiled at me
You made me blush
And called me
a goddess.

And now it seems
the years have flown
We've added to our clan
I don't know how
to say this dear
But you are quite a Man.

So as a symbol
of my love
I give to you this knight.
He's small it's true
But holds my love
Champion of the Light.

August 22, 1992


Kathleen O'Toole, Bringer of Light
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ieeug470@Eagle.oscs.montana.edu
Subject: Re: Polish warrior (from WWII)... / Marek
Reply-To: ieeug470@Eagle.oscs.montana.edu
Organization: MSU
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 21:51:09 GMT

In article <1992Sep10.041202.26563@newshost.unh.edu>, marek@mermaid.msel.unh.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
>
>>What do ya all think 'bout that??
>				-- Marek
>
	Thanks Marek, everyone else flamed me...



|---------------------------------------------------------------------|
| Morbid...                       | Somehow the Mike got left out.    |
|---------------------------------------------------------------------|
| They, They betray I'm your only true friend now They,               |
| They'll betray I'm forever there.                                   |
|                                      --Metallica                    |
|---------------------------------------------------------------------|
      I ain't a poet and I know it.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jmc@SAIL.Stanford.EDU (John McCarthy)
Subject: Re: I give up...
Reply-To: jmc@cs.Stanford.EDU
Organization: Computer Science Department, Stanford University
	<10568@sun13.scri.fsu.edu> <1992Sep4.230313.28960@u.washington.edu>
Date: 4 Sep 92 23:57:48

In article <1992Sep4.230313.28960@u.washington.edu> twain@milton.u.washington.edu (Barbara Hlavin) writes:

   In article <10568@sun13.scri.fsu.edu> nall@sun8.scri.fsu.edu 
   (John Nall) writes:

   [re. "Dover Beach"]
   >
   >  Well, when *I* was a freshperson in college, it was one of the poems
   >  which was in a very popular textbook which was used by zillions of
   >  Humanities 101 classes :-)  One of the others was the one that says
   >  something along the lines of "The grave is a nice place, but none do
   >  there embrace".  (Yes, I know those are *not* the exact words - I
   >  can't recall them).  Janis Joplin said it better: "Get it while you can".


   Do you really think so?  Why?

   I yield to no one in my admiration of Janis Joplin -- her great 
   raunchy voice, her lung capacity, her prodigious appetite for self- 
   destruction. 

   But I think "Get it while you can" is saying something different from 
   "The grave's a fine and private place/But none I think do there 
   embrace," or even "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." 

   "Get it while you can" sounds like advice from some unsavory sharpster 
   experienced in self-interest, passed along with a nudge and a wink.  

   While they seem on the surface to be saying the same thing, I think 
   the Marvell and Herrick suggest something more complex, and truer. 

   Just curious -- 

   Barbara, listening for Time's winged chariot  

Also, "Get it while you can" isn't the best of Janis Joplin either.
--
John McCarthy, Computer Science Department, Stanford, CA 94305
*
He who refuses to do arithmetic is doomed to talk nonsense.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: wkinman@esk.compserv.utas.edu.au (Warren Michael Kinman)
Subject: First Posting
Organization: University of Tasmania at Launceston
Date: Wed, 16 Sep 92 02:16:06 GMT

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: wkinman@esk.compserv.utas.edu.au (Warren Michael Kinman)
Subject: Creations of the City
Summary: People 
Keywords: Neurotic
 
Organization: University of Tasmania at Launceston
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 92 05:19:19 GMT

CREATIONS OF THE CITY
=====================

Neurotic people roaming in the city,
Wearing dresses and make-up,
Trying to look pretty.
Do they know where they're going?
Do they really care,
Or are they just waiting,
For the slowing down
Of their heart.
Waiting for the deepest sleep;
The endless nightmare,
When, finally, they become
Part of the beat
Of the city.
The city that created them,
Made them what they are.
The city that bred them,
And then swallowed them in cement and tar.

These people roam the streets,
Looking for an escape;
An outlet for their
Pent up tensions.
They pick on the weak,
The innocent,
And the defenceless.
People make noises;
Scream and shout;
Sign petitions;
Write answers to the questions
On the forms they fill out.
Yet, their pleas go unheeded,
Their demands unfulfilled.
And still, there are
Neurotic people, roaming the city.

W.M.Kinman (C)  1986
From : The Poet-Tree
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Standard C&C most welcome on my foray into the poetry world.
 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska)
Subject: Re: Latex
Reply-To: frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 17:37:40 GMT

In article <1992Sep10.030020.5801@wuecl.wustl.edu>, eah1@gauguin.wustl.edu
(Edward Anthony Hutchins) writes:
> In article <1992Sep7.115606.19114@hellgate.utah.edu>  
> tolman%mindblow.cs.utah.edu@cs.utah.edu (Kenneth Tolman) writes:
> > 
> > Latex was written

You simply must have a \toc and \lof and of course a key word index
for every word. Not to mention footnotes for who wrote this, when it
was written and where. I also think you should change fonts and do all
poetry on a minipage. With bold titles.

--
Frank Poduska                 frank@iastate.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: Jeff.Wang@bbs.oit.unc.edu (Jeff Wang)
Subject: New ideas...
Organization: Extended Bulletin Board Service
Date: Mon, 14 Sep 1992 21:13:46 GMT

Or, perhaps I should say old ideas...  Fall in love, then when you have
absolutely no idea what is wrong (or right) with your life, sit down and
write it all out.  Improves your poetry AND your relationship (yeah
right...)
BTW- I have a complaint for all those females out there, why is it so
impossible to understand your kind?

Crystal Fire (9/13/92)
Flames flashing brightly in the light
remind me of the heatr of the day.
Warmth radiating from the knight
who shows a sword of glaring gray.
Light refracted in a rainbow
in colors so twisting bright,
shine so bright upon a ships bow
with naught but dolphins to the right.
But what I like the best,
gleaning in gold and water,
is a rose on the crest
red with color and matter.
Sapphires shine with emrald leaves,
crystal stesm wild with colour.
A garden where roses grow in sheafs
shows unending love and glamour.
Flames flash brightly in the night,
belittle what there is of might.
For though the flames might never die
time shall make might wither and be black.

(While we're on the subject of time...)

Time (9/14/92)
It is a force you can not stop.
It withers and kills nonstop.
It's not an army you can see.
Nor a spector that you can meet.
Where in the world has it been hiding?
What and who has it been finding?
No time to love,
No time to laugh.
The world it has gone,
to where hurts are done.,
There is no way to hide,
time will not be mine.
On and on it rolls,
caring none and taking toll.
No time to love,
no time to laugh.
There is too liuttle time,
and even less to dine.
Pain washes away,
Carpe Dieme(sp?) holds sway.
Wait, let it be.
Wait, wait for me.
Need-
More time to love,
Need-
more time to laugh.
Why?
Why?
--
   The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the University of
     North Carolina at Chapel Hill, the Campus Office for Information
        Technology, or the Experimental Bulletin Board Service.
           internet:  bbs.oit.unc.edu or 152.2.22.80
From: rbear@inferno.uoregon.edu (Richard Bear)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Uncle Dave, 2nd try...
Date: 14 Sep 92 05:22:32 GMT
Organization: University of Oregon Network Services
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL5


"It isn't just age," they told me. "His mind wanders,
and he won't know who you are, though he's been told;
He'll be friendly and gentlemanlike, and he wants
to be part of the conversation. Just string along
and nod and smile, even though he won't
make any sense at all, and you'll do fine."

I sat across the coffee table from his chair.
We made a few remarks, aimless and kind,
about the weather and his daughter's surgery:
the emergency, now past, that brought the family
together so far west of their Wisconsin home.
After a pause, he took up another theme.
"I was a trucker; always was a trucker,
and never saw the girls much as they grew.
Margaret did everything, and did it all well,
and raised them, and raised me too, whenever I
stopped by. We did okay, I guess; it's been
forty-nine winters now." He paused again,
and gazed, it seemed to me, a long way off
east by northeast, beyond my right shoulder. 
"When I first saw Margaret, I knew right away
she was the one. I talked her up and talked
till I ran all out of soda money, and then
we both got done with high school and hitched up,
graduation and wedding all at once, like.
We went up country to the cabin on the lake.
Ever been to Wisconsin?" I said no.
"If you ever get the chance, go in summer.
Get you a cabin on a lake. Wisconsin
has fine lakes: clean water, mean fish; nothing
like it anywhere else. There was this rock
right by the cabin, see, and deep water there
just off the rock. Margaret put on her suit
and swimming cap, and dived off. I stood
and watched her swimming, oh twenty feet down.
I never had seen anything so pretty,
and I never have since." We sat awhile in silence,
man and man, and soon the others came
from the kitchen, to rescue us from each other.
I was asked, later that evening, how confused
he'd been, and had to answer truthfully: I
had met a man in his right mind, and clear as a bell.

He died about two weeks after, somewhere in Florida.
I try to remember him, but I cannot see his face;
when I try, I see Margaret, eighteen and very strong,
long of arm and back, dividing the cold clean waters:
from where I stand on the open rock, I notice
the June sun, low in the east, shining forever.

rbear@oregon.uoregon.edu

sorry about that blank...getting used to the software...
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--People are important
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Mon, 14 Sep 92 17:52:38 GMT


                        People are important

It is evident
that people
are important
to other people
just look at the phonebook
how many people
in each town
are willing to display
the way to them
it is only when you arrive
that it becomes
apparent
that things are not
as easy as they seemed.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lorenmo@microsoft.com (Loren Moore)
Subject: a woman of my dreams
Date: 14 Sep 92 19:45:06 GMT
Organization: Microsoft Corp.

I posted this in alt.sex, and alt.sex.stories, and was encouraged to post it
here. I hope you enjoy! -daemien

Disclaimer: I hate disclaimers, and wouldn't put one here if this poem
didn't contain sexually explicit material

Disclaimer disclaimer: I hereby revoke, and disclaim the previous disclaimer


a woman of my dreams

I saw her again today
she was scantily clad with desire
in heaven's sweet arms she was robed
and no earthly delight could enshrine

her beauty was mostly of flesh
with eyes rimmed in fiery lust
as slowly she slipped off her clothes
she begged for my fullest attention

I couldn't believe what I saw
it was difficult keeping it soft
but I saw no reason to hide
that bulge beginning to rise

I discarded my clothing as well
as she posed in explicit delight
I saw as she dropped down her pants
a shaved cunny was hiding inside

in unabashed boldness she spread
her pink moistness for just me to see
and slyly she fingered and played
and licked her sweet lingering bliss

I longed for a tongue for to kiss
but a barrier kept us apart
so I stroked my own slippery thing
and spoke darkened whispers to her

I came with a flood of a mental discharge
as I watched her sweet passion explode
and I yearned for her weight on top of my face
but the moment was fading away

so I bid her adieu
and I washed myself off
and I placed her wrinkled pages
back into the box

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sabbott@nmsu.edu (SDA)
Subject: Vowels
Organization: WHorshipers of Lady LibertY (WHoLLY)
Date: Sat, 5 Sep 1992 00:10:11 GMT





	    A    rm       Y              A  nts


	     rav  E   nous       v E  ctor


			  I  nsect


	    micr  O       c        O sm


	    U   niforml   Y             U  niform





--

"Life is like a big C program with no documentation"  - Ted Slater

	\\\\\sean/////
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Welfare State
Keywords: Foster homes/foster children
Date: 14 Sep 92 02:56:00 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana

WELFARE STATE

He sat there with the remote in his hand
grazing the channels at warp-speed
trying to put that scream from his mind:
NO!
He shook his head and grimaced,
wiped the tears with shaking hands and
turned the volume up and cried
with echoes echoes echoes
of his children's voices as they sped
out of his life forever, gone,
their clothes in boxes, runny noses,
dirty faces
DAMNIT!
It was NOT HIS FAULT
he lost his job, and then his wife,
and now his babies...

all that's left is sitting there,
remote in hand, futile rage and
static on an ancient screen.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Confession
Date: 11 Sep 92 23:37:13 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


CONFESSION

Unhealthy obsession...
unholy confession...
words twisted harshly
and wrung from your lips.

I want to know what haunts you,
what ghost devours you, leaves you chilled...

You hear my voice, I envelope your ears
and I ravish your mind.
Deep, deeper still than the thrum of mock dragons;
prosthetics, mere props; and my world icy cold.

What thrill makes your shriek in your mind
(in my mind)
as I whisper your name
and drink meaningless prayers.

You steal my words, make paupers my lips
and barren my soul...

Unholy confession...


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--I am instead a man
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Mon, 14 Sep 92 14:46:34 GMT


                              I am instead a man
                                (for She)

Your love
it is so limpid
and pure
you are so
without malice
that being with you
becomes punishment
and I run fleeing
fast far into fields
of weeds sans tulips
in which dense variety makes room
even for pettiness and anger
where I can roam
yes carelessly
and stamp wild hooves onto helpless flowers
even like the ones which I send you
when my heart turns to giving
and yours is the altar for all offerings
I am not good
you see
not evil either
I am instead a man
in which these and all pairs other
find a makeshift home
it is
everything
here
that ever was
just unordered and all contested
will not be final
until my death
when all order one could ask
will replace my vital restlessness.
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - The Fan
Keywords: madness, obsession, death, etc.
Date: 9 Sep 92 02:07:06 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana



THE FAN


The first time I looked into your eyes I saw ambition,
ruthlessness and a fearful little boy.

I've learned to weave my magic symbols into blinds, it seems.

The reality was a tired man who wanted to go home,
to kiss his wife, to drink a cold, neat gin...

to take the tangle of his work out of his hair.

God, how wrong I was!  In desperation grew a mystery,
an enigmatic spirit, troubled soul who longed for life
with some illusion of a happy ending,
look for Sarah!  find her full of all the beauty,
let her kill the pain and let her stroke your brow
with her cool and tender fingertips...

Sarah was a dream I planted as a seed, and she grew, too.

I was Sarah, love incarnate, in those crazy fantasies;
and I knew you, as a lover, confidante and friend
that no one else could ever be.

But I killed Sarah with my schemes, and you closed the door.

You moved into a new house, got a new phone...

I wasn't really mad, was I?  And I'm not crazy now.

I refuse to believe it.  Why can't you see how right
we were for one another?
Damn it, you can't go away!  I won't let you!

got to find a way to keep you, can't let go i'll lose
my mind i'll lose my soul i'll die and i can't die
alone like this, wretched, no one believes i know
you, we're lovers, you'll marry me and name me sarah
give me babies make me feel alive again
GIVE ME BACK MY SANITY!

I'm not crazy...and I can take you with me.

Want to watch me while I pull the trigger?

Don't worry, I could never hurt *you*...I love you.
But we can die together and be reborn in our
true bodies the way were supposed to before
God fucked up.

(...silence, broken, maddened laughter...
sharp report just once, then anguished,
heaving, tearing sobs...)



-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: adolphso@mizar.usc.edu (adolphson)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.theatre
Subject: Re: help needed: what musical is this song from?
Date: 4 Sep 1992 22:37:17 -0700
Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: mizar.usc.edu

In article <nolan.715660358@helios> nolan@helios.unl.edu writes:
| I've been trying to come up with the musical or movie that has a certain
| duet in it.  Man (Howard Keel?)

Russell Nype on Broadway, Donald O'Connor in the movie.

| is singing "I hear music but there's no one 
| there..."
|
| Woman (Ethel Merman?) 

But of course.

| is singing "...You're not sick, you're just in love."
|
| My wife and I are both drawing a blank.  Help!!

"You're Just in Love" from _Call Me Madam_ (Irving Berlin).

Arne