HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: in the soft enticing
Date: 29 Sep 92 12:23:39 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=

	in the soft enticing cradle of your scented body warmth
	I melt, not failing to inhale
	it's a place to be...
	a space to breathe your shoulder, turned just so
	just resting like the world was not on fire
	but I know it's just your smoky outdoor skin
	and this moment...this slumbered time we're in

-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: And Yet Another Sonnet as an Acrostic
Date: 1 Oct 92 09:19:01 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

Well, since we're on the topic of Sonnets, here's another one.  I wrote
this one quite recently (last year to be exact).  It doesn't quite fit
all of Richard Bear's criteria since it is written about a man.  However,
the poem itself is really about an idea rather than the man.  This one
was fairly difficult as I had two challenges.  One, to write it as a 
Shakespearean Sonnet and Two, as an Acrostic.  I'm afraid I'm revealing
another of my *passions* by posting this, but what the heck.  :-) I have
10 of these altogether (one for each member of the crew, plus a couple
of others.)  



			CREATIVE GENIUS


          Come listen while I tell you of this man
          Real visionary of a future time,
          Enriching all our lives.  We never can
          Allow ourselves to ever stop the climb.
          To boldly go where none have gone before
          Inspired us to strive, achieve the best.
          Vast distances in space?  But even more
          Expanded tolerance must be our quest.
          Gene Roddenberry set us on this road.
          Eventually a harmony attained.
          Now as before we have a heavy load
          Infinite diversity our gain.
               Unless we go with open hearts and minds
               Severe a future for all humankind.


                                   Marguerite K.A. Petersen
                                   October 25, 1991

Kathleen O'Toole,
Bringer of Light



     A tribute In Memorium to Gene Roddenberry, The Great Bird of
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moonbeam@iastate.edu (Timothy J Cockerham)
Subject: A softly blowing wind
Organization: Iowa State University, Ames IA
Date: Tue, 6 Oct 1992 17:14:07 GMT


	Speak, gentle wind.
Let forth your currents and weave
a story in the softly falling leaves.
Bear us on your shoulder,
over fields and groves of autumn colored trees.
	Shine, noble moon.
Illuminate our dark nights with your splendour.
Like a lover in a darkened bedroom, alight
in virgin beauty, with innocent passion in her eyes.
-----

	-Tim-
	Please respond in any way.
From: dsimon@informix.com (Nomis Nod)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Self-Hate
Date: 30 Sep 92 13:47:11 GMT
Reply-To: dsimon@informix.com
Organization: <NULL>

Comments?


Self-Hate?

Who have I shamed
	but myself?
Who have I pained
	but myself?
My ignorance
	again has cost me.
This time nearly my life.

Why do I do
	The stupid things?
Why do I feel
	The stupid way?
Why can't I laugh
	The normal way?
Why can't I cry
	in private?

Today I lost a friend
	Through ignorance my own.
Today I destroyed my hope
	Through foolishness my own.

Self-Hate
	Self-Loathing
		Self-Destruction
<Self-Pity>

Oh life...


-----------------------
dsimon@informix.com

Wiggin's cried out, "Be careful!!"  And then promptly slipped off the ledge into
the pool below.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: stedman@aludra.usc.edu (I. Stedman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Two, 'Questions' and 'Farewell IV'
Date: 4 Oct 1992 00:16:02 -0700
Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: aludra.usc.edu

     Questions
 
And the questions have no answers, they still go on and on,
And the questions have no answers, the mysteries lifelong,
And the questions have no answers, they'll be here when we're gone.
 
And all the fear still gathered there, the freezing midnight spawn
Reassembled from the flashes in morning's mirror strong,
And the questions have no answers, they still go on and on.
 
And crusades and terror reigns casting God as but a pawn
To the whirling turbine's turns, singing the lonesome song,
And the questions have no answers, they'll be here when we're gone.
 
And the newborn innocence of a lost forgotten fawn
That trades its love for fungus lands where nothing shall belong
And the questions have no answers, they still go on and on.
 
And that which lasts for aeons, some brand of automaton
Will find even eternity to go on far too long,
And the questions have no answers, they'll be here when we're gone.
 
And silence is the only cry from stars rising at dawn,
And even that meaningless claim is lightyears in the wrong,
And the questions have no answers, they still go on and on,
And the questions have no answers, they'll be here when we're gone.
 
                                                       IS`92
 
 
And an ObSonnet (Of sorts) >
 
     Farewell IV
 
I have seen the Southern Cross,
From a Polynesian sky,
I have watched an albatross,
Take to its wings and fly.
 
I saw alabaster ships
Drift aimless down the Nile.
I saw blinded fingertips
Reach up to touch a smile.
 
I see a handful driftwood fires,
Across the smoothed sands.
I see ten thousand sapphires,
Glittering over my hands.
 
But when I grasp those gems they disappear,
For there is no beauty when you're not here.
 
                         IS`91

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,soc.culture.pakistan,soc.culture.indian,soc.culture.afganistan,news.groups
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Thu, 1 Oct 1992 17:44:32 GMT

ali@simdiv1.mentorg.com (Ali Haveliwala) writes:

>Marek, 
>
>I think you got it wrong. Samit actually is trying to be sarcastic here. 
>Kashmiris dont really speak urdu as their mother tongue. They speak
>Kashmiri. Netters correct me if I'm wrong.  
>
>
>Talking about Kashmir per se is being done by volume already in the
>in soc.culture.indian and pakistan newsgroups. I dont think it belongs
>at all to the proposed "rec.arts.poems.urdu". 
>^^^^^^
>
>
>Regards
>
>Ali
>

Many assents on news.groups indicate enthusiasm for an "Urdu newsgroup".
The 3rd RFD talks broadly about discussing Urdu, the culture and the
language.  If so, please reconsider, Ali, if hanging a sub-rec.arts.poems
newsgroup is the right way to go about it.

It has been said before and I would like to say it again:  It appears
that a soc.culture.urdu and a soc.culture.urdu.ghzalas (or whatever) 
is what people really want.  Let's not start a rush of rec.arts.poems.*
newsgroups by setting an example -- I don't think this is your intention.

I mean, do we also need rec.arts.books.urdu?  rec.bicycles.urdu?
alt.dan-quale.urdu?...

				-- Marek
From: kyrsten@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Kyrsten Swazey)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Beatles
Date: 1 Oct 92 00:45:50 GMT
Distribution: usa
Organization: NASA Ames Research Center


                       THE BEATLES
The beatles try to hide -
they cover their eyes with dust.
mothballs alive; eating out
leaving the core of rot and gore,
pressing outwards - yearning to explore
the swarms wriggle and squirm
on the ground and in the air, even
beneath the earth - the dirt and soot
blanketing the filth of disease
of death and, in time, rebirth
a screaming stab of life
piercing the fabric of reality like
a sharpened carving knife
glinting steel, whetted edge honed
to slice burlap like silk
but the roaches and mites glisten and tumble
falling out of whitened eye sockets
burrowing through hips and ribs
they whisper and trickle
through the corpses they tickle and clean



any reactions?
_XTC_
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Her
Keywords: to her, if not to him
Date: 7 Oct 92 02:53:56 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


HER

Hair worn short, outdated chic -
longer falls a sacrifice to modern times
and tropic, overheated climes -
sunburned, freckled;
Grecian nose, too small;
too perfect;
wrinkles fine in smiles,
wreathes around herself in tiny lines
and typify her bygone era.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: baldwin@cogsci.ucsd.EDU (Ken Baldwin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Trying To Be Round
Date: 3 Oct 92 03:19:06 GMT
Article-I.D.: cogsci.1657
Organization: University of California, San Diego


Trying To Be Round
_____________________________________________

The little bursts of her words,
set against the echo of the escaping air,
implied that it was my fault,
but I couldn't have forseen the flat,
anymore than the tire could have known
that its easy rolling life was about to expire 
here, on this lonely stretch of road,
short of any meaningful destination.

Of course all tires, on some road,
suffer such a passing, though if confronted, 
they turn away from this truth, 
knowing no other response to
the powers which threaten them.
Perhaps they hope, somewhere in their hearts,
for a heroic, high-speed blowout
of burning rubber and screaming chrome.

At least they know enough to be round.
They are not fooled 
by their thin, white-walled selves
into fighting the road
and resenting the weather for their wear.
They simply roll on, knowing that 
nothing can live well
which does not make a circle.
_____________________________________________

by Kenneth Baldwin		[02 OCT 92]

Comments and criticism welcome...
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: deborahz@titan.ucc.umass.edu (DEBORAH L ZANDELL)
Subject: Re: stacked in your brains
Keywords: Rilke
Organization: University of Massachusetts, Amherst
Date: Mon, 5 Oct 1992 01:14:36 GMT

 
Keywords: Rilke

Rilke is beautiful.  There's no other word to describe it: he's just
plain beautiful.  His _Letters to a Young Poet_ might be worth reading,
but especially, oh especially, if you read German, try reading his
poems!  

Mu ich schreiben?  is his question,
Translation: Must I write?

That's the most important line from his _Letters to a Young Poet_.

If the young poet says, yes, I must write, he's well on his way.

Personally, I extrapolate from that.  I must excel at everything I do,
poetry or not.  And it's a personal thing, which isn't influenced by
what other people think of what I'm doing.  

Deborah.
deborahz@titan.ucc.umass.edu
From: hornpete@uctvax.uct.ac.za (Peter Horn)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Hide and Seek (Poem)
Date: 2 Oct 92 19:12:00 GMT
Article-I.D.: uctvax.1992Oct2.171200.202966
Organization: University of Cape Town

HIDE AND SEEK
-------------

Take care in the night and
hide behind straw huts and bushes
hide behind drums and guitars
hide behind laughter and tears
hide behind singsong and sunshine

Take care in the night
I have seen a red eye
and an iron net to drag the slums
a net of darkness and cunning

Take care in the night and
hide behind yes baas and no baas


Peter Horn

-- 
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Peter Horn 
German Department, UCT 
43 Trevor Road, Lansdowne 7764, Cape, Republic of  South Africa . 
Phone Home ZA-(021)696-1983		e-Mail: HORNPETE@UCTVAX.UCT.AC.ZA 
      Work ZA-(021)650-2936		Fax ZA-(021) 650-3726 
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Peter Horn, Walking through our sleep (Poems), Ravan Press 1974
Peter Horn, Poems 1964-1989, Ravan Press 1991
Peter Horn, An Axe in the Ice (Poems), COSAW Publishing House 
forthcoming September/October 1992
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Ravan Press, P.O.Box 31134, Braamfontein 2017, Republic of South Africa
COSAW Publishing House, P.O.Box 421007, Fordsburg 2033, Republic of 
South Africa.
USA: Ohio University Press Fax (614) 593-4536
Britain: Central Books, Fax (71) 378-1811
Australia: New Era Books, Fax (02) 596-0045
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: jqtaylor@hpdmd48.boi.hp.com (John Quill Taylor)
Date: Wed, 23 Sep 1992 18:45:50 GMT
Subject: Doctor's Orders
Organization: Hewlett Packard - Boise, ID
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems





                  just drink your medicine
                  and shut up.
             i'll let you know when it's time
                             to get better.

                                 - jqt -
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: haight@sun.ipl.rpi.edu (Liz Haight)
Subject: three
Summary: war/death in a child's eyes
Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, NY
Date: Wed, 30 Sep 1992 15:36:31 GMT

	____________________________________________


	***this is being posted for my brother, 
	   charles vickery, of oxford, pennsylvania;
	   he does not have access to r.a.p.***

	____________________________________________


     three
     _____

three men lie dead
outside my door
abandoned by the road		
three passersby
don't ask why
these three men had to die

three army trucks
pick them up
and slowly drive away

my teacher sees me
at my door
waiting for the bus
she takes my hand
we walk to school
just the two of us

at school we learn to count
today the number's three
my teacher's holding pencils
how many do you see?

what else comes in three's she asks
three trucks i volunteer
that's very good she comforts me
where do we go from here?

next comes four
then five, then six
seven eight nine ten
after ten we start again
one two three

my teacher asks what comes in three's?
i raise my hand and beg her please
she looks my way her eyes i see
but this time doesn't call on me

if she did she'd hear me say
three men died outside today
that's very good she'd comfort me
where do we go from here?



-- 
------------------
Elizabeth           /	Don't pass me by like a stranger ...
haight@ipl.rpi.edu  \	    Don't leave me here all alone, so alone, 
		    /		I'm alone ... Talk to me.  [Chris Isaac]
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (Maven o'Mirth)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: fall is a bad time for butterflies
Date: 1 Oct 92 01:50:13 GMT
Organization: Seattle University, Seattle WA

In article <1992Sep30.131050.7216@iscsvax.uni.edu> gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu writes:
>yet another poem about fall.  what is it about the seasons that colors our
>thoughts?
>
>**************************************************************************\
[lovely poem, deleted to please my newsreader]
>***************************************************************************
>carolee

I have been trying for weeks
now
to stop the turning of the leaves
with my words
but I am
cold, cold, cold
and I had forgotten
how winter came clothed in the brilliant strange
sun of October.


Dunno, but I've got the same bug.
--
Sheryl Stover				|  How passing fair is youth,
*>sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu<*		|  Forever fleeting away;
and Hemingway, feline philosopher	|  Who happy would be, let him be;
Watch this .sig for news of the		|  Of tomorrow, who can say?
upcoming album from Seattle's 		|	-Lorenzo de'Medici
premier band, the Medici!		|
From: bush@fermi.physics.upenn.edu (Judith Newton)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: poem: Urdu
Date: 27 Sep 92 20:09:11 GMT
Organization: Phys. Dept., Univ. of Pennsylvania


	Urdu
        -------------------------------------------------------------

	Lingering on the blackboard in our conference room:
	The words
	Urdu 
	and 
	Horde.

	I miss Farukkh and his passion for his homeland.
	Over coffee
	After the latest department politics--
		What would he do, stuck in experimental physics?
		What would I do, a woman in a strange land?--
	We would talk of words and tensions and lonliness.

	At some point he told me how the two words related,
	And wrote them on the board so I could see them. 
	
	The only other words I know 
	That entered English from those regions
	Are
	Pajama
	and
	Shampoo.


	- - - - - - - j u d i t h   n e w t o n  - - - - - - - 

			   27 September 92
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Clouds
Date: 26 Sep 92 16:07:50 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


CLOUDS

A cloud betrays my inner thoughts in multitudes of forms --
  Freud would laugh, I think, to the associations that I make.
My heart leaps to my throat, forbidding shields me from the sun
  and shadows dance and thrill with joy to my uncertainty.

A face unfolds within the softly winding sheets of fleece --
  no one around could see your Spartan features there revealed.
I laugh with pleasure -- auspicious omen, frisking in the wind
  that winks your eye, accords me sweet, peaceful dreams.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: perching look Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Date: 6 Oct 92 17:24:38 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <1992Oct5.151712.28258@wam.umd.edu> sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon) writes:
)In article <260@uiunix.ui.org> donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:
)>the initials r.a.p.u. are the same as my proposed newsgroup:
)>	REC.ARTS.POEMS.UNICORNS
)
)
)I suggest newsgroup rec.arts.poems.hummingbirds.perched.look

I second the motion.
)-- 
)I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
)stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu


-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
Organization: University of Illinois at Chicago
Date: Sunday, 27 Sep 1992 00:51:21 CDT
From: <U27317@uicvm.uic.edu>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: poem-Precipitation Cannibal

Precipitation Cannibal  (goofy, eh?)

I feel them coming, one by one
They're hitting me-I like it!
Harder and Faster
I know they're better than that
Come on
Rain down on me
Rain
Soon I will run



        Mel
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alix@indetech.com (Alexandria North)
Subject: Cobalt Glass 
Organization: Independence Technologies, Inc. Fremont, CA
Date: Wed, 30 Sep 1992 18:11:23 GMT

COBALT GLASS
------------

As a gift you gave me cobalt glass
cobalt as the sky above
that eve we kissed
when twilight's protests to the night
were echoed briefly
falsely
with my arms
I didn't think you would remember

And as I gather up the blooms
from `round the window sill
and place them gently in this vase
of bluest memory
I think of you
Moves as smooth as fine blown glass
and wisps of mystery as deep the night

I could stare for hours 
into glass as deeply colored as this vase
mystery still intrigues me
when I know it inside out
yet claim it mine

I love this vase.


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: fallas@athena.mit.edu ()
Subject: "tame"
Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Date: Fri, 2 Oct 1992 17:55:34 GMT


i knelt in the grass
felt the flowers brush
against my cheeks and a
rough voice said

"little girl, tame me"

i looked around and saw
him at the edge of the
wood lost and wild and
sighing

"little girl, tame me"

i looked up at his light
footstep rustling the
flowers and suddenly he
crouched before me

"tame me," he whispered
i hesitantly reached a hand
and touched, stroked the warmth
of his hair

he trembled and pulled away as
if to run from me, then turned
and looked back, his eyes fey

"tame me," he implored
i rose and gently put my
arms around his neck, dared
to hold him

he bent his head weeping
tearing at my hands like
one possessed he cried
"tame me!"

now i kneel in the grass
feel the flowers brush
against my cheeks and a
rough voice says

"little girl..."
From: larryw@hplsla.hp.com (Larry Whatley)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Kansas...
Date: 28 Sep 92 15:35:09 GMT
Article-I.D.: hplsla.59260041
Organization: HP Lake Stevens, WA



              Kansas: I Had Forgotten


          Your ripe wheat, rustling
          like petticoats

          Ghosts of cicadas, marching still
          along the underside of low branches

          Sunshine after sunset, glowing
          on the bark of elms like moonlight

          Swallows at the barn door, skating
          past my ear

          Moths, tending
          moonflowers

          Lightning bugs, blinking
          like candles in a forest

          Lazy highways, stretching
          to a toy horizon


- Larry Whatley
  8/5/92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rbear@inferno.uoregon.edu (Richard Bear)
Subject: On Continuing Revelation
Organization: University of Oregon Network Services
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL5
Date: Mon, 5 Oct 92 01:39:47 GMT


George Fox sits in hollow trees in the rain, 
and seeks this same God whom all the people 
call upon in half jest from pillowed pews.
The King! The King! cry they, asleep, while he
sees the chains still on their legs, and his, 
and questions this, and them, asking of priests 
and of great men of learning, hearing but vacancy 
in their sonorous answers. Then, in a high place 
(it is often in these high places that it happens, 
take heed) he heeds a voice no chain will stand, 
and his heart leaps. All creation has now 
for him a new smell, such as it had not before, 
and the God-swarmed man's heart leaps over the world, 
and over its bad master. Good George, broad head 
bible-steeped, sees through the steeple to the soul's 
church, and calls in the voice of Isaiah: come, 
buy wine and bread without money and without price! 
And many come to hear the mad man speak; 
life is hard, and God's fools must be their fun. 
But this one will strike sparks, his Christ-fire spreads! 
Hell helpless for once looks on, as love, the power 
of God, rises from the dead; even England 
draws saints' breath, and some for a time are such 
as God in Eden walked with. 


rbear
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors 9158262)
Subject: Universal Wedlock
Organization: Memorial University of Newfoundland
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1992 17:33:22 GMT

        "Pancakes inept"

      The greatest pancake a mortal may savor, is not a pancake at all,
          but a multitude of right angles.
                Mouthwash.

        "Bandanas of steel"

     Feel the broken splits of wood pierce your hand?
     The shards of glass which rack your body with pain?
     Feel the staples impailing you to the floor?
                  -uh, no.
     Thats because you're standing on my chest!

 

   tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors)
   POETIC WHEELBARROW: We write the poems really suck.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rbear@inferno.uoregon.edu (Richard Bear)
Subject: We in the Suburbs
Organization: University of Oregon Network Services
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL5
Date: Sat, 3 Oct 92 17:08:18 GMT


In suburbs the sheltered sit drinking and saying,
each to each other, how beautiful the lawns are,
lawns that are vast in their chemical sameness.
Beyond lie the farmlands, abused and abandoned.
Their fenceposts stagger in the ground, and the barns
drunkenly sag and sigh, and fall amid brambles.
Elsewhere, wherever is nowhere on road maps,
are the ponds and the rivers: the willows and alders,
and nests of the songbirds, tilted and broken.
There are hills, and oaks, and the firs and their fine 
golden needles, and the rocks, and the lingering bees.
All this we deny, and seek for salvation
in towers of glass, of gypsum, of steel, and of sand.
We keep to our ribbons of asphalt, and visions of power,
and we are forgetting the debt that we owe to the land.

rbear