HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: so it's kayaks eh?
From: jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu
Date: 25 Jan 93 16:54:00 EST

			Which side of the kayak?


	In northern Florida there are rivers.
	The Santa fe is black
	The Swanee is brown.
	In a place outside High Springs
	Sante fe goes underground
	in a mile she comes up again
	and later joins Swanee.

	One spring, Devil's eye, flows into Santa fe.
	You can dive Devil's eye
	go down two hundred and fifty feet
	and keep swimming til your tanks go dry.

	At the surface Devil's eye is blue.
	You can grab a rope
	and swing into its crystal pool
	or put on a mask and dive the cave.

	Inside the cave you stand on the ceiling
	watch swimmers chase their bubbles
	back to boats on the waters surface.

	If you hold your breath long enough
	you'll become confused.

	Kayaks are shells
	they skim the surface
	propelled by paddles
	which split the waters skin. 


Jean Ann Bolliger
January 25, 1993
From: jstc_ss@troi.cc.rochester.edu (j. collins)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: archives of rec.arts.poems
Date: 23 Jan 93 22:11:21 GMT
Organization: University of Rochester - Rochester, New York

Is there an archive for rec.arts.poems?
If so could you let me know where I could find it...

peace,
-justin m. collins <jstc_ss@troi.cc.rochester.edu>
From: bg@stein.u.washington.edu (Bill Whitson)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Envious of Writer's Block (C/C always welcome)
Date: 27 Jan 93 01:08:28 GMT
Article-I.D.: shelley.1k4nacINNor3
Organization: University of Washington
NNTP-Posting-Host: stein.u.washington.edu

I do not write
when I am happy.
I am too busy
having fun.
I write when
alone/angry/depressed
kept awake
by my own thoughts
unable to reach
what I desire
not even motivated enough
to consider suicide.

I am a very
prolific writer.

-Bill Whitson

(generic legal disclaimer - This is mine!)
From: gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: the spinach of my discontent
Date: 24 Jan 93 18:39:21 -0600
Organization: University of Northern Iowa

        "this is the spinach of your painting career"
        ----------------------------------------------------------------------
        i don't write anymore.
        i have to paint.
        in painting 1, taught by a woman who always wears 
        purple blue and green
        and smells of lilies of the valley
        i am forced to paint lemons and peppers and gourds
        and bottles and i'm sure melons and cowskulls
        and i don't want to deal with that reality
        i don't want to deal with that boring food-oriented
        standstill reality
        and does that make me an escapist?
        i do not want to match the color of masking tape
        with a brush and paint on cardboard
        i want to paint what it feels like to stick to something
        and not be the same color as that which i am sticking to
        not clear
        not scotch
        sort of a pale beige but not fitting in anyway
        very task-oriented and useful
        and sturdy
        like masking tape
        i am interested in finding fifteen different greens
        but not because that is my assignment.
        not because i want to know what they are called in books
        or how to make them
        and i do not want to be graded on my ability to create
        numerous secondary colors
        but because i find it comforting
        beautiful and poetic to say
        "fifteen different greens"
        because it sounds nice and i suppose it's nice to know
        that fifteen different greens 
        or oranges
        or violets
        can happen
        and maybe even more
                
        i do not feel like an artist when painting anything inanimate
        simply to render it
        to show my skill
        but i must eat my spinach and peppers and suck on those bitter lemons
        with a thousand different violets to fill in the shadows

 
-
- e-mail responses preferred, please-
********************************************************************************
*   carolee    *      *            *   "listen,for(out of all    *     *
 gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu   *  *  * things)dream is noone's fool"      *
 *                 *               *           *      __e.e. cummings *
*******************************************************************************          

Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:14000 alt.suicide.holiday:3492 alt.personals:26664
From: megazone@realsoon.WPI.EDU (MegaZone)
Newsgroups: wpi.students.vox,rec.arts.poems,alt.suicide.holiday,alt.personals
Subject: Xenophobe -C&C
Date: 26 Jan 1993 01:48:22 GMT
Organization: WPI Discordian Society, Undocumented Cabal
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: realsoon.wpi.edu

Xenophobe

Have you heard the one...
Easy to laugh,
At difference.

Moron, Geek, Idiot...
Inacceptance,
Of equality.

You're a total...
Disregard,
For the truth.

Who cares about...
Typical,
Of society.

You're not the same...
Yes, you are different,
From me.

I really hate...
Do you really?
How sad.

-megazone, found out I was an idiot and a moronic geek today, 1/25/92
From: alvstad@mari.acc-admin.stolaf.edu (Joel D Alvstad)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poetry Sample...Coming soon
Date: 26 Jan 93 20:14:06 GMT
Organization: St. Olaf College; Northfield, MN

Hi!  I am new to this particular newsgroup, but I do frequently write poetry,
and would like some unbiased criticism on my work.  I will post some as soon
as I have a spare moment.

Joel D. Alvstad
St. Olaf College
Northfield, MN
alvstad@stolaf.edu
From: megazone@buckaroo.WPI.EDU (MegaZone)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Three poems
Date: 26 Jan 93 20:39:59 GMT
Organization: WPI Discordian Society, Undocumented Cabal
NNTP-Posting-Host: buckaroo.wpi.edu

In article <gj156879.728075545@cunews> gj156879@alfred.carleton.ca ( gj student 156879) writes:
>comes off sounding a bit smug:  "I know what she wants and she
>doesn't".  Also kinda naive sounding too:  women do in fact want sex.

HEHEHE... Ahem....

First you accuse him of knowing better than the person in question... Then
you do the same thing with the seemingly factual statement 'women do in fact
want sex.'

You are speaking in that statement for EVERY woman: past, present, or future.

I'm male, but I do not deem myself omniscent when it comes to all men. I can
only speak for myself, and I can say with total confidence that there are 
times that I do not want sex. I feel that I can extrapolate from that to the
hypothesis that at least one, probably more, women have, do, or will, feel the
same.

Why do you presume to know that women want sex? If you have said 'men do in
fact want sex' I could prove that statement false immediately. But, not being 
female, I cannot with 100% certainty make that claim.

However, let's just say that my uncertainty is negligible.

All generalizations are false... (I love that statement...)

There are times that I really would love to just lay back on the grass with
my love and watch the stars. And for me sex would, I don't know, change the
emotions, affect the memory... There is much more to life than just sex.

###############################################################################
# I have one prejudice, and that is against stupidity.  Use your mind, think! #
#Email megazone@wpi.wpi.edu  Moderator, WPI anime FTP site 130.215.24.1 /anime#
###############################################################################
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Finally, a posthumous kayak poem
Date: 22 Jan 93 14:41:55 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054


		Kayakalypse
		---------------------------------

		I pulled a baby from a kayak
		in the thick reeds of a lake side.

		Covered with chaff, his weeping
		ripped me like a sharp appliance,
		light and noise and angry wires.

		My feeble arms, numb clutchers,
		broke open a two millenium egg.


		Posthumous O'Toole
		1-22-93
		aka
		22-1-93 (for Tom)

-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig

Aaron Radomski, where are you???
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Sis
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 24 Jan 1993 17:18:02 GMT


                                Sis

My sister was Playmate of the Month
even though it was only for March
a cold wet month
not like her at all
warm and needy
and when we would make love
when we were all we had
she would spread her arms wide
like Jesus after he gave up the ghost
her arms all askance
saying
do whatever you want just so you WANT me it doesn't matter what
and later
when they laid her flattened upon the page
the look on her face was all open
like her legs
and she was happy
because they wanted her.





-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--All startled within
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 1993 17:55:56 GMT


                           All startled within

Words made in the storm of the white page retreating into
meaning has nothing to do with soldiers playing in earnest
in the deep white snow of empty space on which they dance
in serious intent
seekers of the margin obliterated
wanting that other world where no rules apply
streaming the eye channels of thousands
raiding consciousness
all startled within
Company Charlie doing as ordered
bidding insistently
for your very mind.





-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: dali@hardy.u.washington.edu (Poe)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: poem: He's dead, Jim
Date: 28 Jan 1993 06:59:10 GMT
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
NNTP-Posting-Host: hardy.u.washington.edu

Injured crewman on the ground,
danger lurking all around...
Silently he kneels down,
on his face a stony frown.
He checks the pulse.
His face is grim.
All he says is: "He's dead, Jim"

Chris Jensen.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: high speed addiction (revised)
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 93 16:30:41 PST
Reply-To: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us



Did someone say high speed addiction?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        MINDGAME

Up all night again 
Dancin' on electric wind 
Anymore we use it all 
	Just to come out even  
Pull out every stop 
Burn out all the shame they've got 
Make the music ring 
        And leave their bodies heavin' 
Make `em understand 
How it is that people can 
Become addicted to the sounds 
        Of someone's heavy breathin'  

                 We're moving way too fast to be
		I can't hold on to anything that I CAN'T SEE
                I can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me
                 Just can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me

Over all too soon
Lead a schemer to my room
Maybe this one has the dreams
        I've been sorely needin'
Everywhere I turn
Someone new is there to learn
Why a modern man would try so hard
	To be completely heathen
Watch another dawn
Comin' up from where I'm goin'
Some men can never find a home
	And never know the reason

                 We're moving way too fast to be
		I can't hold on to anything that I CAN'T SEE
                I can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me
		 Just can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me
		 Just can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me


"In the Electric Shadows"
        copyright (c) 1993 by JJWebb


-- 
>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<
  jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us     :-)     "You mean .. there are lines?"
      copyright (c) 1993                                    -- Beau Blue
>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<>><><><<
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rjs20380@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu (Ghost of Elvis )
Subject: I need A good poem
Summary: I need a good poem
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Thu, 28 Jan 1993 18:47:15 GMT
Keywords: good poem

I am not sure if this is an appropriate question, but since I see there 
are a lot of talented people here.  I was wondering if someone could send me 
a good love poem for a new relationship.  It can be a famous one or one of 
your own.  I figured  thios would be the place to get one if anyone doesn't mindme using one of there pieces of work.  Or even if someone can point me 
 in the right direction to find one.

Thanks a bunch

Bob 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: wish    /  z.
Date: 24 Jan 1993 04:02:09 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Reply-To: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
NNTP-Posting-Host: hela.ins.cwru.edu



it is so spring-like today ... couldn't help myself  c/c please   :)
_______________________________________________________________________________


         wish !


the garden is filled with flowers
and the air is fresh but heady
with the scents of jasmine
and orange blossoms.

it seems that the honeybees
in my locust tree
have decided to dance
their spring ritual.

i let the garden grow
with tame wildness
and i wish i could
teleport you into
this effervescent sunshine!


       ***


zita maria evensen
c1993, jan 23rd


--
From: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (John David Blake)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem: Nothing Waiting <---
Date: 23 Jan 1993 04:18:37 GMT
Organization: Computing Services Division, University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: 129.89.7.4
Originator: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu

Another poem by my good friend, David King, a young blossoming poet awaiting
your detailed criticism and commentary.  Please respond via e-mail to
jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu
-----
Nothing Waiting

I linger like the dying cold
in finger tips come inside
and pace in distorted circles
occasionally,
or simply kneel, or sit where I am
waiting for something to happen -
revelation? death and rebate?
a hello from a friend perhaps.
But, soon, time loses patience
and the sky darkens so quickly
these days;
I return home, there,
where nothing waits for me.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Influence
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Wed, 20 Jan 1993 16:00:50 GMT


                               Influence

Irrelevant
life is
simply
to any words in particular
most life anyways
has nothing to do with words
most creatures not speaking with them
and you can't have an opinion
without words
which is why politicians don't seek
the earthworm vote.




-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Danny-Boy)
Subject: Idea Economy
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Thu, 28 Jan 1993 15:48:50 GMT

Don claimed I broached the subject of an Idea Economy with
him. Nothing so grand. I just made a small observation. It is
an interesting idea. 
an ecology of ideas - might fit more, because I was making
an observation on survival traits of ideas. etc etc

on a related topic (maybe related): Perhaps I will go check out
a book called something like "spectacle"? written by a French author
I think. It is referred to in a book I checked out by Sadie Plant
called "The Most Radical Gesture: The Situation International in a
PostModern Age" (which I didn't finished, checking it out before
break and not having time, and now, not having a library card, and doubting
that it will be in the public library)



-- 
sheilah@wam.umd.edu
And yet nothing has been changed except what is
Unreal, as if nothing had been changed at all.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: Damn the Onions!
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
		
	[I told Marek I would.  Hope he appreciates it.]
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 93 02:21:42 GMT


		Damn the Onions!
		-----------------------------------------

		Call me Parsley.
		Get it?
		"Call me Parsley"?
		Ha-ha-ha!

		I'm an actor.
		Daytime, I wait tables
		at a Beverly Hills deli.
		Nights, I'm myself, an artist.
		Parsley.  In Tabouli.

		You people, you
		don't GIVE A SHIT about
		real art, do you?
		I mean a shit, a real
		physical floating in
		the toilet shit.
		Hell, you wouldn't 
		know real art if it
		jumped up and bit you
		in the FUCKING ASS!

		You people kill me.
		I mean, literally, you
		people kill me dead.
		Every night I'm performing,
		I'm working my fucking 
		ass off for you, being
		Parsley in the Tabouli,
		Parsley in the goddamn Tabouli.
		You think I like that
		vulgar bulgar wheat?  Those 
		wimpy onions?  And those 
		fucking tomatoes are 
		so fucking full of themselves 
		it's fucking ridiculous!  
		But the kicker, the real KICKER
		is being doused with 
		goddamn oil and LEMON JUICE!

		It's not that I don't 
		like being part of a salad.
		I like salad.  It's cooperation, 
		global harmony in a bowl, 
		a swelling symphonic movement.
		It's sensous, like you want
		to take a swim in it with
		your lover and then fuck
		on a water bed, the two of
		you sparkling with bits of
		wheat pasted in your hair,
		and you going up and down
		in waves, slipping and sloshing,
		your own sticky salad.

		And that's art, you
		dumbshits.  That's ART.
		Call me Parsley.
		Ha!

			Michael Lichter
			January 22, 1993
From: rogera@compnews.co.uk (Roger Allen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Broken Tulips
Date: 27 Jan 93 16:49:09 GMT
Organization: Computer Newspaper Services, Howden, UK.
NNTP-Posting-Host: bay.compnews.co.uk
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL4

Broken Tulips
-------------

Broken Tulips
Green paint
Sawnoff pilchards
Cats that faint

Rusty trees
Runaway tables
Fortynine zulus
Very small cables

Duff keyboards
Haphazzard prams
These are all things
That make poems scan


--
Roger
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jis@panix.com (Linus Van Pelt)
Subject: Kayakin' (C+C=C welcome)
Organization: PANIX Public Access Unix, NYC
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 1993 19:08:19 GMT

------------------------------------------------------
Kayak
				by Jack Szwergold
------------------------------------------------------

Neon blue sky
crsytaline
cracking
waves....

Flowing with fish....
and a 1/5th of J.D.
buzzing
in ear
in head

Stomach of pudding
hurls over side.

	Unconciousness
From: johnson@access.digex.com (E. Johnson)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Antietam
Date: 26 Jan 1993 15:08:19 -0500
Organization: Express Access Online Communications, Greenbelt, MD USA
NNTP-Posting-Host: access.digex.com

Antietam / Recollections.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it's just a field, i tell myself
but other thoughts pervade my brain
of confidence, of strategy,
of bloody hills, of endless pain.

where thousands died i stand alone
around me dance the ghosts of old
where statues are the dead once lay
the brave, the fearless, and the bold.

but i'm not scared, i'm mystified
by why, and how, and what we gained
by killing our brothers one by one
and marking ourselves with the curse of Cain

it rained that day, the sun rose gray
and many boys leapt at the chance
to prove themselves, their bravery ...
around me, the ghosts of old still dance.

it's just a field, i tell myself
but other thoughts pervade my brain
of how young boys leapt at the chance
and fell back down when battle came.

C&C requested.

Evan Johnson
johnson@access.digex.com
From: trish_r@mind.ORG (Trish Rucker)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Adriene Rich
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 93 14:29:15 -0500
Organization: Fortress Development HQ

sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Danny-Boy) writes:

> I've grown tired of reading novels, and finally came back
> to finish the book, whose first poem I had only 
> read.
> 
> So I'd like to recommend, Diving into the Wreck
> by Adrienne Rich.
> -- 
> I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
> stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu

I love Rich's work.  Have you read her book of essays, ON LIES, SECRETS, 
AND SILENCE?   If not, I highly recommend it!     What other contemporary 
poets do you like?
From: josh@foglet.rutgers.edu (J Storrs Hall)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: To Boldly Go.
Date: 22 Jan 93 02:10:47 GMT
Organization: Rutgers Univ., New Brunswick, N.J.

steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele) writes:

"dali@hardy.u.washington.edu (Poe) writes:

""A tribute to explorers both fictional and real... Not only those who venture
""space or sea, but also those who venture the mind from behind their T.V. ...

""                                  To boldly go,
""                              unto the dark abyss.
""                                To higher climb,
""                                To further soar,
""                                  To set foot,
""                          where no man has gone before.
""                                        
""                             To couragously venture,
""                                 into the night.
""                                 To faster fly,
""                                 To better know,
""                               To fearlessly tred,
""                            where angels fear to go.

"but chris, if you only watched *more* t.v. you might have noticed how the
""where no man has gone before" line has been powered into the nineties with
"the new and improved "where no one has gone before." for me the difference
"is like walking versus warp speed- different kind of exploring all together,
"wouldn't you say?

"	steph.

Yeah, and what's more, you've got 7 split infinitives in there.  :^)

--JoSH
From: paleblue@byron.u.washington.edu (Hermes)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Note Bene, PBFT.  (was Re: opinions..)
Date: 27 Jan 1993 21:56:42 GMT
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
NNTP-Posting-Host: byron.u.washington.edu

In article <1k6mviINNlmu@shelley.u.washington.edu> zola@hardy.u.washington.edu () writes:
>
>excuse me if my enthusiasm wanes on this topic. pbft. 
>
>-Rebecca
>
Come on, Becky, don't be such a crab!  :)

Anyway, Posthumous O'Toole told me some mess about how he can't post right 
now or some junk so he wants me to post this because it's the right timing
cause of the AIDS talk and junk.

From donz@ui.org  Ukn Jan 27 13:47:49 1993
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From: donz@ui.org
Message-Id: <9301272148.AA08139@charon.ui.org>
Subject: please post me!
To: paleblue@byron.u.washington.edu
Date: Wed, 27 Jan 93 16:48:12 EST
X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.3 PL11]
Status: O
X-Status: 

This is a REVISION of an earlier posted poem.  Please please please tell me
what yall think!


How To Write An AIDS Poem


Ink leaked on the page and would not dry,
the clock hands applauded each hour
and, through the window, each cloud
spread its lesion on the sky.

The page, ripped in several places,
stuck to the table, blinking
in the bulb's light,
pale as haggard faces.

I had a sandwich and a cup of tea,
both touched with condiments of blood,
both clouded, both slick,
sitting on napkins candidly.

Finally I held myself as a pen
and burst through the page onto
the tabletop and walls and floor
where now my words amend,

too large to read, just one
darkness where this room was white,
where it was clean and curtains
played games of color with the sun.


Posthumous-In-Exile
12-1-92
1-27-93
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 

-- 
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT  Theresa "Hermes" Bock
TTTTTTT_____    _____TTTTTTT
TTTTTTTTTTTT    TTTTTTTTTTTT  paleblue@byron.u.washington.edu  
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems