HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: tony@swrinde.nde.swri.edu (Anthony R. Benitez)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Submission:Untitled
Date: 9 Sep 92 15:37:59 GMT
Organization: Southwest Research Institute, San Antonio, Texas


UNTITLED


Palms aflush the beaded sweat
craving flesh the whelped clinched fist
through nothing walls all driven hard
the rage inflict what damage done.

Make to the mind incisive choice
caress the certain thought, I jest
and plow familiar ground aloof
withstanding no uncertain fate.

Nails bitten hard the pounding stone
arise the upstart creature blind
Aspire; the spittle flagrant snips
who knew the fraying cords request.

And rise inspire no marked deed
where we the one is left undone
I brazen claw the screeching glass
and howl the poignant wind away.


A.R.Benitez        August 1992
****************************************
tony@tex.nde.swri.edu
****************************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bkeener@cs.ulowell.edu (Brian E. Keener)
Subject: Spontaneous Poem...
Organization: University of Massachusetts at Lowell Computer Science
Date: Thu, 10 Sep 1992 18:48:01 GMT

Before I lapse into another bout of spontaneously written poetry, I was
	wondering if anyone out there knows of a sci-fi or fantasy original
	material newsgroup.  If you do, please let me know.

DISCLAIMER : The following poem was written spontaneously, with little to no
	editing, revision, etc.  Because of this fact, the author apologizes
	for any misspellings, grammatical errors, typos, etc.

Spontaneous Poem : Wolf Protest In "E" minor With a Twist of Lemon

So I'm a wolf!  So what's the deal?
Everybody screams and squeals
Whenever I drop in to say;
"Hello," and, "How are you today."

It's Mother Goose and Grimm, you see...
They've made a villain out of me.
People think of me as vile
Even when I wear a smile.

Is it my fault that stories say,
"See a wolf?  Then run away!"?
I'm as pure as driven snow!
Something that you'll never know.

Because you've read "Red Riding Hood",
You think that wolves are bad, not good.
Because of Little Pigs, you think
That all us wolves are cheats and finks.

So there's my protest, said and done.
And if, out there, there's anyone
Who'd like to have a spot of tea,
Please; don't be scared to call on me.

(c) 1992 Edward Sutherland

- - - - - -

Comments, Criticisms welcome... no flames, please.

							-MetalMaster
From: bonner@plains.NoDak.edu (Jon Bonner)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Once Upon a Heart...
Date: 11 Sep 92 18:40:21 GMT
Organization: North Dakota Higher Education Computing Network




	ONCE UPON A HEART...
	--------------------

	Once upon a lonely heart
	the day is cold
	tears flow like blood from a wound
	you are not here

	Once upon a happy heart
	nights with stars are warm
	joy cannot be hid by smiles
	you are in my arms

	Once upon a dead heart
	light is frozen time
	cold steel round touches my head
	you are gone forever


	-Jon Bonner (bonner@plains.nodak.edu)
   	 copyright 1992
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Waves
Date: 14 Sep 92 17:44:41 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA



		


	Like storm-driven waves 
	crashing wildly upon the shore,
	our passion rages daily,
	rising and ebbing like the tide.
	I flow in and out of you, pounding,
	relentless, unstoppable, till
	the wave's white-capped spray 
	is gale'd ashore in the 
	hurricane winds of desire. 





Cecil Williams   9/13/92
************************





 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Christian Dylan Losinger)
Subject: our love
Reply-To: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Tue, 15 Sep 1992 15:47:51 GMT


	our love is not a lemon drop
	no monochrome see-thru sticky blob

	no, our love is not as rare
	as juicy sirloin, arteries beware

	our love is not quite as sweet
	as bon bons or peach ice cream

	no, our love is not a chocolate cake
	just a little, else a tummy ache 

	our love is more of an emotional thing
	not really something you'd want to eat 
        --------------------------------------------------------------
        	c  h  r  i  s   l  o  s  i  n  g  e  r   r  i  t 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: e e cummings poems
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Mon, 14 Sep 1992 02:46:47 GMT

In article <1992Sep11.060508.4118@bing.UUCP>, root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
writes:
> Anybody know of any book of a collection of his poems still available for
> purchase?
> 
> --
> Bing H Bang                                  +---------------------------+
> Senior Systems Analyst                       | This is my home computer. |
> National Data Corporation, Atlanta, GA       | I do not speak for NDC.   |
> uucp: gatech!warlord!bing!root               +---------------------------+

What??  Did ol' e e go out of print and I didn't notice?  As far as I know,
Bing, 
ALL his books are still in print.  I want the collected poems edition myself
(saw it 
in a bookstore recently) but all I get is damned coffee cups for Christmas.  
(ARE YOU READING THIS, MOM???)

Marie Coffin
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Fri, 4 Sep 1992 14:46:04 GMT
Subject: Re: Misc.
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

In rec.arts.poems, donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:

> 
> First of all, wonderful poem and notes!
> 
> In article <7710552@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM> you write:
> >3.  Wally was coopted because of his essays about the
> >    ability of poets to create society by imagining it.
> >    Wally was a self-important fool.  He was the
> >    margin exhibiting typical cetripetal lust for the center.
> >
> 
> Yes, Wallace was a self-important fool with just the sort of lust you
> accuse him of.  This is what made him just about the best poet of the
> Twentieth Century (I can only speak for English).  Actually, I am being
> somewhat dramatic.  This is only part of what made him the best.  He also
> had something of a way with words.

A guy in the group I originally posted this attacked me, because
he thought I had insulted Wallace, whom he dearly loved.

I was forced to point out to him that in the context of the poem,
Wallace, O., and myself were involved in a love affair.

This mollified him somewhat.

doug
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--Running for office
Date: 5 Sep 92 21:26:26 GMT
Organization: Real/Time Communications


                        Running for office

This morning
he stopped at my door
a local politician
running for office
he didn't make it
I knocked him to the floor
of the porch
and ended his career
with a quick twist of the head
his last public service
was to my family
in a time of straitened circumstances
meat prices so high
the cook prepared flank steak
for lunch
stored the rest in the walk-in freezer
now I know
what they mean
by
pork-barrel projects
I will vote for him
in November.
From: beh@hal.gnu.ai.mit.edu (Bruce Howells)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: for the poet
Date: 15 Sep 92 21:19:36 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation


Each word is destiny.

One February, January, March and summer
I met a poet.
Golden-curled young one,
dressed in the clothing of need
he called my name from across the city
and I answered.

I remember his pleading and needing
and remember my reluctance
to answer his call.

It was the year I was 28.
The year I turned 28, he called
and I came, and we answered each other's 
questions.

He left me for awhile,
thinking that he had no need of my heart
but it was late, and my heart cried out
to his

and he said:
I am gentle, a caress in the dark.

It was awhile after, 
and a different name
when he returned
and then I came
again.

And it was a summer after,
and a few months after that
when I knew that we would never be,
not he and me...

for the poet is
and the poet was
and the poet is no more.

He is gone.
And I am here
with you.

--nancy howells (beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu through the good graces of my husband)
From: hornpete@uctvax.uct.ac.za (Peter Horn)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Wake beloved (Poem)
Date: 10 Sep 92 15:44:07 +0200
Organization: University of Cape Town

WAKE BELOVED
------------

Grey this morning is endless and everywhere
the ashes fall lifting old people out of their bed emptying

their pans and glasses barefoot he comes through the
mountains of glass and steel and concrete the morning

descends on mint and scented stubble next to me you are
a shape under a grey lawn of wool breathing below 
			my hands

and a web of hair kind to the naked lost face of a man
who hears the clattering milk cans are delivered but the sun

is overdue lovely lost love wake beloved for I must
go and the cold enters through the door


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: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--Neighbor
Date: 5 Sep 92 21:46:04 GMT
Organization: Real/Time Communications


                             Neighbor

I first saw him on hands and knees
working on a millimeter needing particular care
it seems a beetle had stepped on a blade
bending it brutally
thus did life's trials try his unending patience
there on the battlefield of his lawn
where the gods of perfection and error did battle daily
under his watchful eyes.
Since his retirement the odds had shifted mightily
in the direction of right
the fire ants
came the next year
as if on cue from the evil god
but his patience withstood even this attack
the breakdown
it came with the appearance of the large
man-sized spiders
which appeared that night in his bedroom
and all was lost
when they moved him
into the cement-floored ward
where no grass had ever grown.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Sudden
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Wed, 9 Sep 92 19:14:42 GMT


                                 Sudden

It would be
sudden
if this were all there was to this poem.
From: latenite@hal.gnu.ai.mit.edu (Marc)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Untitled
Date: 7 Sep 92 21:51:28 GMT
Organization: MIT Laboratory for Computer Science

My first poem...C&C appreciated:

UNTITLED

Alone I sit, gazing out the window
  At the lightly falling snow
I think about where I've been
  And where I want to go.

My past is full of confusion
  Things I did not know
But even today, I'm often frightened
  Of future things unknown.

I ask myself each day, "Why me?
  Have I really been that bad?"
Give my life to someone else
  I'm tired of feeling so sad.

Yet occassionally I discover someone
  Who saves me from the mire.
He laughs with me and cries with me
  And whispers words of desire.

I feel like I'm on top of the world
  And nothing can bring me down.
But then I learn of all the lies
  And ask that he leave town.

So here I sit staring out the window
  Trying to mend my broken heart
While thoughts of a new love enter my mind
  And I wonder why we must be apart.

-Sept. 6, 1992



+------------------------------------------------------------+
|Name: Marc           | "It is better to be hated for what   |
|Nick: MacGyver       |  one is, than loved for what one     |
|                     |  is not."  -Andre Gide               |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
From: hovis_ea@lrc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem: Memories
Date: 10 Sep 92 18:00:18 EDT
Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC


The sun went down that dusk,
dark red against a pale gray sky.
The quiet scream of the silence shattered,
by the sound of a train.
No bird sang a song
and the Bob Whites passed quietly by.

The tall grass swayed under the power,
of a gentle northern breeze.
The mystical silence broken by
the ringing of the phone.
The voice on the other side shattered the night,
as the train.
A silent sob caught in my throat.
A Mockingbird started to sing a mournful song.

The days have passed since we put our freinds, 
in the ground, all black armbands
have been put down.
All the memories thought of,
as graduation comes.
The red sinking sun reflects off,
the white honor robes;
the Mockingbird sings his final ode.


Beth Hovis

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: asparrow@cs.umr.edu (Angelia Sparrow)
Subject: London, November 1888
Date: Wed, 16 Sep 1992 02:08:50 GMT
Organization: University of Missouri - Rolla
Originator: asparrow@mcs213f.cs.umr.edu

 few of my shorter poems.


Bassinet in the
corner of   
our room.  Still empty.


London, November 1888

Blck cape in yellow gaslight,
Soft steps on cobblestones,
A woman's laugh.
"Two guineas, Guv'ner?"
Assent, the bargain struck.
A black bag, a silver flash.
Morning headlines:
The Ripper strikes again!


Late bus to Tuscon

Midnight.
Somewhere
between Tulsa
and Amarillo.
Out the window:
Blackness
Far out on the horizon,
Red lights.
Radio towers
Designating the 
Edge of the world.

Plath's gangernous big toe,
Grey, out of life.
Orange chalk in equations
creates a diversion of
Spontaneous faith.
The naked stone wall
Magnifierd the harmony
of the disaster.
The needle-sharp hook rebounds
in the sea, not daring to catch,
in the waters of Nausset.
She took two toddling steps in
his direction, before the
final leap into infinity.

(the last was an exercise using about 23
varigated words provided by the writing group.)

All of the abover are Copyright 1991, Angelia Sparrow

Comments always welcome.
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Hinges
Date: 11 Sep 92 03:46:10 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland

In article 113221@IASTATE.EDU, frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska) writes:
>
>       two rusty hinges
>       creaking in an autumn breeze -
>       Oh! twilight stillness


two rusty hinges
creaking of arthritic knees -
Oh! twilight illness


two lusty ninjas
hiding in the autumn trees -
Oh! gun sight killed us


two used syringes
meant to cure a cruel disease -
Oh! doctors billed us


-/\/\/\/-						;-)
From: ureebob@mcl.ucsb.edu (Reeeeeenah-bob!)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Love, loss and Life
Date: 11 Sep 92 07:24:44 GMT


	If I stare full into 
	The face of the sun
	  Will I find you there?
	If I walk into the ocean
	Till the waters cover my head
	  Will you rescue me?
	
	Oh, my gorgeous gorgeous love,
	I would become a star, I think
	If I could shine on you always.
	I would become a budding rose
	If always I'd be pressed
	Close to your heart.

	I would gladly go blind
	If I could see the ocean
	In your eyes, again.
	I would hide beneath the waves
	If you would drown me
	In your arms
	  one more time.
			12-4-91
That was for Kevin: I cannot forget you.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Roses
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Wed, 9 Sep 92 19:08:45 GMT


                            Roses

He wrote
for a greeting-card company
became
head writer
of the Romance division
went to his boss
and insisted he needed an expense account
deducted champagne and roses
in large amounts
claimed his wooing
a business expense
things got out of hand
when he ordered
three million roses
the need for a
new
Rose Bowl Parade
did not convince his superiors
so he gave them away
married a rich widow
and never
wrote
another
line.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bkeener@cs.ulowell.edu (Brian E. Keener)
Subject: Comment on the "no haflings, unicorns..." poem
Organization: University of Massachusetts at Lowell Computer Science
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 18:15:06 GMT

	Since I don't see many comments on poems around here, I thought I'd
let the person who wrote the poem that began with something like, "no 
-something-, haflings, unicorns..." know that I thought it was great.  Good
inpression of a medieval/fantasy atmosphere, and excellent imagery.  Keep 
posting.

							-MetalMaster
From: jeffb@terapin.com (Jeffrey Bean)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Something For Love and Susan
Date: 10 Sep 92 21:01:23 PST
Organization: BBS

Susan
Stars in charcoal sky above
Eternal brightness
Delights and charms
Evenings worth living for
Creating warmth from cold
Bringing color from none
Building smiles with pouts
Pulling amazement from the mind
The heart of my earthbound soul
Gazing skyward every nightfall
To send dreams on journeys to every
Distant
Star.

                          (C) 1992, J. Bean

    That was a typical teen-angst crush poem.  I think it was one of my best. 
Comments/feedback/criticisms apprecieated, even though no one really gives it
here, they just like to read.  Please respond.
From: bush@purcell.physics.upenn.edu (Judith Newton; Judith Bush does physics)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: (happy thoughts) & inspiration ideas
Date: 14 Sep 92 02:06:43 GMT
Organization: occasionally

A "happy thoughts" type poem:



Inarticulate longings
for the sudden caress of wind
that feels just like the cat's first seductive pass at my leg
that feels just like sleepy sunlight tracing veins on my pale skin
that feels just like the ocean's lulling murmur in my ear.

Inarticulate longings
for you.


Concerning sources of "inspiration:"

I have a bag of "runes" a friend gave me. The runes are intended to be used as 
an oracular source, much like tarot or I Ching, I suppose. One of my uses,
though, is to pull out a rune and read the associated interpretation. The last
time I did this was in the spring. The rune I drew looked pretty much like an
arrow pointing up. From the season, the rune, and my situation at the time
(qualifying exam around the corner), I ended up with a sketch that
played upon the associated images of "spring" in the sense of a bow being drawn,
in the sense of a fountain, in the sense of a season for new beginnings. It's
worked as well as a source for poems, but that was ages ago. 

Now that my qualifying exam is over, I hope i'll be writing more. This is my
first scribbling in ages and all i can remember is a professor trying to talk me
out of using repetition. 


judith
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: TB: Poem: Barometer
Date: 13 Sep 92 14:30:26 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland


> ANyways, I could hack it up further, but then it would be me, and not Tom.
> Keep at it. There's potential here.
  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^????

>(Signed!) George O'Toole, maker of trouble!

Tom Boutell is one of my favorite net poets. He's been posting
consistently very good material, at least for the three or so
months I've been on the net. Isn't it just a tad patronising
to say "Keep at it, there's potential" even in the worthy name
of trouble? (or have I been taken in by more of this in-joke
sparring among the elders of r.a.p?)


-/\/\/\/-
From: hovis_ea@lrc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem: Rememberance
Date: 10 Sep 92 17:51:20 EDT
Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC

         " Remeberance"


  Kept in the shadows of nightfall.
  The colors, neon bright, splashing down
         from billboard signs.
  There they wander through the night,
  silent shadows of our rememberance.

  The blueness of the windows, made by
	 late winter's ice.
  Inside, warm and soothing.
  I knew the third room on the right the best.
  The inside warmth of the hearth,
  dowsed out.
  Cold.

  The shouts of angry voices raised,
  mirror of fantasy shattered into reality.
  Single tear rolls down, 
  burning hot,
  on frozen heart and face.

  Empty,
  rememberance of what had been.
  The shadows of the streets
  call me back.
  Comforting me from the
  Cold World.
  The mirror is 
  Broken.
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: knitting in the dark / Marie Coffin
Date: 15 Sep 92 00:21:09 GMT
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University


	knitting in the dark
	---------------------------------------------------
	
	the doctor says
	all the close work i do
	is making me blind.
	i want to tell him
	all my relationships are long-distance.
	shouldn't that count for something?
	
	the doctor says
	if i'd stop scratching my allergic skin
	it would  heal faster.
	i imagine if i stopped calling you
	i would heal faster too.
	
	so i sit by the dark window.
	knitting keeps my fingers from their
	twin preoccupations,
	cool air soothes my skin
	and out there, someone is singing.
	
	i think i'll go out.  i think i'll do
	a little singing of my own,
	a little walking up and down.
	something inside of me
	wants to get out
	of my skin.


Marie Coffin
September 14, 1992
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@msel.unh.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: my idea of an ideal relationship / Marie+Marek
Originator: marek@mermaid.msel.unh.edu
Organization: UNH Marine Systems Engineering Laboratory
Date: Wed, 16 Sep 1992 03:30:42 GMT


		my idea of an ideal relationship
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		i want to fuck you one (or maybe two)
		weekends a month, and have you
		beat me to a quivering jelly.
		oh, and sandwiches.  i want you to make
		sandwiches.  other than that,
		i'm not very picky.

		if you did that, you could spend
		all your spare time porking other women
		and i wouldn't care.


			Marie Coffin / Marek Lugowski
			15 September 1992
			Ames, Iowa / Chicago, Illinois
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: eah1@gauguin.wustl.edu (Edward Anthony Hutchins)
Subject: Fundamentalist
Organization: Washington University, School of Engineering, St. Louis MO
Date: Tue, 8 Sep 1992 03:28:26 GMT


    Fundamentalist

 simplicity is my ruler
 a fine sharp edge
 to rip
 the twisted plots of life
 to shreds
 so I can read
 the little
 pieces

_____________________________________________________________________________
:-)  ('')  (-:  (,,)  :-)  ('')  (-:  (,,)  :-) | see lidflip instructions on
Edward Hutchins, eah1@cec1.wustl.edu            | other side of card
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:8728 rec.arts.books:15848
From: cramer@optilink.UUCP (Clayton Cramer)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
Subject: Re: I give up...
Date: 8 Sep 92 21:13:04 GMT
Distribution: usa
Organization: Optilink Corporation, Petaluma, CA

In article <1992Sep4.152526.1171@oracorp.com>, harper@oracorp.com (Douglas Harper) writes:
> Don't they teach the Canon any more!?  These are the closing lines of
> Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach".
> 
> Douglas Harper | harper@oracorp.com | +1 (607) 277-2020 x252 | FAX: 277-3206

Of course not.  That's just the writings of a bunch of Dead White
Males anyway, and we all KNOW that a DWM is a racist, sexist,
capitalist, ageist, heterosexist [did I miss any part of the
chant?] and therefore pointless to read.

I always found "Dover Beach" depressing, though technically quite
well-done poetry.  It's definitely the beginning of the end of
Victorian civilization.
-- 
Clayton E. Cramer {uunet,pyramid}!optilink!cramer  My opinions, all mine!
Alcohol prohibition didn't work; drug prohibition doesn't work; gun
prohibition won't work.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems