HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: do you own your
Date: 29 Sep 92 12:19:50 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=

	do you own your own house?
	do you live in it alone?
	is it like you dreamed it would be?
	is it home?
	there's no time...
	it's this fine moment, make a choice
	for choosing's doing must be done in cold alone
	making maybe moments stay and spend a while
	this gem, this plain bright stone

-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: mas4@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (MICHAEL ANTHONY STRAUSS)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: ANAL HAIR   -Stimpee
Date: 28 Sep 92 15:46:22 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University

There's something I do see,
Like my shit just came out of a Play-Do Fun Factory.

It's cut up in tiny slivers,
It has been subjected to all sorts of rigors.

It's good for catching a thing or two,
That you ate, but really didn't want to.

It gets all covered in underware lint,
And feces plugged, dried butt splint.

It needs combed now and then,
And maybe washed if it is clogged again.

You may asks what holds my shit there,
It's just alot of tangled fucking Butt Hair.

        -Stimpee
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Drag
Date: 26 Sep 92 08:37:13 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland


	Drag
	----
Cross-dresser, usurper
You're highly attractive -
Forget the curves,
The jawline,
Just keep that vamp
The stockings, the pout.
Your game is clear -
You break the back
Of woman's power
She hates you
And I love you for it
Love you for it
Cross-dresser, usurper
You're highly attractive.

		--Michael Norris
-/\/\/\/-
From: psgoh@pieman.compserv.utas.edu.au (Pauline)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: PATIENTLY I WAIT FOR YOU...
Date: 5 Oct 92 21:15:18 GMT
Organization: University of Tasmania at Launceston (formerly TSIT)
Originator: psgoh@pieman


 PATIENTLY I WAIT FOR YOU.....

Lonely is my day,
  As I sit contemplating.
Lonely is my heart as the wall creeps slowly in,
Mocking in delight at my solitude;
The cry of quietness seeping through.
	And as I listen,
	In tune with the silence,
	I hear a voice of a song in sweet sadness,
	Melancholy floating by;
	  But alas, the voice I hear, is only that of mine.

Lonely is my night,
  As I sit weeping,
At the end of another day,
Gathering thoughts of near and far,
I find so little that is to smile.
	And as I go to sleep,
	In peace with the dark at last,
	A hope of calm to my slumber I seek,
	Entering dreams of another time;
	AH, yet again I am alone,
          Alas, in dreams too, I relive the living.

A sigh..I find,
No solace in light or darkness,
I bow to my fate,
Of having me as company,
In which to hug comfort to myself,
But, a hope, yet, of a day,
I find YOU to share the laughter all inside me.

(5-10-92)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: poem
Summary: it's a poem!
Keywords: on the methodology of poetry
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Tue, 6 Oct 1992 14:37:42 GMT

On the Methodology of Poetry
and its Iteration

into The Demotic mind


we can't teach our children
simple words
like

power

this old set of encyclopedias
ignores illiteracy

between illinois
and illusion
you read something
like
From: v131p9t3@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (Ninstar Cybermage - Back Again from the Mists!)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: +==[====----New Friends lost----====]==+
Date: 27 Sep 92 20:19:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41

New Friends Lost

I met a man today
He knew I was sick
And he wanted to make me feel better
So he said 
(Begged him inside not to)
"I know how you feel."
(No you don't)
"My Uncle...
(Please don't say it
 Not again
 I've heard it so many times before
 My positive attitude
 Is such a fragile thing)
 ...Died of that."
(Noooooooo....)
"It was real nasty when he died."
(Shutup.)
"Glad it wasn't me."
ShutupShutup SHUTUP!
Before I show you how painful death can be
And then I kill myself.


James Shank           	#		v131p9t3@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu
AKA: Ninstar Cybermage  #	or	shank@acsu.buffalo.edu
###############################################################################
"Ten thousand years old...He could be trouble." -Vampire Hunter D
"Every night I say a prayer, in the hope that there's a heaven..."-Styx
"How do you make ammends for a god's sins?"-Forgotten Realms
##############################################################################
Sneaky Types,Inc.:Clandestine operations for the common man.
	"Don't call us.  We'll just bill you when it's done."
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon)
Subject: Re: manhole cover
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Mon, 5 Oct 1992 13:38:10 GMT


Steam always pours out of the manhole covers and curb drains
here and I don't know why.

This morning we drove to the parking lot and workers made a guieser (sp)
of steam (it is white and thin like a thin cloth line)

The workers are gone and I don't know why

steams pours out of the manhold covers and curb drains.


(just wondering why steams is always pouring out of the U of Md campus 
underground.)
-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: armenon@top.cis.syr.edu (Anil Ravindran Menon)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Arithmetic
Date: 26 Sep 92 13:56:23 GMT
Organization: Syracuse University, CIS Dept.

To: Ms. Arnica Montana
Subject: Arithmetic
Organization: Syracuse University, CIS Dept.
Cc:
Bcc:

What hysterical drivel! So u think Arithmetic is almost evil? That it is
cold? That numbers divide people?

Yet u couldn't be more wrong. Numbers have beauty and magic and power.
Power to do good as well as evil. But they r not the doer. That is us.
Yes, the wonderful, sentimental, cruel us that use numbers for good or
evil.

Numbers are a way to name the world around us. What greater honor could
we do to this world in which we live? To want to name, to know, to
understand, surely that is the finest and noblest impulse known to
life.

Some of the greatest mathematicians were the warmest creatures u could
find. They wept and laughed and lusted and hated and loved as much as (if
not more) than other humans. Abel. Galois. Gauss. Noether. 

It is satisfying perhaps and no doubt fashionable, to think of knowledge
as cleaved into two worlds, that of the heart and that of the mind. Such
was a division was clearly stated for the first time by a mathematician, Ms.
Montana. Descartes. It is ironic that this 18th century mothball should
be so actively supported by so called speakers-from-the-heart.

Governments have been cruel and indifferent in times past, when
arithmetic was a crude scratches-in-the-mud science. It uses the tools
of power like any other organism.

If u took the trouble to study the field that u so heartily condemn, perhaps
as Macarthy said, there would be less drivel.

--A. Menon.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Dear Melinda
Summary: Dear Melinda
Keywords: Dear Melinda
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Tue, 6 Oct 1992 23:35:15 GMT

Dear Melinda

outside
the kitchen window
cardinals
fat as apples
stare from the lilac
bush

if i sit here long
enough i can hear spoons
settle in the drawer
feel gravity pull
like too many things in my pockets

i don't miss l.a.

sometimes i think of graffiti
in the arroyo
brown smog
closing down the mountains
echo park
with those red
paddle boat
nobody rented

your kitchen table   
with the lace cloth
we bought down in tiajuana

my table is small
a magazine
a glass of wine
an ashtray

sometimes i think of our voices
floating over cabernet
or tea
like the smoke from this cigarette
moving up the window pane
spreading out against the dusk
with ease
and no particulr purpose


sls
From: gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: seafear
Date: 30 Sep 92 10:01:56 -0500
Organization: University of Northern Iowa

He went down to the sea in his dreams,
His wings tied to his back, crumpled,
Doubled feathers protected from the water
And the sand, he was afraid then.

He was afraid of the dark water of his soul,
Of the grains of sand scratching through
His feathers, ripping them to lay scattered
On the wet shore.

His feet touched clear blue, droplets
Dissolving in the hollows he made in the earth.
In the joining of his skin and the sky
The sun took the blue and tossed it to the air.

He could not reach that blue.  His wings were bound, gritty,
His despair reflected murky in the darkening water,
The way it grew further out.
He threw stones, the stones floated, did not sink.

These were his hopes.  He was afraid they would fall,
Fall to rest on the ocean floor
And with his wings he would not reach them,
With his arms he could not touch them.

He drowned.  He drowned in his fears,
In the realization that his wings could not capture
That blue.  He floated, wings spread
On the water, face lifted toward heaven.



carolee
9-2-92
comments, flames, anything
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (Queen of the Netherlands)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: cranberries, peaches, tribal things
Keywords: thanksgiving
Date: 28 Sep 92 18:32:08 GMT
Article-I.D.: u.1992Sep28.183208.21468
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle

In article <BuswtC.IGu@gator.rn.com> sara@gator.rn.com (Sara Gordon) writes:
>
>cranberries
>he thinks
>profanely
>he is wrong, wrong wrong.
>
>cranberries his ass
>its apples all the way.
>
>
>(please excuse that i used that word. it was
>not meant to offend anyone, actually this silly
>poem is probably more offensive, and should have
>been entited r.l.'s visit to my house)
>
>hotel south bend
>september 1992
>

not so red he says
profanely
but has always been wrong wrong wrong
don't you know that

apples, tomatoes,
muddy from the garden
I have been given
apples, okra, red

beautiful tribal wear.
why do I show you?
because I love the gifts before me
and it's a tribal thing
see LOOK.


--hahahah.  yes 


zola, r.l.
From: jtw@cs.arizona.edu (Jane T. Waddell)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: General writing
Date: 3 Oct 92 16:11:40 GMT
Distribution: usa
Organization: U of Arizona CS Dept, Tucson

I have only been writing poetry frequently for about 9 months or so.
I often have concepts that I find intriguing, but often have difficulty
expressing exactly what I want to convey. Obviously this is the point
of poetry, and I would like to improve on it. Does anyone have any
general advice on writing poetry? Making things clear? Please respond
via email, I don't read the group consistently. Thanks much.

Jane


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: my hands are not yet tied / Marie+Marek
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1992 05:22:47 GMT


		my hands are not yet tied
		------------------------------------------------------------
		
		a friend sent me a pair
		of black leather handcuffs
		ironically embossed with flying ducks.
		i'll likely never use them
		but i admit i can see
		the attraction.
		
		they smell good, for one thing,
		and they breathe such freedom.
		
		if i awoke bound to your bed
		i would know for certain 
		you wanted me there
		
		and nowhere else.
		
		if you chained me to the bedposts
		you'd have to treat 
		me with care, tend
		me all night, keep
		me covered and warm
		rather than rolling over,
		hogging all the blankets.
		
		and i could wear them all day
		tale-tell signs that say:
		
		you may not believe it, 
		but somebody wants me.
		
		as it is, 
		we are all free hands and all
		
		untying.
		

			Marie Coffin / Marek Lugowski
			28 September 1992
			Ames, Iowa / Chicago, Illinois
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Lucidity
Date: 26 Sep 92 15:34:02 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


LUCIDITY

Mockery induces me to take the dares that make my senses shiver.
 My letters write themselves as I behold my pen take on personae
	images and chimera no lucid dreamer's dreams
	could ever hold.

I envision you standing there, just to my right as a flock of
 crimson billows hides the sun; and your eyes are the blue
	of the Mediterranean and the tears that trickle
	down are hot as Greek, white sands.

Ink forms cathartic swirls on white cool melodic virgin pages.
 How does my hand allow itself to guide the wind? such arrogance!
	and memories of tousled youth swim deep
	beneath the tide into my heart.

A reminiscence sweet with summer's gentle bounty breaks;
 like rain, it swells into a torrid shower of delight and rue
	and kisses my indifference until my
	willful tears decide to mingle.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: ieeug470@Eagle.oscs.montana.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Re: () -- ARITHMETIC / Marek
Date: 2 Oct 92 21:13:36 GMT
Article-I.D.: Eagle.009617E5.50137340
Reply-To: ieeug470@Eagle.oscs.montana.edu
Organization: MSU

In article <7710576@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM>, daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
>In rec.arts.poems, bob@netxcom.netx.com (Robert Thralls) writes:
>> 393-47-9257 - and each as expendable as the next, "We took 12 percent 
>> casualties...." - just what the hell is that supposed to mean to the loved 
>> ones of 12 percent?
>
>Daddy's been 86ed.  But he gave 110% so don't cry.  He went
>the whole nine yards.
>
>> >By the way:  it does too matter how many deer are in the forest;  if there
>> >are too many, they will all starve, and if there are too few, they will 
>> >become extinct.  Speaking of which, I will re-post my deer poem below.
>> 
>> Yes, this is what I meant, The entirity must be considered the only unit.
>> But noone really has to count them. The have survived here long before
>> deer tags were issued. People should know that death is not nice, and
>> to make sport of it is disgusting.
>
>Or that it just is.
>Disgusting is completely subjective.
>
>doug


What about those of us hungry for some nice venision dinner??
Try it, you might like it.



--------------------------------
We are all toast in the dryer. | 
--------------------------------
           MORBID...!

(Somehow the Mike got left out).
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Leaves
Date: 7 Oct 92 02:45:14 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


LEAVES

When the leaves breathe hazel,
shaggy gasps in silver browns
and foggy evens,

and the birds farewell with
slim and fragile plumage,
bid a weak forlorn and ghostly
sigh as herald of the fine approach
of paw-steps cloaked in mist and cold;

when sylvan meadows fade to shadow,
yielding long-dead violets to frost,
grant blacker shades their time alone
in barren and forgotten fields;

then is autumn come again.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: MANEJWZA@ctrvax.vanderbilt.edu ()
Subject: The Vulcan's ever acting brow
Organization: Vanderbilt University 
Date: Thu, 1 Oct 1992 02:41:53 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.21


			The Vulcan's Ever Active Brow
		
		Take care young ladies and value your wine.
		Be wathcful of weary young men in their velvet prime.
		Deeply they'll swallow from your finest keg,
		Then swiftly begone,
		Leaving bitter dregs.
		Aa! Aa! Aha! 
		Bitter dregs.

							-Source Unknown



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tordm@vana (Tord G.M. Malmgren)
Subject: stacked in your brains
Reply-To: TordM@VanA.PhySto.SE
Organization: Department of Physics, University of Stockholm -- Sweden
Date: Fri, 2 Oct 1992 16:34:08 GMT


 I am TORD the turd
 I will stick to your MIND FOREVER (Tord)
 as soon as you read this I planted myself there
 whenever you see a turd
 you will think of ME (Tord)
 hmm a turd -- TORD, he's in my memory!
 think about it.......



 I am TORD the memory
 I will stick to your MIND FOREVER (Tord)
 as soon as you read this I planted myself there
 whenever you think of memory
 you will think of ME (Tord)
 hmm I remember... -- TORD, he's in my memory!
 think about it.......



 you can try to SUPRESS it
 but I will always be there
 whether you like it or not
 I have raped your integrity
 you cannot stop thinking about it
 is it not annoying?
 is it not bothersome?
 I have raped your brain
 think about it.......



 impaled in your (Tord) memory
 like the Lawnmover Man
 stuck (Tord) to your memory
 like ABC
 nailed in your memory (Tord)
 like 123
 think about it.......



 do I know what you think?
 can I see your innermost secrets?
 I CAN, I CAN, I CAN
 I know everything you think



 I (Tord) will be there FOREVER
 you will never be able to forget me (Tord)
 I (Tord) will ALWAYS be bugging you
 am I (Tord) not there yet?
 THINK about it.......


 Tord, Tord, Tord, Tord, Tord......



---------------+--------------------------------
 Tord Malmgren | InterNet: TordM@VanA.PhySto.SE | These opinions are my OWN,
               | BITNet  : TordM@SESUF51        | and NOT of this department!
---------------+--------------------------------
 Department of Physics, University of Stockholm
From: beh10@DUTS.ccc.amdahl.com (Barry Holsinger)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Off to work
Date: 28 Sep 92 15:59:42 GMT
Reply-To: beh10@DUTS.ccc.amdahl.com (Barry Holsinger)
Organization: Amdahl Corporation, Sunnyvale CA

Off to work!



Cut your neck off phone ringing, I woke up
Dial tone

Hardwooden floor stretching icebox cold, I slid on slippers
Settling creek

News don't stop headlines screaming, I laughed at funnies
Silverware tinkle

Bread browning and browning and waiting, I savored
Butterknife scrape

Engine cranking and turning, I drove
Tailpipe sputter


beh 92
--
Barry Holsinger       | I ain't git'n et by no gators to make my wage!
Sunnyvale, CA         | There are better ways to make a buck in dis
beh10@DUTS.amdahl.com | nutty town!!  -Ralph Snart
Organization: Robotics Institute, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Date: Fri,  2 Oct 1992 21:57:23 -0400 
From: Jason Andrew Barshay <jb6o+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: Re: Rainer Maria Rilke (was Re: Criticism)
	<5284@sumax.seattleu.edu>


The "poem" that yout qouted is an inspiration indeed.  It is not in fact
a poem to my knowledge however.  It is a fragment of one of Rilke's
famous letters to a young poet.  In these letters, Rilke offers some
advice to this young poet that I find surprisingly relevant to even me,
a long way from ever being a poet.  I point you to these great letters. 
They can be found in several different versions translated by different
people but always under the title, "Letters to a Young Poet."

Because you enjoyed this quote of Rilke's so much, I felt compelled to
append one of my favorite quotes of his from one of the above mentioned
letters.

"                              How should we be able to
forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of
all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last
moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons
of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see
us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything
terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that
wants help from us.
  So you must not be frightened, if a sadness rises up
before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a
restiveness, like light and cloud-shadows, passes over
your hands and over all you do. You must think that
something is happening with you, that life has not
forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let
you fall..."

I would post more of his wonderful wisdom because I love reading it
again and again but instead I urge you to seek out the above mentioned
collection of correspondences.  Since I have stumbled upon these letters
a week ago, I have read and re-read them at least 3 times.  Each time I
find myself gaining something new from them and this remarkable man.

Jason
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: () -- ARITHMETIC
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1992 20:42:53 GMT

In article <1339@netxcom.netx.com>, bob@netxcom.netx.com (Robert Thralls)
writes:

> play on computers, still others while away with conversations of prices, 
> points, and rates - numbers, numbers, numbers. And the war stories, so many
> units 338th, 99th, 397th - so many millimeters 9, 70, 122, and calibers of 
> mulitudes .223, .38, .45, .5, .6- the men, so many men. Numbers all of them,
> 393-47-9257 - and each as expendable as the next, "We took 12 percent 
> casualties...." - just what the hell is that supposed to mean to the loved 
> ones of 12 percent? And what of mom's tones? The specific frequency at which
> she nags, is always ignored, selective hearing, tune her out. Hear not the
> harmonics of her messages to be understood at various levels.
> 

See, there you go making generalizations again.  My dad was had a phobia
about numbers in every form -- he loved poetry.  And mom got straight A's 
in algebra...and she NEVER nagged.  And he never tuned her out.  

Do you know any real people?  You write as though all your views came from
television...maybe you need to get out more.

Marie Coffin
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: csmcm@ux1.cts.eiu.edu (Mary C. McDaniel)
Subject: Re: Sonnets
Date: Thu, 01 Oct 1992 14:02:49 GMT
Organization: Eastern Illinois University
Followup-To: R Bear's Request for Sonnets

(Unsexist?  Not exactly-- but the man criticized in the poem is 
a specific individual, not a representative of the male sex as
I see it.  I like you guys-- you know that! (-;) 


En Media Res

And then the words you spoke were all I heard,
grave cadences leavening the dark 
until it faded to penumbra, blurred
sense like early mist which leaves no mark,
just effect.  Trust is a changeling married
to hope, that fearful, foolish fire which feeds
on miscues, believes in language wearied
by men like you.  And still you scatter weeds:
your slick, quick breath manuevers them to fertile soil
and gasps to find them grown before your shadow
meets you eye to eye, a dusky voile
you look beyond, not at.  Your night will grow
a leggy, pallid garden, all rhetoric and pique;
my day will mow it down before it gets the chance to speak.
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Suffocation
Date: 26 Sep 92 15:42:28 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


SUFFOCATION

Petroleum products are choking our planet.
By-products, run-offs, burn-offs,
liquids, solids, gases -- en ecological nightmare.

I kiss sweet, white clouds, I dream of
your touch, and I pray for the darkness.

My lungs burn - impurities in the air overwhelm me;
carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, carbon-based life forms
are squeezed into nothingness.

I can feel my brain starving, begging forgiveness,
crying for oxygen, stifling pity -- it's damaged,
I've forgotten my name, and this place, and the time...
but not you.

Your name lingers on as I drift up, up through rafters,
see nails cobbled poorly, smell tainted, old wood.
Your name sings me higher, you carry my spirit
away from the plastic-cased body that carried before;
I meander past trees in the darkness, hear cats shriek their lust
and dogs howl their fear.

I roam into deepnight, span hours in passing, light on your sill
(I never knew where you were, you pulled, commanded I come)
and blow you a kiss, past your love of the moment
(who chills, mutters sharply, covers her head in parody of mine);
you wake and approach, say my name in a whisper, and look to
the east where the sun pays homage to my corpse.


-Tracy Flynn-Marsh