HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: megazone@joseph.WPI.EDU (MegaZone23)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Keith -Gottschalk Poem
Date: 15 Oct 92 07:42:08 GMT
Organization: WPI USAF -- United Society of Animation Fans
NNTP-Posting-Host: joseph.wpi.edu

In article <1992Oct14.211948.203112@uctvax.uct.ac.za> hornpete@uctvax.uct.ac.za (Peter Horn) writes:

Terrific! Incredible! (Yes, I'm going to be annoying and just say I really
liked it just the way it is, no criticism... nyah :-)  )

>Port pulses red, starboard's green

Even the technical details are correct. As a pilot I notice these small things.
I have problems getting the spirit of something if a small error slaps me back
to reality. "Right is not red" as my CFI used to say....

Flying is the best rush I know (and I've had several types, nudge nudge :-) )
The feelign is incredible, I've wanted to write someting for sometime, but I
can't seem to put all the emotions into words and still keep the power I feel.
One of the reasons I think Pink Floyd's Learning to Fly is so good....

Once again, please pass a well done along to the author...

###############################################################################
# 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#
###############################################################################
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tolman%asylum.cs.utah.edu@cs.utah.edu (Kenneth Tolman)
Subject: Soft chair
Date: 15 Oct 92 01:05:48 MDT
Organization: University of Utah, CompSci Dept

Soft chair
In the den

Two dog bones
Behind the couch

This is my home
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Duck Nose
Summary: objectification with a twist
Keywords: Marlene
Date: 8 Oct 92 13:47:29 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ


Duck Nose


Excuse me but the band is ready
and today they have a lovely for vocals
whose blonde illuminism is inescapable
and don't we need music with this?

        I see Duck Nose coming
        BOM ba BOM ba BOM
        She got great legs

        Her eyes expressionless
        As she softly begs
        BOM ba dee BOM

She seems to want a cigarette.
It can be read in her smile,
much like the worn page of a paperback
with a dark cover and its red letters

in which the protagonist realizes
that her life since 1972
has largely been lie after lie
grafted to an in communicado nightmare.

"Communicado," she whispers like leaves
out of place, "where are you?"
And wouldn't he be dark and strong?
And doesn't Latin last all night long?
        

Posthumous O'Toole
10/8/92
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: arrowhead to L.A.
Summary: arrowhead to L.A.
Keywords: arrowhead to L.A.
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Thu, 8 Oct 1992 16:44:35 GMT


nightwinding
down the mountain
cabins like sleeping
mouths
taking in darkness
and air
the weekend drained
all color from the woods
they stretch
along the road like black
cut-outs
below lay the city
her night dress exposed
a thousand stars on her belly
twitch and blink up through the mist
the moon is constant above
the radio doesn't work
so he's singing byzantine
thinking of is home
a city the color of eggs
where buildings are washed white
families remembered in centuries
and we pipe down this cold dark rock
i light a cigarette and crack the window, she's finally spit us out.
we go clacking down the 210, i stare up into this mack roaring
beside us, owned and operated by mervin melvins, driven by joel.
come on joel, let's hear the fog horn moan it's tired salty sigh
out into the haze of late night drivers.

sls
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
From: maverick@fir.CS.Berkeley.EDU (Vance Maverick)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re:  PLEASE READ THIS!!!
Date: 14 Oct 1992 23:43:48 GMT
Organization: University of California, Berkeley
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: fir.cs.berkeley.edu

In article <1992Oct14.164501.860@altair.selu.edu>, pasc1961@altair.selu.edu writes:
|> 
|> 	I need help with an interpretation of William Carlos Williams' "The Red
|> Wheel Barrow".  I apologize for not having a copy of the poem to post as it is
|> very brief and would not take long to read.

Or to type in.  I may have a word here or there wrong:

	so much depends
	upon

	a red wheel
	barrow

	glazed with rain
	water

	beside the white
	chickens

|> I would like to hear other impressions on the form, rhetoric,
|> imagery, and meaning as well as personal responses on the value and excellence
|> of this work.

The syllabic form is very tidy: 4 2  3 2  3 2  4 2.   (Note
that the short leading lines are the ones which end with a
split compound.) This sets in relief the interesting
sequence of the "stanzas": the first is an abstraction, and
syntactically incomplete.  Each of the remaining three
supplies a concrete visual element, leaving the "sentence"
potentially complete.

As I understand the term, in order to speak of the poem's
"rhetoric", we'd need to read it as a way of saying
something.  One internal clue that suggests this is not
useful is the silliness of the "sentence"; surely Williams
can't mean "So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow glazed
with rainwater beside the white chickens."  One external
clue is Williams' dictum about a poem being a "machine made
of words."  We might speak, though, of the rhetorical force
of the first group -- it insists on special attention to the
apparently simple images which follow.

These images -- are they "imagery"?  I think not.  That is,
I don't think he's using them to say something else. 
Rather, I read this poem as insisting on the richness of the
world as we perceive it -- but to phrase this so broadly is
to miss that very point.  The wheelbarrow.  The chickens. 
Look!

Williams needs the syntax (i.e. he isn't doing "imagism")
and needs the line breaks (i.e. he isn't writing a
"sentence") to fight against each other, to hold the
"images" in an acuity of suspension which we may take as a
response to the acuity of perception he's describing. 
Whether or not he ever had such a perception....

	Vance
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: Wanted:  Native American poetry
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Thu, 8 Oct 1992 19:10:07 GMT

In article <1992Oct8.135824.23798@nntp.uoregon.edu>, seth@cie.uoregon.edu (Seth
Scott) writes:
> Does anyone out there have any Native American      poetry (modern-- written
by someone living today)to recommend?  Please email replies to
seth@cie.uoregon.edu ...  Thanks!

I am e-mailing a reply to the sender, but I thought others might be interested
also.  I would highly recommend Louise Erdrich, who has published two volumes
of poetry:  Jacklight and Baptism of Desire.  They're excellent.  

I also own a small book called Then Badger Said This by Elizabeth Cook-Lynn, 
which I think is pretty good.

Marie Coffin
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: i kept my chicken in the bathtub for 65 days / Marek+Marie
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Fri, 16 Oct 1992 21:07:29 GMT


		i kept my chicken in the bathtub for 65 days
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		honey
		i love the calm
		exuded by
		your trembling hands
		
		that's where your tax money.  your tax money.  goes.
		thar she blows.  feathers of the 65-day hostage.
		
		one day some day
		i will cook for you
		
		again.
		
		
			Marek Lugowski / Marie Coffin
			16 October 1992
			Chicago, Illinois / Ames, Iowa
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: jello ate my mother
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Distribution: na
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 92 07:54:30 GMT

[This is a rebuttal, sort of]

		
		jello ate my mother
		-------------------------------------------------------

		mom
		left the alien
		thing quivering
		on the third shelf
		next to the margerine
		and mostly under yesterday's
		chicken a la something or other

		brisket
		steaming under
		its blanket of onion 
		soup mix soaked in gravy
		held a decaying orbit around the table

		forks
		raised we fought
		to ward off the evil
		green slime which like
		The Blob displayed in its glowing
		guts the fruits of its trajectory
		through suburbia: eviscerated pineapples
		dismembered bananas and quartered pears

		defeat
		no less sharp
		than in the battle
		of the peas left us
		gobbling cubes of flesh
		- the transparent corpse of 
		our mother's love

				Michael Lichter
				I Hope She Never Sees This!
				October 13, 1992
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Panther
Date: 11 Oct 92 19:05:53 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


PANTHER

You stalk my thoughts like a panther
and you make me shiver in anticipation of the hunt.

Black, and sleek, and strong with angles you leap
and thrill to my screams.

Your eyes hold mine as I struggle, and succumb;
and your tongue laps the moisture from my cooling skin
in expectation of a warmer, richer flow to stem.

A cat, you taunt your prey and make me quake;
your muscles quicken in response to my own.

I offer my throat, and belly - a swift surrender
- to your teeth and hungry gaze.

Sharp claws rake my back, scrape my ribs as your
mouth drapes beneath the pulse in my breast.

Your eyes, wicked, widen and stare at my agony
before you grant me mercy, in your dispatch;
and carry me, on wings of fire, to ecstasy.

-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: turtles, jello, unicorns
Date: 13 Oct 92 20:03:46 GMT
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations



Unicorn Salvation

Already I can feel it weighing heavy,
phantom image of anguish to come,
a sodden mass of pink-white flesh,
a slow-moving turtle trapped within,
trapping me.

And it drinks in the nourishment it needs;
parasite feeding off unwilling host,
in a cocoon of warm blood jello,cushioning
from my most malevolent of attacks.

Till I must seek help.

And the scalpel glints shining salvation,
though I am, sadly, virgin no longer...
yet I may somehow touch this magic
and be healed by the touch of the unicorn's knife-edged horn.

*****
M.A. Mohanraj
October 13, 1992
-- 
The autumn leaves are falling like rain.
Although my neighbors are all barbarians,
And you, you are a thousand miles away,
There are always two cups at my table.		 - A T'ang Dynasty poem
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ieeug470@Eagle.oscs.montana.edu
Subject: Publishing:  a helpful book...
Reply-To: ieeug470@Eagle.oscs.montana.edu
Organization: MSU
Date: Wed, 7 Oct 1992 20:57:18 GMT



Hey, the 1993 edition of Poet's Market is out,  so  if you are  
looking for a place to get published,  pick up a copy!





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

(Somehow the Mike got left out).

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: A Hug is Worth a Thousand Words. *Please Comment!*
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1992 15:23:29 GMT

chris,

i wanted to include your poem for the crit but i still can't
figure out how to use this damn editor, so i'll just try and
use my feeble memory and hope you know your stuff better than
i do...

i really like the idea of writing something about not being able
to write. the voice in the poem would rather just give a hug, but is
forced to find words, which consequently don't exist, to get his/her
message across...and i guess with this premise in mind, i want the

voice to somehow show us more of the angst and frustration involved
in the situation while also showing us some of the passion for the
letter sender.  we get some of this, but i think maybe if you tightened
up some of the sentence structure (maybe losing articles and prepositions
where you really don't need them) and tried to find more imagery, like
the sun on the wall, to SHOW what the voice is going through. for example,
instead of telling us that 'the letter inside says even less how i love
you,' is there some concrete image that could show this to be so?

i guess, generally what i'm getting at is that, i suspect the piece
needs to be punchier in order to really 'get us.'

nice work though,
sls
i must be reached at the address below, as my net ad is messed up.
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: westphal@iscnvx.lmsc.lockheed.com (Dorothy Westphal)
Subject: Ben
Organization: Lockheed Missiles and Space Co.
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 7 Oct 92 21:05:55 GMT

For my second ever posting to this newsgroups,
something dirty!


                 Ben
     
     Remnant of 
     	the rains,
     The brown puddle is
     	insignificant.
     
     But one who 
       has known
          Few winters
     	Seems to see 
           more:
     A challenge.
     
     Teeth clenched, he crouches;
     	Tiny legs coil,
     	and spring!
     And his feet
     	Find the far shore
     		almost.
     
     But she smiles down on
     his newly-freckled knees,
     his brown-speckled face,
     And her warm hug sweeps away
     The muddy chill.
     
-- 
Dorothy Westphal, Sunnyvale, Calif. % Just when things are going your way...%
westphal@iscnvx.lmsc.lockheed.com   %               they get even better!   %
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Neural Nets
Date: 12 Oct 92 10:41:37 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland

i drew you my network
showed you its total error
ticking lower and lower
your head in my lap
as i set ten more training
your head in my lap
eleven numbers ticking
white noise fan hum
your fresh child heartbeat
your head in my lap
when you woke
two 3D plots turning revealing
a pair of angel wings
and a fountain of stars
no, i don't understand either.

-/\/\/\/-
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors )
Subject: Wicker: An expiriment of love?
Organization: Memorial University of Newfoundland
Date: Wed, 7 Oct 1992 13:47:06 GMT

         "For Whom They Haunted"

       I'll make them regret this. 
       They've taken my lavender trumpet one time too many.
       My wrath will take an unending toll on their persons,
       with seemingly impossible pain.
       I grit my teeth. I breathe,  -deep.
       Maybe their actions are merely
                Brimstone cognitions?


          "The Baby Has Hooves"

      "Real odd"-relatives.
      "Uncanny"-doctors
      "Have to shoot him"-Zeke (dentist)
      "Why? He break his leg"-father (laughter)
      The baby remeins. We name it Winnie.

         
k
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: psgoh@pieman.compserv.utas.edu.au (Goh)
Subject: DREAMING...
Originator: psgoh@pieman
Organization: University of Tasmania at Launceston (formerly TSIT)
Date: Thu, 15 Oct 92 02:07:41 GMT

Dreaming...

	Floating into a land,
	    
	   of Something
	          Anything
                     Everything...

	Stood Looking, Stood Watching, Stood Searching.

	    Neither here
               Neither there
                 Neither Somewhere, Anywhere, Everywhere...

	    Either at the beginning,
               Either at the end,
                 Either at Nowhere...

	Is Seeing, Is telling, Is touching.

	    Flashes of past,
               Flashes of present,
                 Flashes of TO BE...
                                    DREAMING!!!
 
                                   
(15-10-92)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: rewrite of sheldon- ONE TEMPEST
Summary: rewrite of sheldon,now ONE TEMPEST
Keywords: rewrtie of sheldon, now ONE TEMPEST
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1992 19:15:37 GMT

One Tempest

in key west
you were trapped
by storm
on some tiny isle
stepping on sand dollars
as round and white
as the moon you couldn't see

you said you tried
to build a fire
groped
through wet mangrove
slender bones of drift
and fifty scorpions
skittered like tiny
ghosts unleashed
over blue sand
your bare feet
while
lightening split
beyond the black
swell of the disappeared
lashing out
against the cusp
of faltering sky

fits of violet
illuminated
your body
a slight
broken curve
under the tipped boat
and maybe you quivered
just a little at the sound
of dusk falling
the sound of night 
the sound of
hungry reef
wanting to swallow
things whole

you said it was
just like in the movies
only real
and later we laughed
now mom would never
let dad sail
us out to the tartugas

i still want to remember you as the survivor of storms.
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
From: jeffj@yang.earlham.edu (ChaOs)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Short Visit
Date: 16 Oct 92 00:28:58 GMT
Organization: And then the Universe stopped.


        A Short Visit to Earth

There it is: the planet
Green and brown and blue
(with white frosting)
If you look on the night side
You will see the lights of cities.
        -move in closer-
In the city streets
An old man tells a young man
(They have age there.  Age and death and disease and money.
 And, God help us, something called "organized religion."  And of
 course sex.  But they have sex everywhere.)
An old man tells a young man
"Boy, you'd better leave before you get hurt."
(They have pain there too.)
But the young, as always, pay no heed to the old.
Now, look here!
Those men, who are of a dark color, are striking this man,
        who is pale.
Look there!  Pale men are striking a dark man.
You are different, they say.  You do not belong here.
Look back!
     -Boy-
These people
(who are called "Nazis")
are killing these people
(who are called "Jews")
Because they are not "Aryan".
         -you'd better leave-
These people
(who are called "slaveowners")
Hurt these people
(who are called "niggers" and "Negroes" and "darkies" and "slaves")
                                      -before somebody-
These people
(who are called "Crusaders")
and these people
(who are called "Moslems")
Are killing each other because they both worship God.
These people
(who are called "Romans")
Are nailing this person to a cross,
because he was kind, but different.
                                                                -gets hurt.-
Seen enough?  No?  Good.
Take hold then.
In you go.
WeUll see you again in a few years.
(Maybe as many as one hundred, if you are lucky.  They have the Atom Bomb       
and AIDS and money and (God help us) "organized religion" and gang wars         
and democracy and dictators and famine and unwanted pregnancies and a host of
other things.  They have love, too, though you'll probably not see much of
that - it seems to be in short supply.)
Enjoy your stay.


	(This poem was heavily influenced by T.S. Eliot and inspired by a talk
show I saw over the summer with four guests from the Aryan Nation.  It really
stuck me as I watched that show how stupid people can be.  Comments and
criticisms welcome.)
-- 
JeffJ@yang.earlham.edu (Jeff Johnston)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Daydream (poem)
Date: 9 Oct 92 04:47:43 GMT
Organization: University of Minnesota

peter,

i've read this piece a couple of times over the last couple of days-
it keeps inviting me back for more, which is definitely a compliment, and i 
suppose, if you're still interested in working on this piece, that the
best thought i can share with you about it is that i always want more...
i want to know more about this voice, this place and i keep reading it
in an attempt to uncover, but it's not going to happen- or is it?
thanks for sharing!

sls
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon)
Subject: Re: I am looking for a poem about time
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1992 20:08:08 GMT

In article <2734@tau-ceti.isc-br.com> cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams) writes:
>
>	 	T I M E 
>
>	But distance between 
>	any two points in time 
>	is precisely measurable
>	in units of time.

	I disagree. But since you won't be back for ten days. I won't
say why or write poems about it.

>	time has no mass. The concepts 

	This is such a fun idea! :) :) :) mass of time! 

>	of length, width, depth, and time
>	are not bent by gravity nor
>	altered by the speed of light.

>	Time is no more tied to
>	the speed of light than 
>	to the speed of sound.

	Time is tied to speed!

>	Time doesn't speed up or slow down,

	but! but!

>	The concept of time is 
>	deliciously independent of the 
>	existence of anything - us, our planet,

	but! but! mph!

>	No matter how big the bang, 
>	it didn't impact time. 

	mphrl!

>	Time is, after all, only a concept.

	mrk!

>	there will always be more time. 

	cough cff!

>	Cecil Williams
>	10/13/92
>C&C welcome, but I'll be off the net for the next 10 days...

:p :)







-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: an attempt at unicornturtleyjelloness
Date: 14 Oct 92 10:55:22 GMT
Article-I.D.: iscsvax.1992Oct14.155522.7648
Organization: University of Northern Iowa

huddled coldly beneath some arbitrary shell
my only comfort some warm
dietetic lime jello stuffed with grapes:
a personal hell.
not even any sugar to comfort me.
one glance outside, through watery greeness,
reassures me that even jello
is better than being alone.

then, up gallops some snow-white unicorn
like a savior, ready to whinny, toss his mane
and save me from family picnics
and thanksgivings, a big empty table
with just us three.

i start thinking that jello is composed of hooves and bones
and wonder what sort of magical mythical gelatin
would come from this pearly golddusted creature.
clearly these are not virginal thoughts
and the unicorn sprints away,
deciding i'm not worth saving anyway.

i tuck my tail in, clawed fingers around
the shell-like mold
-so like me-
and hope no one tips me on my back.


-- 
********************************************************************************
*   carolee    *      *            *   "listen,for(out of all    *     *
 gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu   *  *  * things)dream is noone's fool"      *
 *                 *               *           *      __e.e. cummings *
*******************************************************************************
From: zen@death.Corp.Sun.COM (d)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: dreaming in pepperidge farm land
Date: 7 Oct 1992 17:35:33 GMT
Organization: Sun Microsystems Inc., Mountain View, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: death.corp.sun.com
comments_n_flames: welcome


eating fish in zero-G
theres something that appeals to me
little goldfish swimming round
while i play shark 4' off the ground
 come up 2 an unsuspecting school
 im the hunter theyre the fools
 nothing like a quiet race
 and hunting fish in outer space

i'd display my wild shark savagry

i really love the imagry

look up
look down
tiny gold nuggets all around
the sky is falling
who stole my gravity?
theres no up or down tonight
no right or wrong
its all lost in zero-G