HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Infatuation
Date: 21 Aug 92 15:22:22 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <1992Aug21.014918.10613@leela.cs.orst.edu> petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen) writes:
>>I do know your name, Margarita:  it is Elvira.
>>
>
>Wrong again.  I am no longer Elvira, Mistress of Darkness, but am reborn
>as Kathleen O'Toole, Bringer of Light.

Egad!  Another O'Toole!  Saints preserve us!

Welcome to the fold.  Your announcement almost compensates for the terrible
rebuff you made to my posting, implying that I am not the dark stranger
that haunts you.  Regardless, as an O'Toole I must warn you that you can
only wear outfits that include a total of 32 pockets.  I think it would
warm many hearts if you were to post the contents of said pockets.

O'Toolishly yours,

The Posthumous O'Toole

p.s. Kathleen is such a lovely name.  Reminds me of my fond Kate...
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Calyx, Core, Cunt
From: loredich@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu (That one girl)
Date: 22 Aug 92 22:20:05 EST

Calyx, Core, Cunt

Some women carry a dozen pink roses,
bearing bouquets between slender white thighs.
Poetic convention relies upon flowers,
metaphors petaled and veiled with dew.
 
The delicate flower will bruise when you touch it;
baby-lipped petals grow pale at the center.
Well-suited in theory for living room vases,
but coyly concealed behind shy tender shivers.
 
These flowers will blossom, if given attention,
a gardener's nurturing, sunlight and rain.
First a slow budding, then slower, unfolding,
and never a burst of colored surprise.
 
Some women are roses.  
 
But I
am more
of a bright neon sign,
a flash of interested,
shocking,
licked-candy
pink.
 
There isn't much romance,
no pretty allusion,
no delicate whimsy in calling it cunt.
There is raunchy reverence,
a strange low endearment,
and simple affinity 
in this poor slandered word.
 
It will never be dew--too heavy and heady.
The slickness of flowers is plastic at best.
My damp friendly greeting is less evanescent,
warmer, more useful, than droplets of water.
 
Oh, the scent of a rose is fit fodder for poems,
for nostrils pristine, for fine French perfume.
But the ferny humidity, freshly-mown hay scent
of women enjoying themselves is still better.
 
"He touched her core, her center, her sex,"
is how it is said in a lavender novel.
My core is my mind, and my center my heart.
He touches my cunt, but does not interfere.
 
And have I said
a dirty word?

I think there is nothing
more deeply compelling
than clean female folds,
and their calyxes, cores.
The nasty inflection
affixed to the word
can be jettisoned as we dispel floral myths.





Loredich
August 22, 1992
From: zen@death.Sun.COM (d)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: waterbed
Date: 18 Aug 1992 04:03:34 GMT
Organization: Sun Microsystems Inc., Mountain View, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: death.corp.sun.com


looking at your sleeping beauty i know
darling i know
looking i know what i was born for
i could watch you dream forever
   hearing your soft sighs in the night
   closing your eyes
   looking i know what i was born for
and i'll stand guard
watching you and the stars
listening to the beating of your heart

will it go on like this forever?
watching you smile as you sleep
smile as you dream
looking at you i know what i was made for
i would guard your dreams forever
   rise and fall of your breasts
   closing your eyes
   looking i see the breath of the night
looking at a sleeping beauty i know
darling i know
looking i know what i was born for
i could watch you dream forever
From: v131p9t3@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (Ninstar Cybermage - Back Again from the Mists!)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: +==[====----Hiding----====]==+
Date: 23 Aug 92 14:09:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41

Hiding

Where are you, my friend
Whose fleeting glance
Hardly letting me know
Passed this way
In the passing seconds of my life?

Why do you hide?

I need to hear you
To finish our talk
To continue the discourse
To understand the feeling
Of your life and mine?

Are you afraid?

I want to share
My innermost thoughts
My happiest days
My saddest defeats
If you'd only come out to talk.

Stop hiding from me!

I am a person
Not a machine
Not a corpse
Not a walking disease
Though I know it's death you fear.

I won't die.
I won't let myself die.
But I'm hurt.
Please come out.
And heal me.

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."
From: tsai@tecrus.enet.dec.com (Kuo-Yeang Tsai)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Translated Taiwanese Poem (2)
Date: 15 Aug 92 14:45:31 GMT
Organization: Digital Equipment Corporation




	Remember	written by Shion4-Horn2
			translated by Kuo-Yeang Tsai
I.

If you
if you ever had said to me
lines and words of
naievty and sincerity 
I'd remember it
when I wake up in the morning

During the days of youth
when things were simple
if you ever had said to me
lines and words of
lightness, heaviness
flying clouds, and falling snow


II.

Showing concern is asking
yet sometimes
showing concern
is
not to ask
If there's completely no information
such as the quiet sea after the ship sinks
In fact
I also remember in quiet


III.

If at the end of summer
or the beginning of autumn
I ever have written once or twice
words of metaphor and obscureness
to hint about that fortuity
such as the fortuitous
rain
----I also remember
From: root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: to the girl two cubes down
Date: 21 Aug 92 06:18:21 GMT
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."

to the girl two cubes down

modern day office,
we all live in a big room
subdivided by plastic

sometimes the walls are
transparent enough
for me to hear you sigh

we hardly ever speak face to face,
but my eyes talk to the curvatures
of your rear end parts everytime
you pass me by

you being the quiet type
and me being loud mouthed,
i guess it'd never work--
especially since i hear
your lover is the girl
one cube down

maybe if i had the courage
i would explore the improbabilities
of a three sided cube
as opposed to a simple triangle.

August 21, 1992
Bing H Bang
--
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               +---------------------------+
From: bzahniser@hayes.com
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Midnight Ramble
Date: 14 Aug 92 00:16:02 EDT
Organization: Hayes Microcomputer Products, Norcross, GA

  Midnight Ramble
  ---------------
 
  These bicycles
  rusting in the rain
  were once the joy
  of children
  long gone.
  
  These angels resting
  in the grave
  they've given up
  the ghost
  they don't care.
  up
  down
  it's all the same to them.
 
  These drunks
  carousing in the shade
  in the haze
  in the fog
  of drink
  after drink
  they cared too much
  and got pickled.
  Their sorrows are preserved
  forever..
 
  These words you see
  upon the page
  disappear
  here
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Midnight Ramble
Date: 17 Aug 92 08:23:03 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel) writes:

> >  [Cool text omitted]
> >
> >  These words you see
> >  upon the page
> >  disappear
> >  here
> 
> Grr. I find it kind of annoying when a promising poem
>  fizzles at the end like this. Self reference isn't even
>  fractal.
> 
> -m.	:-)


it is and it isn't isn't it is and it isn't it is and it isn't it isn't...


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: lunch
Keywords: autumn,fall,lunch,Radomski
Date: 18 Aug 92 08:18:40 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

Posthumous O'Toole writes:

> A Quick Lunch
> 
> 
> A tree one moment stood tall,
> the next, a child was falling,
> his blonde hair all a mess
> and his wee voice squeaking calls of distress
> as his dainty arms pushed through the air
> like a swimmer, but his eyes were clenching fear.
> "Autumn again?" he noted somehow in his gestures.
> Like bad stock, like a bad investor,
> he publicly plunged--and at noon, during lunch!
> "Yes, it IS Autumn," I thought.  "Well, back to the crunch!"


	A Quick Lynch

	A tree one moment stood tall,
	the next, a child was falling,
	his black hair all a mess
	and his wee voice squeaking calls of distress
	as his dainty arms pushed through the air
	like a swimmer, but his eyes were clenching fear.
	"God's work done" they noted somehow in their gestures.
	Like bad stock, like a bad investor,
	he publicly plunged--and at noon, during lunch!
	"Yes, it IS righteous and justified," they thought.
	"Well, back to lunch!"



-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: a touch of green
From: kupixel@oread.cc.ukans.edu
Date: 21 Aug 92 17:58:22 CDT
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Serces

In article <1992Aug21.171910.15867@u.washington.edu>, zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (Queen of the Netherlands) writes:
> 
> 
> 
>>Has Josef resurrected himself in me?
> 
> no.

   oh, c'mon now--is that an answer an o'toole would be proud of?  ;)

c.j.
KUpixel@oread.cc.ukans.edu
From: kc@soda.berkeley.edu (Kwei-Cee Chu)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: john cage
Date: 19 Aug 1992 21:56:14 GMT
Organization: U.C. Berkeley, CS Undergraduate Association
NNTP-Posting-Host: soda.berkeley.edu

In article <1992Aug19.134320.1@vax1.umkc.edu> sturner@vax1.umkc.edu writes:
>In article <1992Aug13.152713.5369@u.washington.edu>, zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (jestem oczarowana) writes:
>> 
>> for those of you who were having that john cage discussion,
>> and don't watch tv or some such, i just heard that he died.
>
>wow.  Do you have any newspaper articles or such you can exerpt?
>sharon
>
John Cage died of a stroke Tuesday, the 11th of August, 1992.  His was a
tremendous influence on music, and his loss will be felt deeply.  More
information is to be found on rec.music.classical.  I wont presume to
comment on his death further; I feel so inadequate to the task anyways.
Rest in peace, Mr. Cage.

Kwei-Cee Chu
From: stedman@aludra.usc.edu (Ian D. Stedman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Farewell IV
Date: 17 Aug 1992 05:00:50 -0700
Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: aludra.usc.edu

     Farewell IV
 
I have seen the Southern Cross,
From a Polynesian sky,
I have watched an albatross,
Take to its wings and fly.
 
I saw alabaster ships
Drift aimless down the Nile.
I saw blinded fingertips
Reach up to touch a smile.
 
I see a handful driftwood fires,
Across the smoothed sands.
I see ten thousand sapphires,
Glittering over my hands.
 
But when I grasp those gems they disappear,
For there is no beauty when you're not here.
 
                         IS`91
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: infinity
Date: 12 Aug 92 17:55:39 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

Infinity in its Usual Disguise


touch me.  I dare you.
Send me off course.
Change a word and suddenly
I'm saying yes yes yes.
Remove a comma, rush me,
slide my letters all together,
kiss me, chew a little,
look to starboard.
Same view?  Change it.
Are those your fingers?
How does the paper smell?
Not this line again.
And now this one.
How maddening.
I am insipid,
dying, perhaps
you could


Don Zirilli
8-12-92
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (jestem oczarowana)
Subject: Jennifer Grace!  
Reply-To: zola@u.washington.edu
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
Date: Wed, 12 Aug 1992 23:34:41 GMT

hey Jen, I know you are out there, I have archived my old stuff 
so well that I can only find your snail address....  drop me a note
if you see this. thanks :)
-Rebecca
From: chenjo@prism.CS.ORST.EDU (Johnny Chen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: POEM: Song of Lacuna
Date: 18 Aug 92 05:12:03 GMT
Organization: Oregon State University, Computer Science Dept.



Song of Lacuna

where is your lacuna, pretty lady?
        perhaps in your head?
then again, perhaps under that 
        pretty dress that does so please
my eye?

hey lady, your lacuna is sure to be
        someplace safe, your rouged
        lips tell me so, and your
eyes hide its secrets, dear
perhaps i should leaf through your
loose dress to find it for you

i hope your lacuna is small and deep, you 
        are a lacunose dame, no?
the floral prints on that dress
so tempts me to unfurl it into the wind
and let my fingers run over the skin
        in search of that called lacuna

dear lady, when i find your lacuna
        i will kiss you senseless
and eat your blouse



I would appreciate any comment you may send my way, good or bad.
Please send it to: chenjo@bionette.cgrb.orst.edu...thanks!
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,alt.sex,alt.sex.bondage,talk.bizarre,alt.butt.harp
From: richh@netcom.com (the keeper of the cheese)
Subject: RICHH:  BODY--THAT ONE'S
Date: Sat, 22 Aug 92 22:04:16 GMT
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 
Followup-To: rec.arts.poems

     There is no congruence
     Between my body and my body's place
     In my mind.
     True, there is overlap, but it is far from complete.
     
     I am in this body familiar as a young boy
     In his first suit.
     But do not make the mistake of thinking
     I am displeased with this.
     I am not unhappy in this wrap,
     Only not entirely familiar, always learning.
     The joy in discovery.
     Come, learn with me:
     Let your hands teach us both.
     Drink the glow from my skin, 
     The rich strawberry Quick tint.
     Look how quickly it refills.
     
     Know what it means when my chest is red and patchy,
     My face pink, my neon magenta.
     Let this heat be our envelope, 
     Let it slip over your own hovering as easy as fog, 
     As accepting as a cup of silk.
     Look at the blush that has found a new home:
     My shoulders, my upper arms.
     See how my fingers work, how they would dig tiny furrows
     In my thighs.
     Watch them.  Follow.
     Make no mistake, find instruction in my face.
     Continue.  Drink.

 
RICHH
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Grey Man
Date: 20 Aug 92 17:05:40 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

Please excuse the delay of my account of Josef O'Toole, but I keep
forgetting to bring my journal to work with me, and now I've been
distracted by another controversy.  As you all must know, Kevin
Denelsbeck's poem "The Gray Man" is actually about me.  When I told him
that I preferred the alternate spelling he proceeded to weep, etc., saying
that it was beyond his powers to write of such a color and then, in a huff,
dared me to do so!

and Posthumous O'Toole can rarely resist a dare (if ever):



The Grey Man


He is a shadow cast upon a cloud,
gravel at dusk, winter discolored,
the soft crunch of a rodent in a garbage can,
and his own cloak, faded from attempts
at covering dark suspicions
and cloying insecurities.

He has colored himself with buckets
of water and a drop of navy blue paint,
perhaps a wee sliver of green,
perhaps the tear that her face inspired.
O the colors in that tear,
now diluted!

Excuse me, I am mistaken.
I merely see a puddle of oil 
with a rainbow in the corner,
with my seeking face reflected,
with perfectly good opera tickets
getting soggy, sinking.



Posthumous O'Toole
8-20-92
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: paulchem@tigger.cs.Colorado.EDU (Icarus)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: ellipses for an end
Date: 17 Aug 92 00:11:01 GMT
Organization: University of Colorado, Boulder


1] Critiques welcome.

2]
              ellipses for an end.
             ---------------------

The violin played alone,
on sunday's deserted street.

i then saw all of you,
your red painted toes,
and your tiny snub nose.

the beat of a childish heart,
spoke to me from the past,
dragging me down,
into a circle of want,
into a circle of pain.

searching for perfection,
nothing would transcend,
i found a longish letter,
pictures and pretty words,
with ellipses for an end.


3] Stay Cool.
From: melynda@titipu.meta.com (Melynda Reid)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: A LITTLE MADNESS TO SHARE
Date: 14 Aug 92 16:36:19 GMT
Reply-To: melynda@titipu.meta.com (Melynda Reid)
Organization: Paleolithic Refugia
X-Mailer: uAccess - Macintosh Release: 1.9b1


In article <1992Aug13.140031.574@ccsvax.sfasu.edu> (rec.arts.poems), z_templetocd@ccsvax.sfasu.edu writes:
 
> IM LOSING IT IN A BAD WAY.
> 
> SHOULD I TAKE ANOTHER LIFE TO EASE THE PAIN?
> 
nah, a little aspirin and navane will do the trick just fine.

melynda reid   who wears hats but does not type caps
  eel:   melynda@titipu.meta.com  or  nosc.mil!titipu.meta.com!melynda
  snail: p o box 378 greensboro, florida 32330
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: oh let them laugh :)
Date: 17 Aug 92 13:23:35 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=


> |From: gardner@hale.ifa.hawaii.edu (Jonathan Gardner)
> |Newsgroups: rec.humor.funny
> |Subject: More political light bulb jokes
> |Date: 15 Aug 92 08:30:03 GMT
> :
> 
> Q:   How many net.poets does it take to change a light bulb?
> 
>                     swimming
> A:   None, fish are          through the       of my conciousness,
> 	    and                          edges
>             I          dark. 
>               like the 
> 




-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: hovis_ea@lrc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Rememberance
Date: 12 Aug 92 13:55:36 EDT
Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC

			"REMEMBERANCE"

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

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

	The shouts of angry voices raised,
	mirror of fantasy shattered into reality.
	Single tear rolls down, buring 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.
	Broken mirror.
From:  (Michael Snider)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: new poem
Date: 19 Aug 92 19:06:33 GMT
Followup-To: rec.arts.poems
Organization: BNR

One Night


flying through January
windows down in that green Buick
Ripple Red back and forth

and cold air, we loved
the cold, and Phyllis
on that bench seat

so close beside me
eyes closed and mouth open
while we ate that two-lane

one-handed past the graves
of my mother's kin
to the Bullet County farm 

where my great-grandmother's
second cousin twice removed
let me spend summers

in what I knew were slave cabins
I had the keys
and we both knew

and she said nothing
as she lay back, put
one leg up behind my head

reached under her skirt
to pull aside her yellow
leotard and with her other hand

pulled mine to touch her
for the first time
the high-beam headlights

not enough to show me
anything we skidded
almost past the turn 

fishtailed through the open
gate my right hand slick
on the steering wheel

clipped a bush and straightened
out on the long drive
turned the lights off

not wanting to shine
through my cousin's windows
she'd be in bed

but not too sleepy to want
to meet "my little friend"
and courteously keep us dressedQ

but her lights were on.
Hers, and outside, the red
flashing light on the ambulanceQ

jesusQI stopped the car
Phyllis streuggled up
we watched the paramedics

load the covered body
and switch off emergency
lightsQno hurry nowQ

They waved as they passed.
The sherriff locked her door
and before he could stop us

I turned the car, Phyllis
closed her window
huddled in her own armsQ

We went home. We
had no reports to file
and nothing else to do.

-----

All comments welcome.  I have no email address so please post.
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Lecture
Date: 20 Aug 92 18:15:32 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland


	Lecture
	-------

you're tuning out of this lecture
it's beyond dull, you're beyond caring
blankly staring sideways.
all the people in this room
cover most of the distance
from here to the opposite wall
you can see the back of the person in front
and the sides of the people to the right.
those people on the other side
are looking very flat today
you can believe in the distance from that girl
to the next one behind her
but not in the sides you can't see-
convex shells
that don't even give the illusion of depth
no, they could be completely flat
and your eyes are deceiving each other.
arms outstretched from corner to corner
long, long arms sweep the people (not the chairs)
like chessmen after checkmate
clap clap one against the next
flat on flat on back on front
and slap against the wall at your back
an overlapping interleaving stack of paper dolls
a crowd of vaguely fidgeting shadow puppets
an indonesion fable of half-hearted listening
the gods of boredom just sit around
to the tinkle of a tuneless gamelan
an empty room lecturing to its own echoes
changing slides and chalking diagrams
no more voluntarily than the firing of a nerve.
this wall of cut-outs is quite unrelated
a jumble, a creature, a fidget
deliciously disregarding the usual third dimension
having given it up as largely irrelevant.
you can reach out sideways
and not affect the picture
near as much as reaching forwards
sideways, nothing, forwards, something
sideways nothing,
puppets tangle jangle, what? sorry?
what? sorry?, no, um
i don't have a question.

			- Michael Norris.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems