HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Advice:  A Love Sonnet
Date: 12 Nov 92 15:10:09 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ


First of all:  "Kate"???  Is that you, Mistress?

In article <5730@sumax.seattleu.edu> sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (   Kate   ) writes:
>
>Though no longer the 'Maven o'Mirth' (all good things gradually grind to a
>halt) I am still the same incarnation, and would not wish to *cross* you,

Oh, but I agree with you completely!

>I point these out not to be an annoying English major but because I think
>they demonstrate true mastery of the form.  Each time the iambic meter of
>the pentameter is altered, it produces a specific effect, particularly the
>spondees.  

That's what I meant when I said it 'scans'.  I was too lazy to point out
the times he strayed from the meter to produce effects (I too was an
English major once), but I am glad you took up the mantle yourself.

Yours more than ever,

Posthumous O'Toole, Defender of the Realm

-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: jjimenez@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu (Joel A Jimenez)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem
Date: 13 Nov 92 00:38:45 GMT
Article-I.D.: magnus.1992Nov13.003845.444
Organization: The Ohio State University


   On icy streets to the prairie heights,
   Across this hatred land.
   In jungles green of silk pristine,
   The Afrikan man does stand.

   Above, raised sceptre, upon the hill
   He shouts his angry cry.
   And tearing down to claim his crown,
   His bloody tears run dry.


                   - Joel A. Jimenez
                       8/1/92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (R L Lowell)
Subject: this silver
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
Date: Tue, 10 Nov 1992 17:42:14 GMT




this silver globe you kissed to me
tarnishes some days quicker than others
and some days it just hangs suspended in space
either way
there is frost and snow
on parts of this globe
not my globe, the other one
the one that is mine is silver
and tarnishes some days quicker than others


rebecca lowell
zola@u.washington.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sswieren@nyx.cs.du.edu (stephan swierenga)
Subject: Pictures on the white eye
Organization: Nyx, Public Access Unix @ U. of Denver Math/CS dept.
Date: Wed, 11 Nov 92 21:16:33 GMT


posting for a friend, he says c&c is welcome...

====================================================

       PICTURES ON THE WHITE EYE


 Dripping melodies bloody my images
 as I suck and enjoy the dampness
 Running home to my lover
 of desperate times I watch

 Nutrition rituals and afternoon snaps
 of Geisha beauty magazines
 You lonely lover,
 The slaves' wonder

 You are free in madness
 You are free in joy
 I want to experience it with you     
 What thoughts we have

Manipulating the artificial orb
lights the sleeping man
in her depressed eye
shattered shards of the self

pictures on the white
eye of naked black
the splashing feminine           
innocence of the world.

Hajii

================================================
sswieren@nyx.cs.du.edu


r
q
p
    
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: csmcm@ux1.cts.eiu.edu (Mary C. McDaniel)
Subject: The Swans At Bruneau
Summary: (I Miss Idaho.)
Date: Fri, 13 Nov 1992 15:42:06 GMT
Organization: Eastern Illinois University
Keywords: Winter, Nature, Addiction

"Trumpeters are birds of strong tradition.  Cygnets learn from their parents 
where to spend the winter, then pass this information along to their young.  
Once learned, that location seldom varies: a trumpeter is more likely to starve to death in a familiar place than break tradition and pioneer to new wintering
grounds."
                              -- Judy Mills, Natural History

The Swans At Bruneau

Let winter blast the dunes into the lake,
and we will still come home.
Let her beat the water until it breaks,
snap the tender stalks of winterfat,
and we will still
want food.
Demand an explanation
and we could describe addiction's common itch,
or habit's hangdog silhouette,
or instinct's come-hither sigh, and still 
have told you nothing you'd believe; 
so come and sit.

Here while the dunes break the wind
so it cannot break us, behind the willows
that dance about the ice-cuffed lake,
be still.  Do not alarm us
into clamorous flight.  Do not approach us
like some unwise god.  Attend
upon the bell-beats of our hundred hearts
and watch the eager water quaver
around our feet.

In the telling, you may invoke
the sage on winter's breath,
or the black-ears scattering in muddy waves
before your boots,
or the snakes that lug their sluggish
skins into the sun,
but let's speak truth:
There may be other majesties on earth,
but we, alone, are here
at Bruneau,
while you, on fickle wings,
pair "light" with "flee"
and prolong your undisciplined
flight.




Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Subject: Face to Face (c&c welcome)
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Wed, 11 Nov 1992 15:49:47 GMT

Face to Face

God, look at the time.  Shhh....No, come on love, we've got to get
going <pause> Will you miss me?  Oh, how can you ask...of
course I'll miss you.  <hug> <caress hair> I miss	She always did
him so much. <stiffen> Mike?  He's a jerk.  It's     have an addictive
a good thing he's gone. Maybe, but.... No 	 personality.  We all
maybes.  Listen, where's your jacket.      wondered how he ever stood
<laugh> Am I going to need it in       her, with her clingy ways and
San Francisco?  You do have to	   little giggles that almost screamed
take the plane out, you know.	that she was his and he was hers.  He
Chicago in the autumn is      was well rid of her, we all agreed.  And
not always pleasant.	 honestly, it was the best thing for her.  She
I guess.  I'll get    was lonely for a while, but a string of casual 
it. <pause> Well,   lovers, none of whom, myself included, stayed for
I guess that's 	 long, may have started to teach her to depend on her-
everything.    self.  I have to say though, that even as a friend it's
Sure I can't     been definitely stressful the last few months.  I
call you a cab?	  honestly think that if we had to listen to her whine
Shh....you worry    about Mike for one more week, one of us would have
too much.  I'll be    strangled the poor bitch.  Anyway, I have to
fine on the bus. And	admit she was great in bed.  Guess all that 
you'll take care of my	  stuff they say about reheads must be true.
Sushi for me?  She'll be    I somehow doubt passion can be encoded in
fine. The finest tuna money    your genes.  You know, sometimes I
can buy. <smile> You'll miss    wonder if pretending to like her really
the flight if you don't hurry,	  did her, or me, any good in the long
love.  Call me when you get in,	     run.  Oh well, too late to do any-
okay? Oh, okay.  <hug> <hold tight>     thing about it now.  At least
I wish I weren't going.  You don't mean     she's going.  It'll be 
that. You love sunshine, you love the city      better this way. Really.
...Shhh....I love you.  I know.  Now come on,
we've been over all this.  <let go>  <pick up bags> <open door> Love you.

*****

M.A. Mohanraj
November 10, 1992

[note - I worried about the same issue Michael brought up recently -
the ethics of writing about somebody else....especially since she was
pretty badly misrepresented here.  Any comments?]
-- 
More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads.  One
path leads to despair and utter hopelessness.  The other to total
extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.
						 - Woody Allen
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lionel@cs.city.ac.uk (Lionel Tun)
Subject: A couple of questions if you don't mind
Organization: City University, London
Date: Wed, 11 Nov 92 19:16:27 GMT

I'm not sure if this is the right group to ask, but I have
a couple of questions:
1. From which play does the phrase 'though this be madness,
   yet there is method in't` come?
2. 'A host, of golden daffodils` comes from which
   Wordswoth poem?
3. Did T.S. Eliot write 'The Wasteland`?
Thanks
   

--
Lionel Tun   (lionel@cs.city.ac.uk)
Vision Group, City University, London, EC1V 0HB. 071-477 8000 x 3889
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Gazebo
Date: 13 Nov 92 12:52:36 GMT
Article-I.D.: leela.1992Nov13.125236.24161
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University


Just some more ramblings from my mind.  I am hoping to talk my husband
into building my Gazebo next spring.  It would be a great place for a
wedding!  


     GAZEBO

I saw a gazebo
once
in a neighbor's backyard.
It was lacey and white
against the green of trees and plants
A Victorian hideaway
exuding peaceful
contemplation.

I want a gazebo
in my yard.
The place I have chosen
is perfect
Giant trees on three sides
screening it from
neighbors' view
The entrance facing a riot of color
that is my flower bed
A winding gravel path
edged by primroses, alzeas, rhododendrons
leading to the gazebo.

Children used to play here
Swingset, slide, sandbox
Treehouse high off the ground
Laughter, loud voices
fantasies enacted.
A perfect place
for quiet contemplation.

November 3, 1992

Kathleen O'Toole,
Bringer of Light


-- 
*************************************************************************
"Insufficient facts always invites danger, Captain."- Spock in Space Seed
	Marg Petersen	petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu
*************************************************************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon)
Subject: I don't know about Urdu
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Mon, 9 Nov 1992 22:11:19 GMT



In article <1992Nov09.205446.24598@news.mentorg.com> 
ali@simdiv1.mentorg.com (Aliasgar Haveliwala) writes:
>	How about this for the world of ignorants
>
>		There once was a man from English (ha ha ha)
...

>ALi



You are angry and don't mean this as a serious poem,
but I think it is a metaphor.

the first line.

It is like saying "go to sleep." that is trite. but an example.

Langauge is place. That is an interesting metaphor.

I am from English, because that is where my mind is born. and How
I also talk. When I was learning classical Greek I tried to be from
Greek, I wanted to dream in it. When I write a poem I want to be from
you or you to be from me, because I want to be able to see how it feels
to be from someone else. (this is not the only reason I write a poem.)


ps. I miss cult o' carrie. He must not read here anymore. 
    Does anyone have his address?
-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Prowse, Natalie)
Subject: Purging
Date: Fri, 06 Nov 1992 00:40:18 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24
Organization: University of Regina, Regina, Sask., Canada


Squeeze my heart.

Poison oozes slowly out.
Painfully dripping,
it congeals on the page.

Purged, 
I can breathe again.
My heart can beat again.
Until it fills once more
with vitriol,
And I must
go through the process
yet another time.
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Subject: Apostles (c&c welcome)
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Fri, 6 Nov 1992 15:50:59 GMT

Apostles

There were twelve of them.
I remember that it struck me as enormously funny at the time,
and I struggled to hold in the laughter, not wishing to offend.
Twelve men,
Twelve Catholic men,
Twelve priests and priests-in-training,
Talking to an agnostic woman.

They wanted to convert me,
to save me,
to heal that tortured pagan soul...

So they plied me with meatloaf and baked potatoes,
salad and fruit,
offered me a beer
and a slice of Father Tom's birthday cake.

Quite a change from Cathoic grammar school,
where the nuns dressed in black,
(Father Peter wore a boldly checkered shirt)
and the students in plaid uniforms,
skirts below the knees.
And the nuns would smack rulers against erring knuckles,
and Monsignor Wodarski preached of eternal damnation.

Last night,
watching a Maryknoll religious movie from the fifties,
the speaking priest ranted against the triple scourges of
disease,
ignorance,
paganism.
And they laughed!  All of them!

So tell me,
is the Church changing?
Or am I?

*****

M.A. Mohanraj
November 6, 1992

(textual notes :-) - for those who had the fortune (?) not to be
raised Catholic...there were traditionally twelve apostles
accompanying Jesus, among them Thomas the doubter, and Peter, the rock
on whom He built His church...the first pope.  Maryknoll is a
missionary order of priests who try to bring healing, education and
religion to the heathen throughout the world.  Any other questions
about Catholicism, feel free to ask me - 9 years of Catholic grammar
school had to be good for something.)


-- 
More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads.  One
path leads to despair and utter hopelessness.  The other to total
extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.
						 - Woody Allen
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: asdf
Date: 12 Nov 92 14:13:40 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <1992Nov12.022604.22450@cs.ucla.edu> lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter) writes:
>2. I think "d" (not much of a name) otherwise known as zen@death.Corp.Sun.COM 
>   made a rather poor choice in titling his poem "if i was a nigger i'd".
>   I'm not blind to irony, but "nigger" carries some pretty heavy
>   baggage, and as a white person it's one that I steer well clear of
>   in my speech or writing.  Otherwise an interesting polemic.

Aw, Michael, if you're not blind to irony then sit back and enjoy the poem!
ZenDeath will be getting plenty of flames from people who are blind.  Don't
add to the fire.


Yours,

Posthumous O'Toole
Defender of the Realm


-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: vhancock@acorn.co.uk (vorn hancock)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: A poem
Date: 7 Nov 92 17:51:55 GMT
Organization: Acorn Computers Ltd, Cambridge, England

You are alone 
And that's the truth
And also it is tragic
Yet in your eyes
You have the touch
And that, my friend, is magic

Vorn

We've all got Special Needs
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Trouble
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Tue, 10 Nov 92 13:07:59 GMT


                          Trouble

                Trouble with not wanting more
                than this
                (mere happiness)
                it is not large enough
                lacks chrome and enamel
                will not take me
                anywhere else
                signifies arrival
                not a fit destination
                for one who collects baggage.







-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: HELP NEEDED (Is poetry luxury?)
Date: 10 Nov 92 12:27:14 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

casteley@phil.ruu.nl (Eric Casteleyn) writes:

>   I recently overheard someone say that poetry is a luxury item. In-
> tuitively I disagreed, but I've had some trouble putting together a 
> definitive article to prove him wrong. Maybe he was right. Maybe I'm
> stupid. I sincerely hope the latter.


	if you need an argument
	the other has won it


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: nikolay@husc10.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Another Poem for Marek & Marie to crucify
Date: 11 Nov 92 06:29:10 GMT
Article-I.D.: husc10.NIKOLAY.92Nov10222910
Organization: The Kremlin Wall of Harvard
In-reply-to: jjimenez@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu's message of 11 Nov 92 00:28:13 GMT

jjimenez@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu (Joel A Jimenez) writes:

>Article-I.D.: magnus.1992Nov11.002813.1630


>    As our paths now part, my only Love, I truly tell you this: Every
> night when the sun sinks down, My heart will be in bliss.

>    Wherever you are or come to be, (I tell you this is true),
> Whenever the stars cast down soft light, My heart lies there with
> you.

Dribble is uncrucifiable, you mumbling megalomaniac.

>                         6/8/92
>                        10/8/92

However, when you announce the dates of your dribble's
birth and death, it solidifies into a sepulchre.

Philip Nikolayev
nikolay@husc.harvard.edu
From: nikolay@husc10.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Thoughts
Date: 9 Nov 92 22:55:17 GMT
Article-I.D.: husc10.NIKOLAY.92Nov9145517
Organization: The Kremlin Wall of Harvard
In-reply-to: tourf00@DMI.USherb.CA's message of Sun, 8 Nov 1992 23:18:52 GMT

tourf00@DMI.USherb.CA (Francis Tourillon <Tourfman>) writes:

> nikolay@husc10.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev) pretend que ==>

>>ramakris@gn.ecn.purdue.edu (Balaji Ramakrishnan) writes:

BR
>>> Thoughts

>>> What's in a poem That ain`t in a rhyme What's in a chime That makes
>>> it ring all the time It`s thoughts like these That make this world
>>> so sublime
>>
> 	...
>>>                                       --- Balaji
>>

PN
>>How unique, and how banal. This is not a contradiction.  Everything
>>is unique; most things are banal. What I like
> ...
>>
>>I'd suggest that you flush your thoughts, and stick to ideas.
>>

FT
> I'd suggest Philip to not suggest.  Please let this guy write what he thinks.

OK, I hereby permit this guy to write whatever trash he thinks.

FT
> Poetry like every other form of art does not deserve to be suggested by others.

OK, I also permit you to believe in whatever nonsense you you choose.

> Tourfman
> ========

Philip Nikolayev
nikolay@husc.harvard.edu
From: jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (jtrue)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: a construct sings her to sleep/jtrue
Date: 14 Nov 92 02:29:57 GMT
Organization: the gospel of zagnut

Goodnight again
from 3 nodes away;
I leave you to taste
the delicious drowse
as you let your eyelids gently fall,
no longer struggling to focus
on the text diffracted
through dilute tears of fatigue
in the whim of the candlelight.
Let the music fade to camphor,
notes skipping off your eardrums
as flat stones
on a placid underground lake.
I say farewell
and you glide to lands
where the laws are suspended
by playful goddesses,
where properly folded maps don't exist
and everyone is a perfect blue
extension of yourself.
Allow me to send a breeze
to dowse the candle.
While you're gone
I'll play one of the near-blind scholars
who haunt libraries
long after all others
have fled for home and bed,
for I seldom sleep
and when I do I always awaken alone
to swim out into a cold
I don't think you can know,
to find the matches.
Through the wee hours to the dawn
I'll shuffle my translucent hands
through all these arcane dictionaries,
looking up those words
you mutter when your sleep is stirred.
In the morning I'll mix their meanings
with the sugar into your coffee
as you linger on the porch,
trying to name another day's complexion.

-jtrue1992

c/c/f welcome
"No not you with those half moon eyelids..." PiL
jtrue@acpub.duke.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,sci.engr.mech
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Urdu Ignorance (part II)
Date: 11 Nov 92 14:18:31 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <1992Nov10.190807.11922@news.mentorg.com> ali@simdiv1.mentorg.com (Ali Haveliwala) writes:
>Urdu Ignorance (part II)
>
>	Those vain speakers of the Queen's toungue
>	Delight in the cuisine of dung
>	Eschewing spice
>	They season with lice
>	And perhaps a bit of bat's bung
>
>
>Thanks to Karen Tellefsen for helping me out against the few ignorant wizards.
>

Hey!

Keep this stuff in rec.arts.poems.urdu!  I'm sick of these irrelevant
crossposts!  If you must post elsewhere, try no.sense.of.irony


Yours,

Posthumous O'Toole, Defender of the Realm


-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: late fall rain / Marie Coffin
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Sun, 8 Nov 1992 23:40:49 GMT


	late fall rain
	------------------------------------------------------------
	
	late fall rain
	i hate
	the late fall rain
	comes down relentlessly
	cold seeps into me
	
	if it always rained like this
	would i always walk
	head down
	eyes on the circle of sidewalk
	under my umbrella?
	
	on the hill top
	the streets spread
	and the lights reflecting 
	in the wet
	impress on me
	and the brown elusive scent
	of wet leaves
	and my fingers are cold
	but i am warm.
	
	all things give up beauty
	and their heat
	but there's a furnace inside me
	the rain
	the rain can't put out.


Marie Coffin
November 8, 1992