HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: EVERBODY READ THIS!
Date: 15 Sep 92 03:51:34 GMT
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."

ayre@fraser.sfu.ca (David Ayre) writes:
> 
> PLEASE READ!!!
> 
> 
>  I found this essay in a pamphlet on Stephen Rodefer
> hiding behind a bunch of junk on this stand at this
> writing school i help out at.  I hope everyone in this
> discussioin group would read it, and LEARN from it.  It is
> under copyright but i feel it is worth the risk.
> 
[Copyrighted matterial deleted]

ummmm.... I just want to know... What in the world prompted this post????

> David Ayre
> Vancouver B.C.
> INTERNET:  ayre@sfu.ca
> p.s.  dear don z, i haven't forgotten about you, i still care for you
>      deeply, our little mag got postponed for a while, comeing soon...

--
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: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--Item of interest
Date: 12 Sep 92 20:31:31 GMT
Organization: Real/Time Communications


                              Item of interest

The sense of outrage
absent among the young
(they still remember love)
highly developed among scholars
the digestive tract is
one
single
tube
extending from the mouth
to the anus
some take in
others give out
some just hold on
for dear life.
From: jeffb@terapin.com (Jeffrey Bean)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: "Berkeley Blues"
Date: 11 Sep 92 14:26:26 PST
Organization: BBS

   A Poem about life in Berkeley, California:

Berkeley Blues:

I've been locked outside
Cooped inside
Set aside
And taken for a ride
I've always always taken it in stride
But I never have been satisfied.

I've paid all the fees
Been down on my knees
My pizza's always losing it's cheese
Gut stung by bees
Climbed the trees
Aimed to please
But dammit I never get appeased

Taken so much more than I can bear
Taken so much, but who could care?
I done that, I been there
On a plane and in the air
On a bus without my fare
Gets me simply no where
Man, I'm even losing my hair!

Written too much prose
Faught too many foes
Given too many ladies too many a rose,
Then cried and blown my nose
Worked and performed too many shows
But all the doors on me still close
And thats the way it goes.

Yeah, I've been locked outside
cooped inside
set aside
And taken for a ride
I always always take it in stride
And I never have been satisfied.

Just got some interesting news
I just got them Berkeley Blues.

                              (C) 1992, J. Bean
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: wkinman@esk.compserv.utas.edu.au (Warren Michael Kinman)
Subject: Creations of the City
Summary: People 
Keywords: Neurotic
 
Organization: University of Tasmania at Launceston
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 92 05:19:19 GMT

CREATIONS OF THE CITY
=====================

Neurotic people roaming in the city,
Wearing dresses and make-up,
Trying to look pretty.
Do they know where they're going?
Do they really care,
Or are they just waiting,
For the slowing down
Of their heart.
Waiting for the deepest sleep;
The endless nightmare,
When, finally, they become
Part of the beat
Of the city.
The city that created them,
Made them what they are.
The city that bred them,
And then swallowed them in cement and tar.

These people roam the streets,
Looking for an escape;
An outlet for their
Pent up tensions.
They pick on the weak,
The innocent,
And the defenceless.
People make noises;
Scream and shout;
Sign petitions;
Write answers to the questions
On the forms they fill out.
Yet, their pleas go unheeded,
Their demands unfulfilled.
And still, there are
Neurotic people, roaming the city.

W.M.Kinman (C)  1986
From : The Poet-Tree
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Standard C&C most welcome on my foray into the poetry world.
From: root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: ode to insomnia
Date: 14 Sep 92 06:18:10 GMT
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."

i am out of phase
with the sun and the moon
the moon tricks me
with day-time alertness
and the sun brings me
the sweet music of opius

i must admit,
this condition has
certain advantages--
great for my night life
a real party animal...
but maybe my boss
is considering a new task for me
to go on an extended leave
to search for a certain black unicorn
without pay.

9/12/92
bhb

--
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               +---------------------------+
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: eah1@gauguin.wustl.edu (Edward Anthony Hutchins)
Subject: Re: Latex
Organization: Washington University, School of Engineering, St. Louis MO
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 1992 05:44:12 GMT

In article <1992Sep10.173539.19099@vela.acs.oakland.edu>  
jcbarnes@vela.acs.oakland.edu (Terson - Sod Lord) writes:
> Edward Hutchins writes:
> 
> :) Not to be a complete nerd about things (too late) but:
> :)   |
> :)   v  never too late... :)
> :) 
..
> 
> :) Edward Hutchins, eah1@cec1.wustl.edu
> 
> one minor modification should be made... :)
> 
..
> \begin{poem}{\LaTeX}               <-------\
> \LaTeX\ was written \\*			<--- Small modification made :)
> --
> Terson -- Sod Lord
>   ========================================================================
>   || In the message you have just read: all characters, events, views,  ||
>   || and beliefs are a figment of my imagination... any likeness to     ||
>   || reality is purely coincidental.                                    ||
>   ==================================email: jcbarnes@vela.acs.oakland.edu==

Argh!! Mea culpa! That was a pretty obvious screwup... Perfection is always
one step ahead of me...
_____________________________________________________________________________
:-)  ('')  (-:  (,,)  :-)  ('')  (-:  (,,)  :-) | see lidflip instructions on
Edward Hutchins, eah1@cec1.wustl.edu            | other side of card
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien)
Subject: (happy thoughts) & inspiration ideas
Organization: The Land of Earthquakes (Southern Cal)
Date: Sun, 13 Sep 92 16:30:01 GMT



	Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  =)  I actually feel really
happy for once, but there's a side effect: I don't feel motivated to 
write poetry. =|  Maybe I ought to make 1-hour-only depression
pills for artistic inspiration.  ;)   (or maybe I ought to learn to write
about happy things ... without being cheesy).  =)  Hahahahahah....
smileys to all ... love and flowers, and all that mush....  (Truly,
the sage says, this is a rare event.)

	On a more serious note, anyone who has suggestions for
"inspiration", could you post it here?  I've heard from a few poets
who have been having problems lately, and I'm sure many more would
enjoy hearing some mind-starting ideas.

	Here are a few ideas of mine:

	1. Pick something that's important to you, that you care 
about -- (your children, some problem at work, a question that's
been bothering you, a TV show, anything...), and use that as the 
subject of a poem.  Either write what it means something to you 
through descriptions and images, or use it as the basis of some 
fictional writing/plot.

	2. Pick something that is relatively common and has no 
particular significance (a toothpick, a brass lamp, plastic potted
plants, a bureau, etc), and try to find a new way of describing it, 
a new way of seeing it.  Or relate it (using it as a metaphor), to 
something you want to say or describe.  (For example, a plastic potted 
plant could be used to describe how industrialized society is slowly 
replacing natural objects with manufactured objects.)

	3.  Write down snippets of dialog/conversation you've heard
today, from anyone.  Mix and match the lines to see if you can form 
a different story.

	4.  Read some poetry by other people.  This often sparks
a line of thought related to or taking off of their poem.

	5.  Write a poem describing someone you know.  This needn't
be a lover or a friend, perhaps just an acquaintance at work... and
put in a few colorful details (ie, this doesn't need to be entirely
factual -- use your imagination).

	Well, that's all for now -- anyone else, throw in a word on
what you do when dry for words!  =)


Jennifer
p.s. if things become desparate: sit under a tree and feel spiritual ;)
p.p.s. or visit Troublemaker O'Toole's ranch and howl with some coyotes.
From: jeffb@terapin.com (Jeffrey Bean)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Okay, Just one more.
Date: 10 Sep 92 21:16:57 PST
Organization: BBS

    Just another one... another one that I'm proud of...

        Shoshanna in the Cafe'

                She tries to look soultry
                In the cafe', sitting by the window
                On a bentwood chair over a tiled floor
                With her deep, dark eyes catching candid glimpses
                Of handsome men in their studies
                Her hair's french braided
                In a lived-in sort of fashion
                And jet-black bangs
                Curl seductively over her left eye
                She holds her 'cig twixt her fingers
                In a girlish faux sophisticate sort of way
                As if it only exists when she wants it to.
                A loose hung sweater
                Hangs loosely from her body
                Just under a slim, creamy neck
                Hinting slightly at what features lie
                Above and below
                She pretends to smile at her friend
                But the corner of her eyes,
                They're smilin' at me.
                She tries to look soultry
                But I know
                Believe me, I know
                She's not.
                                     (C) 1992, J. Bean
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--A wet finger
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Tue, 15 Sep 92 18:52:41 GMT


                            A wet finger

This is a dark sunlit night
this is a summer without snow
this is a situation
which could have been predicted
before the advent of statistical mechanics
all that was necessary
was a wet finger
stuck into the wind...
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--Tell me more
Date: 4 Sep 92 16:07:36 GMT
Organization: Real/Time Communications


                        Tell me more
                          (for She)

She loves me
to tell her about herself
loves to hear
what she will be like
when she grows up
as she grows up
I tell her
she has a big heart
with many songs to sing
with much love to ring out
in strains of deep affection
I tell her
she has many desires
and much to share
with the man she loves
longs to spend whole
nights and days
tangled in loving limbs
with her deep voice crying out
the wordless song of her passion
I tell her these things
while we lie in each others' arms
after the latest desire has been spent
and she curls up
becoming suddenly like her own daughter
smiles at me
and says laughing
"Tell me more."
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: imagery
From: system@kryton.UUCP (Scott Beckstead)
Date: Mon, 07 Sep 92 13:13:23 PDT
Organization: Paradox Alley F&SF BBS 805-492-8789


            The stark white bark of the beech 
            peeling onto the pitch black ground
            a mottled contrasty picture
            accomplished without a sound

            Sequoia soars to shortened heights
            brick red bark scar streaked with black
            girth of giants dimly lit 
            falling due to root depth lack
            
            bonsai's petite perfection   
            mangled by caring hand
            beauty under construction
            from bough and earth and sand
 
            behold the verdant pepper tree
            bright red fruits on brownish ground
            sharp smell of crushing pepper corns
            seeds bright and scattered 'round          
            
            

Some observations about several trees I happen to admire.  Also experiments
in imagery.  Tell me what you think.  
Scott

            

System Administrator Paradox Alley  F&SF BBS and Usenet News/Mail 
805-492-8789  Thousand Oaks, Ca. The Place For Science Fiction and Fantasy
"Spin My Nipple Nuts and Send Me to Alaska!" Kryten, Red Dwarf

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--I stand here
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Fri, 11 Sep 92 10:03:22 GMT


                                I stand here

I stand here
mouthing what you now are
determining for a moment
the nature of your being
you invited me--
I cannot come unbidden--
and what will you do
now
knowing us to be one?
From: tony@swrinde.nde.swri.edu (Anthony R. Benitez)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: OF GRAZING DEER
Date: 15 Sep 92 11:55:31 GMT
Organization: Southwest Research Institute, San Antonio, Texas



OF GRAZING DEER


Behind my house in fields of flowing grass
Perched in day's closing chance awaiting
The silent foreplay of my guest's arrival
Deedless claim this plot of land joint heirs
While daylight pleats shades across narrow eyes
Gazing intent for movement slight the breathing air
Falling moist on upper lip half bitten quivering
Emerge cautiously supple forms to graze content
In silken robes of grays to honeyed twilight
Milking attention of emotion fast the fading scene
In eyes and gleaning stares that see no more
Left guessing, mysteriously so they must
Still be there in soul or mind at least
The vision made so in never-the-less eyes
Braiding form into fleeting images gazing me
I transform thought in darkness cricket's screams
That chase the frightened fawn and mother's breast
Into pastures yet to never know or lest
I join their comfort cradled beds of ease
In fields of grass towering a night's blanket
Wrapped far beyond my arms smothering
Holding fast the creature's gentle nudge to flee.


A.R.Benitez     September 1992

***************************************************
tony@tex.nde.swri.edu
***************************************************
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--Prostitutes in America
Date: 5 Sep 92 18:37:35 GMT
Organization: Real/Time Communications


                        Prostitutes in America

In Asia
there is a filmmaker
who is coming to America
to make a film
about prostitutes in America
he comes
with the express intent
of falling in love
with a prostitute in America
and then making a film
about prostitutes in America
in which the characters would be
actual prostitutes in America
appearing
in his film
about prostitutes in America
he got the idea for his film
from an American filmmaker
who had gone to Asia
with the
express intent
of falling in love
with
a prostitute in Asia
and then making a film
about prostitutes in Asia
using
prostitutes in Asia
as characters in his film
about prostitutes in Asia
one of his friends
is a filmmaker in Iceland...
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@mermaid.msel.unh.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: Re: Polish warrior (from WWII)... / Marek
Organization: UNH Marine Systems Engineering Laboratory
Date: Thu, 10 Sep 1992 04:12:02 GMT


>What do ya all think 'bout that??
>C&C&F welcome/wanted/adored.

An excellent example of a villanelle, and a good unicorn poem too.  I
especially liked the baseball metaphor running thorugh the Polish
warrior's head since baseball was/is so treasured in Poland.  The
reference to the toady horse also sparkles.

				-- Marek

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: haight@sun.ipl.rpi.edu (Liz Haight)
Subject: kissing glistening eyes - by g.r. & e.h.
Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, NY
Date: Sun, 6 Sep 1992 01:55:31 GMT

kissing glistening eyes
-----------------------

smoke saturated 
the dusky room,
isolating us further
from its other occupants,
only shadows in the mist.
i reached across the small table, 
brushed a stray black lock away. 
my hand smoothed her hair, 
tickled her ear, 
caressed her face.
i wiped away a tear that formed,
before i withdrew my hand, 
and gazed into her blue, blue, eyes...

	no one will ever know
	where love has taken us
	as i gaze into his midnight eyes
	pain exposed in weeping silence
	and tears that glisten downward
	from my cheeks 
	flow gently to his fingertips
	these also his lips wet
	as he sets in place
	upon my face
	that first and fatal
	kiss

			  written by
			george rudolph &
	        	elizabeth haight


-- 
------------------
Elizabeth           /	Don't pass me by like a stranger ...
haight@ipl.rpi.edu  \	    Don't leave me here all alone, so alone, 
		    /		I'm alone ... Talk to me.  [Chris Isaac]
From: melynda@titipu.resun.com (Melynda Reid)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: stark raving sane after six one hour stand-up improv shows
Date: Mon, 14 Sep 92 01:52:00 EDT(-0400)
Organization: Paleolithic Refugia
Reply-To: melynda@titipu.resun.com (Melynda Reid)
Keywords: caffeine adrenaline performer's high
Summary: fractal multiple personality order in search of creative transformation
X-Mailer: uAccess - Macintosh Release: 1.6v0

having trouble cooling down after doing nothing contrary to science or nature.
i had neglected to tell the musician with whom i was collaborating that all
of the monologue and jokes and gestures and dances are improvised based upon
my perceptions of the audience of the moment. a slight mistake on my part.

the woman who did the simultaneous translation of my rita the well-read cockaded
woodpecker neglected to tell me that she was not translating my monologue
literally. indeed she departed greatly from my text. and she deliberately
mispronounced spanish words in the neruda reading to make academics from her
department wince. she is on sabbatical leave from her position as head of
the spanish and portuguese language division of the department of modern languages
at a local university. she also jumped onto a tall stool and glowered like
a vulture at a high school programme we did for high risk kids without letting
me know she expected me to do the same implacable heights vulture bit during
her set. i am terrified of heights so i did a behaviourally impaired vulture
terrified of heights trying to stand up on the tall stool safely. this all
while a few kids were picking my purse off the floor to try figure out from
my driver's license just how mature a woman i really am. i had to pick their
pockets politely and discreetly later to liberate my credit cards.

the woman who did the elements in our improv elements dance chose my
two elements earth and water leaving me the delicate problem of
playing a firebird with distinctly non-classical moves and body. i was
livid. she hurt her back during the first show on friday. she and i
decided to go into the second show agreeing to fall flat on our faces
and do minimalist finger-dancing should her back go out . but we
neglected to tell the musician. he had hurt his hand during dress
rehearsal and i had stopped the show to ask him why he was using
non-standard finger positions. he told us we each had to take
responsibity for our own pain and to ignore his. so we chose not to
tell him our cue for back pain. he was livid at our failure to tell
him of our pain. 

it gets worse from here but i better crawl back into bed before
i get wired to write more show memoirs. 
                       monica o'toole

melynda reid   who wears hats but does not type caps
  eel:   melynda@titipu.resun.com  or  nosc.mil!titipu.resun.com!melynda
  snail: p o box 378 greensboro, florida 32330
From: jpg@bnr.co.uk (Jonathan P. Gibbons)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Jig
Date: 8 Sep 92 13:18:43 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: BNR Europe Ltd, London Rd, Harlow, Essex, CM19 9NA, U.K.


"What to do? To do the thing that must be done!".  The mad dance starts...

Should the sun set
 and the world turn to dust
Come hither and indulge
 your unsullied lust

Lets dance a dance lively
and spin in the wind
for the harvest of plenty
and our roving band

When low hangs the moon 
 and poor people sleep
Out go the wolves 
 to devour their sheep

Lets dance a dance lively
and spin in the wind
for the harvest of plenty
and our wondering band 

In dawns early hunger 
 the birds chirp for day
The children stir slowely
 and wait for the play

Lets dance the dance lively
and spin in the wind
for the harvest of plenty
we steal from this land


..... and the folk run to the fields.


Jonathan












--
 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  With fearsome eyes and fiery breath the dragon burnt the girl to death
                    -- from "Too Late Saint George"
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: (happy thoughts) & inspiration ideas
Date: 15 Sep 92 13:46:05 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <236@uiunix.ui.org) donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:
)
)To a Friend I've Never Had (So To Speak)
)
)
)Your face is like
)this black and white photograph of your face
)and the daring scatter of your hair,
)its sharp contrast with your skin.
)You are lovible, edible, fuckible.
)If we were to kiss in the rain
)and the cold water shocked my eyelids
)into flutter, wild black hair
)against my wild red--if water washed
)our flesh together then surely
)certain parts of my brain would erode
)and all I forgot would simply allow
)the sun to she brighter.  And that is why

This should of course be "shine" brighter!

)seeing you I blink--
)
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:8897 scruz.poetry:3
From: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,scruz.poetry
Subject: mindgame
Keywords: modern heathens
Date: 15 Sep 92 02:42:12 GMT
Reply-To: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us




MINDGAME


Up all night again
Dancin' on electric wind
Anymore we use it all
Just to come out even

Pull out every stop
Burn out all the shame they've got
Make the music ring
And leave their bodies heavin'

Make `em understand
How it is that people can
Become addicted to the sounds
Of someone's heavy breathin'


We're moving way too fast
WAY TOO FAST
way too fast to be
I can't hold on to anything
TO ANYTHING
to anything that I CAN'T SEE

And I can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me
Just can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me


Over all too soon
Lead a schemer to my room
Maybe this one has the dreams
I've been sorely needin'

Everywhere I turn
Someone new is there to learn
Why a modern man would try so hard
To be completely heathen

Watch another dawn
Comin' up from where I'm goin'
Some men can never find a home
And never know the reason


We're moving way too fast
WAY TOO FAST
way too fast to be
I can't hold on to anything
TO ANYTHING
to anything that I CAN'T SEE

And I can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me
Just can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me
Just can't keep my mind from playing tricks on me



copyright (c) 1990 by JJWebb
--