HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: Re: squirrels in the ceiling / Frances+Marek (1990)
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 19:13:51 GMT

In article <92351.131003X67107@BARILVM.BITNET> <X67107@BARILVM.BITNET> writes:
>In article <1992Dec12.065719.18255@news.cs.indiana.edu>, "Marek Lugowski"
><marek@moose.cs.indiana.edu> says:
>>
>>"squirrels in the ceiling"
>>by Frances Schuetz and Marek Lugowski.
>>Copyright 1990 by Frances Schuetz.
>>Copyright 1990 by Marek Lugowski.
>
>This double copyright how does it work, can one publish without the other's
>consent ?

It's like a marriage.  Your milage may vary.  The only troublesome time
is at divorce.

>      squirrels in the ceiling
>      ----------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>>     a while ago, some flying squirrels nested in the ceiling in my forest
>>     house.  they scratched around and the babies sometimes fell through
>>     into the house and i had to chase them around with a rubbermaid bucket
>>     and kick them outside.  it was a mess.  i wanted them to leave so i
>
>      Many, many and many more lines deleted.
>
>>     got it out alive and in fact out at all, already regretting the
>>     silence in the ceiling -- only after it fluidly jumped up the
>>        nearest tree.
>
>I am curious, is the above a realy a poem?

A realy a poem?  Maybe not.  But it really is a poem.  Cross my bra and
hope to die.

>I only ask becase it does not look or sound like one.

that's just only because you haave not seen one like it before.  Life is
hard, you know.  I know.  They ecpect you to assimilate new things. :(

>(Not to add that the plot is not the height of sopistication).

I had no clue it was.  The plot is a simple narrative, common to all 
story-telling.  It's also true.  True story, pal.  To the last detail.

>There are no poetical merits that I can ascribe to the above except
>that the end was clearly defined.

You froget eh underline and the indentation.  Bad critic.  No donut.
There were other things you missed, but we won't bopre you with subtleties.
>
>Is this what you call free verse ?
>It is certainly free of poetical traits.

Please don't repeat yourself, unless you underline and indent.
Is it free verse?  I don't know.

>Perhaps you sould repost this elsewhere. There are some PROSE groups.
>                                                        =====
>The people may forgive some what shorter than usual lines, But than
>this is not what one calls good prose either.
>
>Perhaps you should decide what it is that you intend to write, Before
>you try to write type or whatever it is that you do.

Perhaps you could stuff your suggestions.  Just a suggestion.

				-- Marek

From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Mon, 14 Dec 1992 21:14:53 GMT
Subject: A collaboration with Jennifer
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

Here is a collaboration by Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien and myself.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
       The Midnight Lights
 
   
      Misted, heavy, morning moments,
      arrayed in numinous dew,
      dressed a thousand rusted smiles --
      trapped near midnight
      (a frightened, flighted time)
      where women were disclothed
      from blue jeans into country skirts.
  
      Here their nascent heat,
      feminine warmth
      hushed
      then stilled --
      huddled against
      vacuums of masculinity

      near the vital earth.
  
          She felt no need to turn towards lights
          (sewing machines had attached them to her eyes)
          so she shattered all offensive bulbs:
          A crack
                -smash-
          and an end to blight.  
     
          She could not frighten anything into scampering
          (sewing machines had joined her legs siamese-like)
          so she chopped cauliflower and corn off
          the cutting board.
          A crack
                -smash-
          and an end to blight.
     
          She could not burst into songs of joy
          (sewing machines had closed her loquacious holes)
          so she waxed floors dutifully,
          three layers slippery.
          A crack
                -smash-
          and an end to blight.

     In unearthed self-portraits
     of spattered chiaroscuro
     she waits as she's waited;
     she burns under watchful lights.
 
          Let shattering begin.
 
-------------------------------------------------------------------





doug
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (riene des tournesols)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Several words about posting...
Date: 12 Dec 92 01:09:06 GMT
Article-I.D.: u.1992Dec12.010906.10788
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle

>In <1992Dec11.082309.1380@penet.fi> an1977@anon.penet.fi (The_Poet) writes:
>
>>				  Also a recent developement
>>        is that of the truly IDIOTIC "O' Toole" shit on here.

recent?  well, almost a year now, but speaking of idiotic, have you
LOOKED at your sig file lately?


Ed G. writes to The_Poet (a subjective term at best):)
>By the way, why do you post using an anonymous service, but include
>your name and .sig?  Just curious.

see adjectives above.
From: v124jw4y@ubvmsd.cc.buffalo.edu (Benjamin R Pierce)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Morbid Depression Can Be Fun
Date: 13 Dec 92 20:43:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41


I stride down the bleak streets
People laughing,
People smiling,
They don't understand
That horrible death and pain is waiting for us all just around the corner and
there's nothing we can do about it and everything is absolutely hopeless and
there's no way out except death and even that isn't worth doing because
religion is just the opiate of the masses and nothing is waiting for us on the
other side except oblivion--
But I understand these things,
And I mourn for poor foolish humanity,
And look really cool in black--
Anybody seen my sunglasses?


;)

                                                   --Ben
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: conception
Summary: conception
Keywords: conception
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1992 20:58:57 GMT



Conception


I will carry you
nine months 
like a question

and just now, 
you are the first
sound, turning in 
this red mouth, 
the tongue moving 
like its own animal 
against a cage 
of teeth.  

All I can give  
is room to think, 
be thought  full.  
I know good ideas 
take time, good 
questions finger, 
bone, a delicate 
beat.  

breathe here, 
and I will swell 
into an almost moon 
and punctuate your 
doubt.  I am good 
for this, home-
made, with 
hardback 
hips and 
nipples 
hungry 
to give.

I cannot 
guess your story 
anymore than I
can guess the next 
metaphor that will 
fall onto this page,  
I can only feel that 
something good is 
coming, 

like when seed 
is thrown, and red 
birds fill my yard 

in the dead of 
winter.



sls.

(p.s. our news service has been down for the last 93 hours, so if you
have comments please email them to me directly. thanx.)
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (riene des tournesols)
Subject: Anne Bradstreet/American Women Poets/Women Writers
Reply-To: zola@u.washington.edu
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
Date: Sat, 19 Dec 1992 19:51:45 GMT




Hi all.  Another request.  I would like to find out more about 
Anne Bradstreet.  If you have information that might be useful
please let me know.  I will find what I can, but I am going to 
a cultural wasteland for a week, and won't have library access.

Thanks,
Rebecca
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Recumbent Vocalizing
Date: 14 Dec 92 18:31:13 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA





		Warm smiling
		 post-orgasmic
		  happy faced.
		   Soft caresses,
		  frequent kissing,
		 light chatter, and
		deep discussion.
		 Bodys naked;
		for hours we lay
		 with legs entwined, 
		  arms embracing,
		   wandering hands.
		  You're on top,
		 or I'm on top, or
		we hug and laugh. 
		  Pillow Talk.


		Cecil Williams   12/13/92
		*************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Natalie)
Subject: fist of the verbal vampire / Natalie
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 21:20:24 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24
Organization: University of Regina, Regina, Sask., Canada


		fist of the verbal vampire
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		icicle exterior. 
		insulating against the fire within.
		glittering. dripping. reflecting.
		thin and sharp 
		your coldness burns.

		inflicting your affliction
		disguised as affection
		drawing the ache from her
		like a long slow sip 
		on a tall glass of beer

	 	imbedded feeling
 		too much. too deep.
		the hurt swells like an abscess
 		puss-filled and throbbing.

 		you lance it with your words
		and feed 
		on the torrent released.

		in your pain, you find comfort.
		from her tears, you suck strength.
		happiness is an untouched realm.


			-Natalie / Dec 16, 1992

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 (only a guest at prowse@meena.cc.uregina.ca)   

 "It's good to have a healthy sense of sin.  It adds *spice* to one's 
   transgressions..."  - J.H. 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: dev@pasture.ecn.purdue.edu (Larry Weeks)
Subject: A poem: "My Life is Day"
Keywords: poem, bamva
Organization: Purdue University Engineering Computer Network
Distribution: usa
Date: Mon, 14 Dec 1992 22:20:34 GMT

Hi,

A friend of mine wrote the poem appended below... we thought that
perhaps some of you would enjoy reading it, and maybe give her advice
and such. You can respond to me, and I'll show it to her. Thanks.

Larry

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

I cursed the darkness, though I stayed within its selfmade light.
Behind me was the disk that tried to burn away the night.
A new beginning. This bright disk reached out and touched my eye.
It pulled the nails from my heart and threw them to the sky,
Where they became the stars that pierced its night. I sit alone
Within my room and hear the whistle of a train. A groan
From engines of a plane remark the loneliness outside.
But, now these sounds evoke no sadness from me. I don't hide
myself. The disk is now the creature in my world and mind.
My heart beats fast. My body trembles in its gaze. Behind
Its tender touch and soothing words is now a man: one soul.
He lives his life with passion and my happiness his goal.
He feels my thoughts and bares my heart and does not need to touch
The words I say. My life is day. I love him very much.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

--
Larry Weeks        | "Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win
dev@ecn.purdue.edu |  glorious triumphs, even though checkered by
-------------------+  failure, than to take rank with those poor
 spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in
 the gray twilight that knows not victory or defeat." -- T. Roosevelt
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lyra@camelot.bradley.edu (Heather Loresch)
Subject: will you pass right by?
Summary: my silly little ramblings
Organization: Bradley University
Date: 13 Dec 92 20:21:36 GMT



If I told you I cared
what would you do?
Whould you accept me,
would you reject me,
would you let it pass right by?
There is so much in my heart
but I am so afraid to tell you.
If you rejected me,
my heart would die.
My emotions are so fragile,
you could crush my every dream
and my confidence with a single word.
If I were to lose your friendship
I don't know what I'd do.
Do I tell you how I feel,
do I lie and say it's just friendship,
do I let you pass right by?
My head spins and my heart jumps.
I think of the things that could happen
if I told you and you felt the same.
I run to tell you,
but then
I stop.
What if you don't feel the same,
what if it bothers you,
what if you let me pass right by?
Confusion is the only thing I'm sure of,
and my nerves are pulled tight.
Life hasn't been easy for me.
I'm still trying to get on my feet.
Should I give you the chance to tear me down,
should I grab for possible happiness,
should I let it pass right by?
Confidence is not my strong point,
and the idea that you could care for me
seems very ludicrous.
But sometimes I see a look in your eyes
that sets my heart fluttering
and raises my hopes.
Am I just fooling myself?
I must be seeing something
but maybe it's my imagination.
Do I like with this confusion,
do I talk and invite despair,
do I let it pass right by?
All of my life I've run away,
let every opportunity pass right by.
Do I dare take the chance now?
All I know for sure is I love you.
There are words I can say
to make you feel the same.
If only I could find them
I'd tell them to you.
I could at last be happy.
But I don't know how to find the words,
so I'll let you pass right by.

     -hal


this is my first posting here, so please be gentle!!! honest, but
gentle if there is such a thing. i would love some feedback.
thanks!

lyra@camelot.bradley.edu

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (riene des tournesols)
Subject: I guess the season is over /Re: oh primary care-giver (a duet) / Marek+Marie
Summary: reducing traffic, an even better solution. 
Organization: Singing Spider Ranch, Afternoon Craft Division 
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 1992 18:40:52 GMT

    marek@msel.unh.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
>
[...]

>		        Marek Lugowski / Marie Coffin
>		        5 May 1992
>		        Cincinnati, Ohio / Ames, Iowa

clearly we are in rerun season when there is an (unnecessary) drone
of repeat poems every 5 months.  maybe THIS is the way to cut down on
traffic.
From: ariel_s@west.darkside.com (Ariel S)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Roget
Date: 14 Dec 92 15:48:02 GMT
Organization: The Dark Side of the Moon +1 408 245 SPAM


           For Matthew,
      with thanks to Roget
      --------------------


  UNINTENTIONALLY, accidentally, in-
advertantly,  involuntarily,  reflex-
ively,    spontaneously,      uncon-
sciously,  uncalculately,     unpre-
meditatedly,  unthinkingly,   unwit-
tingly, unknowingly,   without  pre-
meditation, by accident,  by chance,
by luck
          I found you...



          11/22/92
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Dakota Fortune
Date: 15 Dec 92 01:40:58 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA


		               It's All True...


		A reader of palms, fortune teller by trade.
		She read all our palms just for fun on that day.
		She did them all first and they laughed in suprise,
		cause she knew a few things about all of their lives.
		That day 11 years ago, on March Friday 13th. 

 		Then my hand was in hers and she followed the line
 		across all of my palm, and some years of time...
  		She told me of children, but that was not new,
  		and spoke of a fortune, if to Vegas I flew.
  		But I wasn't soon going to that gambling zoo...  

  		She said I had people, relatives not yet known,
  		in the far North Dakota, the land of the lone.

  		She told me of travel, a trip very soon,
  		to the south, California, LA, was her tune. 
  		Then she turned and walked out to the streets of Seattle, 
  		and all of us pondered her humorous prattle.  
  		
  		5 minutes had passed, when loud rang the phone, 
  		my boss, from long distance, spoke in worried tone. 
  		A customer's down, down in LA it seemed, 
  		could I be there by Sunday? We all nearly screamed! 

  		Of course I could go, not a problem for me.
  		So come back through Vegas, he said with some glee.  
  		Oh, no, I don't gamble; That place I do dread,  
  		And my young wife awaits me at home in our bed...

		Now 11 years later, the young wife got old,
		found somebody new, and left me quite cold.
		I fretted and moaned, and learned all the things
		that needed corrections, that caused us both pains.

		So today I am looking for somebody new...
		And Rachel, my darling, I think it is you. 
	
		You're younger,	and fairer, a PHD too, 
		and your heart is both golden and warm as a flue. 
		I love you most dearly, and you too love me,
		and soon we'll go home to meet your family.
		In North Dakota...




		Cecil Williams    12/14/92
		**************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: COMPUTER GAMES
From: gorokho1@husc10.harvard.edu (Zhenya Gorokhovsky)
Date: 15 Dec 92 17:20:43
Distribution: rec
Organization: Physicists for Poetry

I would like to thank everyone who responded to my first post 
here. Philip was harsh as usual, but quite amusing and marginally
instructive, I found. I wonder why he claims to have a monopoly
on correct value judgements, in his capacity of r.a.p.'s resident
terrorist. Well, here is another poem, and again all manner of
criticism, constructive, deconstructive and positively destructive,
is welcome and desired. Pray flame away, Philip, if you wish;
everyone else feel free to as well.




		COMPUTER GAMES


		We shall parley all night.
		I'll smoke, you'll smile. Serene,
		your eyes drink in the bright
		water of Macintosh screen,

		where images emerge
		like salmon toward the strand,
		split, plash and reconverge,
		maneuvered by your hand.

		A plastic pendulum,
		my coffee-spoon stirs up
		eddies of mock-sweet gloom
		in a used paper-cup.

		Five forty-three. I shan't
		wear on my reverent sleeve
		items in which you can't
		say yet if you believe.

		At six a.m. a glitch
		will land me on some maimed
		dust-covered disc from which
		I'll never be reclaimed.


--
zhenya





Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: c9119870@wombat.newcastle.edu.au (ANTIGONE)
Subject: Re: Tell Me if it Hurts...
Organization: University of Newcastle, AUSTRALIA
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 1992 05:41:34 GMT

If you wrote this in the 50's you'd be locked up or be at the
bottom of a river somewhere wearing cement shoes. Still, I do agree.
The way I take your message, the media giant rules all of us; he
makes us (most of us) think we are in control but we are not - it is
he (a collective term) who rules over us through stereotype
strategy input. By getting us involved in sport (even if it is
watching and cheering from the longeroom) the public is made to feel
intelligent: so what, we know how many yards Joseph Pingardy has
made in his career with the Oakland Penguins (no offence, Oakland), and we
know what a touchdown is, and a block etc etc etc etc... But these
things never change. Joseph might get more points this year than last,
but in the scheme of things it means nought - nought exc ept for he
who is being obeyed. 

Not that I am against sport, mind you, I've played it all my life and,
I don't mind saying, am rather good, but it seems to me that we take
*too* much time looking at sport. Think about it, how much time does
your regular news station give to sport coverage/reporting? My local
one is about half and half, and it's getting worse.

Thank you,

Matt
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Consuming Jealousy
From: loredich@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu (That one girl)
Date: 14 Dec 92 13:53:03 EST

Consuming Jealousy


The drift in the dregs of my cooled morning coffee
is no longer sugar, but grains of ground glass.

In the tall frosty glass where there used to be juice
is battery acid, pulpy, fresh-squeezed.

Bright yellow puffs in my cereal bowl
are fiberglass Krispies.  They float in the milk.

I know you're with her.  I wish I'd skipped breakfast,
slept a bit later, and missed one more meal.



Loredich
November, 1992
Just part of the breakfast cycle
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Need - A Poem
Date: 18 Dec 92 13:05:32 GMT
Article-I.D.: leela.1gsiasINN3o
Distribution: world
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University
NNTP-Posting-Host: jacobs.cs.orst.edu

In light of recent postings Re:referring to the act of sex as fucking I  
was inspired to write the following.  It contains neither flowery allusion
nor the word fuck, but I think you will get the message nonetheless. :-)

			Need

			you are aware
			that you need
			yet you are unaware
			that I am 
			what you need
			I am the answer
			to your need
			and I am willing
			to answer your need
			yet how to tell you
			other than
			I am here
			I answer
			I need 
			you

			I touch your face with my fingers
			gently 
			I do not want to frighten you
			or chase you away
			we are so close now
			but could be much closer
			if you would but let me
			let your need and mine
			be one

			let me touch my lips to yours
			run my fingers through your hair
			pull your body close to mine
			and you will know I am the answer 
			to your need

				December 16, 1992

				Kathleen O'Toole


-- 
*************************************************************************
"Insufficient facts always invites danger, Captain."- Spock in Space Seed
	Marg Petersen	petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu
*************************************************************************
From: tshields@unssun.nevada.edu (Timothy Shields)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Revision
Date: 20 Dec 92 21:23:37 GMT
Reply-To: tshields@unssun.nevada.edu (Timothy Shields)
Organization: University of Nevada, Reno

Here's another revision of work posted about 2 months ago.
A risk of sounding vain, I'm proud that this took first
place in the University of Nevada's annual poetry contest.
I've altered the line breaks for this posting, as the 
printed version's are much shorter.
I would like to thank everyone who has offered C&C this 
semester.
---------------------------------------------------------

When Was the Last Time Anyone Saw Jennifer and Kevin?

A sigh lets me know we've arrived.
Miles of tundra, coffee, Doritos, rest stops
all end here.

From a bus filled with diesel fumes,
dirty socks and failed deodorant 
to dead pollack destine surimi.

A fishing village where the sole store
begrudgingly sells fifteen-dollar bottled shampoo.
Mud creeps from your boots 
till your wardrobe's rusty brown.

A former geriatric cruise-ship port
turned Virginia City nightmare
where drunken eskimos now sleep
on rotting wood sidewalks.

Wealth has eluded us everywhere else,
so here we are.
A few years of flopping fish 
will by us a restaurant.
Don't cry, it will pass.
Timothy Shields

tshields@unssun.unr.edu
"Spiffy, spiffy, everything is just fine, fine."
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: watson@hg.uleth.ca (The terror that flaps in the night)
Subject: Re: LOOKING FOR POEM
Reply-To: watson@hg.uleth.ca
Organization: University of Lethbridge
Date: Sun, 13 Dec 1992 22:33:12 GMT

In article <1992Dec11.113519.6155@canon.co.uk>, wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel) writes:
>The Great Grendel-Khan writes:
>
>> In article <92339.083752LAVERTU@MAINE.MAINE.EDU> Cheryl Lynn Lavertu <LAVERTU@MAINE.MAINE.EDU> writes:
>> >I hope someone can help.
>> 
>> I too have a request that all you poets can help me with.  A friend is looking
>> for poetry pertaining to vampires.  If you have written one, or know of
>> any by other authors please send them to argent@iastate.edu  (this is me)
>> or branwen@sage.cc.purdue.edu  (this is her).  Hope you can help!
>
>
>	to be or not to be bat is the question

	ven i'm goot, i'm veddy goot,
	but ven i'm bat, i'm betta

fanged,
thumper
From: alvin@ucsu.Colorado.EDU (Kenneth Alvin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Sparrows
Date: 17 Dec 92 22:23:48 GMT
Organization: University of Colorado, Boulder



Sparrows
--------

See the sparrows
floating in trees
listen to squirrels
dashing like thieves
all of the children
playing the tease
helping their teachers
eager to please.



Sparrows (again)
----------------

sparrows floating
flush with the
   grace of nature
sing a medley of
   african violets
safe from the
   squirrel's malice.
I watch
knowing nothing;
not how the
furry squirrel 
   will turn, nor when,
not which tree
   the sparrow
   especially fancies,
not the next wind
nor the next rain,
I watch
knowing nothing.



-- 
comments, criticism welcome...
-Ken
alvin@ucsu.colorado.edu
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:12926 rec.humor:36548