HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: My first r.a.p post.
Date: 17 Dec 92 20:17:06 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Danny-Boy) writes:

> >		White sand glows, blinding in the solar glare.
> 
> Darn you've begun this train of thought, now will someone complete it:
> 
> I can't stop thinking of solar flares. for christmas I want a telescope
> a 35 millimeter camera and a hydrogen-alpha filter. I want solar
> flares.
> 
> I can't help but think of licking constantly with this subject becuase
> of Alex and Samual Delany. and, in general, flames lick. So,
> the sun licks your forhead would probably be good, if not a little
> boring, but it does make since, and is consistant. the sun has a salty
> tongue. Kiss the sun. Fuck the sun. 
> 
> Some one write a poem.
> 
> 
> I've already forgotten the rest of my train of thought.


	the sun has a salty tongue
	but think of licking constantly
	would probably be good...
	the sun licks your forehead
	but it does make sense
	since essential sensual incense scents
	and dark flames lick
	and sweet oil burns
	as this head turns to get its forehead licked
	...but think of licking constantly
	the sun's salty tongue
	the sun's salted tongues
	all speaking home in rhymes
	the rest of this thought train


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Ducks -- jchien
Date: 18 Dec 92 14:01:22 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054

In article <1992Dec18.041547.5067@leland.Stanford.EDU> jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien) writes:
>
>	ducks

Jennifer has out-ducked everyone.  I will not even bother to participate after
this...

Brilliant use of the three-line, haiku-like stanza which moves the "plot" 
along yet also stays perfectly still, breathtakingly motionless.

yes, each stanza creates its own eternal moment, yet stringed together they
create a story.  huzza!
>
>
>
>c/c welcome, as always.

Bravo.

Yours,

Posthumous O'Toole

-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jwm3@vivaldi.psu.edu (James Walter Martin)
Subject: two eyes made out of coal
Organization: Penn State Center for Academic Computing
Date: Mon, 14 Dec 92 19:02:54 GMT

  she likes no man
  she likes now man
  she like snowman 
  snowoman
 

Organization: Psychology, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 1992 09:55:36 -0500 
From: "Kathleen A. Rafferty" <kr22+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: don't kiss that frog (a 90's fairytale)

well, jumping on the fuckwagon here.. :-)

though i don't want to be a "crybaby" by asking for c & c...I'd
appreciate comments if anyone is so inclined....

don't kiss that frog (a 90's fairytale)

'where there's smoke, there's fire' you said to me
my stinky-bar-hair smell appealing to you in your urgency
palliate her with an adage, you thought 
make it quick and easy 

then we licked until the wounds bled 
molasses dripping down and onto the floor 
and I knew my feet would never be the same again 
and i wanted to run 
but i was stuck to the floor 
stuck 
your glue on my feet

stuck to face you,
the way you screamed at me 
with that nervous phony smile 
(reserved for occasions such as these) 
stuck to face the harshness of your shell - 
you had long since fled the scene

standing there in the gunk of your soul 
spinning with the nausea of my ignorance 
desperate to know what i could have been 
had i not gotten stuck in your seeping goo

now, 10 or so (of your) orgasms later 
we suck face with a computer

you are satisfied, 
for you know that somehow you'll find
another fool to charm with your snake
leaving not pleasure but toady-bumpy pain

and I am the one who is sticky 
with the stench of you 
that will never go away
and no snakes will be charmed by me 
without sharing the only gift 
you ever gave me




Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: sonata... / Marek "love as a drug", "sex as need", Re: Need - A Poem
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1992 23:39:06 GMT

In article <JMC.92Dec20144033@SAIL.Stanford.EDU>, jmc@SAIL.Stanford.EDU (John
McCarthy) writes:
> Sex as a favor, given and received, doesn't have the same status as
> sex as an expression of love.  That doesn't make a poem about it
> worthless, and I think Marguerite Peterson's poem is a good one..
> --
> John McCarthy, Computer Science Department, Stanford, CA 94305
> *
> He who refuses to do arithmetic is doomed to talk nonsense.
> 


Can the favor of giving sex be an act of love?  


Marie Coffin
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: elee@cayley.uwaterloo.ca (Salty Freckles)
Subject: like the pill i swallow
Organization: University of Waterloo
Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1992 23:28:04 GMT



	like the pill i swallow
	--------------------------------------------------------------


	it was all focused smiles and leather drinks
	with you in crushed velvet, lizard's tail in full view.

	(i drank faster and harder the minute you walked in with him.)

	minutes and hours swam, chained to noise,
	and the memories, crashing like waves on beach-front property,
	stung me harder than the piece of Meat hanging off your arm.

	(he knew he was Meat, but he didn't care,
	clueless. charmless.)

	head exploding like an apology,
	i skim through the paragraphs of some unwritten night
	and try so hard to tell you, (to tell myself,)
	darling, dear, i am anything but Meat.


					- Gene Lee


--
Gene Lee			| "It's not as if you're all alone,
elee@descartes.UWaterloo.ca	|  In wanting to explode." - N. Peart
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: wsh1@quads.uchicago.edu (Wells S. Hansen)
Subject: reverse is not a safe gear =-471-510-=
Reply-To: wsh1@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Department of Classics
Distribution: na
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 1992 19:50:10 GMT





		       Front Seat Rider
		       ________________	

	     Mama from Tacoma, hotter than a sauna, 
		     let me drive your car, 
		     or just tell you why I wanna:

	     If I were your driver I could drive you farther, 
		     you could ride in back, 
		     or up front, you sexy rider. 

	     We could take the low road, I would haul a fine load, 
		     piston poppin' girl, 
		     you can put me in the "drive" mode. 













-- 
                 		 Wells S. Hansen
		 4305 Ravens Crest Drive, Plainsboro, NJ 08536
		 wsh1@midway.uchicago.edu    eve: 609 897 0046
					day: 609 924 6700 x262
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:13013 rec.arts.books:22705
From: watson@hg.uleth.ca (The terror that flaps in the night)
Subject: torn between two gumdrops
Reply-To: watson@hg.uleth.ca
Organization: University of Lethbridge
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 1992 07:13:45 GMT

ode to polycandy
----------------

two dandy candies
lay in my hand
all sticky and unwrapped
i already licked them both
though mom wouldn't like this
one in your mouth at a time little missy
two will make you choke

but i can't decide
between the green and the red
so i turn my back
til she can't see
roll out my tongue
and.........
pop them both in my mouth
swirling and savoring
lime and cherry
risking suffocation


- Thumper, and a hockey player and an ambient musician

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alk4@ellis.uchicago.edu (Alex L. Karan)
Subject: Autobiography
Reply-To: alk4@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Sun, 13 Dec 1992 03:05:29 GMT




Autobiography
-------------


A story 
in ink that won't dry.

In the rain,
pages soak into days.




Alex L. Karan
Now, quick, before you kill this and go to another article,
please answer me this question.

Does this autobiography 
have anything to do with paper?

please e-mail an answer...
No, this isn't an exam.

Alex
From: X67107@BARILVM.BITNET
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem1
Date: 14 Dec 92 16:02:04 GMT
Organization: Bar-Ilan University Computing Center, Israel


This being the first poem wirriten at the University's terminal does
represent a new period in my poetics. I have written little since I
left Kenya over two years ago

          SHADOWS

     Long ago beneath the dusk
          That spans the humid sky
     I knew a lady with a mask
          Who never spoke a lie

     The mist would roll in paled waves
          The grey swan sang its song,
     Like fountains wet, deep in a cave
          The purring sad and long

     The fire burned upon the hill
          The resins filled the air
     The wailing wind would shout a thrill
          That these day is so rare.

     Soft on the sand the Ermine lay,
          So red, yet so serene;
     And there the shadows dancing fay,
          Would moan in voices half obscene...

     The lady spoke a single word
          For all the day was done
     And swiftly did I swing the sword
           That is no longer one
     It SHATTERED with a mighty blow
          I still recall the sound
     For then HE fell, forever low
          Onto the rigid ground.

     And there he lay within his blood
          And muttered never more,
     Of bites and flies, of rainy flood
          And of tomorrow sore.

     Then the fay lady with her mask
          Would coyly smile, to me
     And in the aura I would bask
          Forever feeling free.

     And far away the proud sun set
          The stars were still asleep
     Their dreams had not departed yet
          On spears, towards the deep.

     'Twas then we watched the shadows
          All dancing round the fire
     Their motions ever without form
          And wills without desire

     And there was power in the dance
          Like magic on the hill
     For still the fire held his stance
          With his audacious will

     But time, it run away so far
          And bore me high upon its wings
     That stretch from star to star
          But how their beatings stings.

     And thus the mask and lady
          Were lost beneath the sky
     The lady she was shady
          But never told a lie.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H
                       Oren THE Laughing Magican
        LAUGHING DOES TICKLE THE SOUL, THERE IS NO BETTER REASON
=========================================================================
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: Dead man's boots/for Marek+Marie
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1992 03:42:15 GMT

In article <1992Dec14.214853.1@cua.edu>, 78witherspoo@cua.edu writes:
> 
> 
> 	I am wearing a dead man's boots
> 	-------------------------------
> 
> 	if I can get this man out of my mind
> 	I might feel the tiniest relief
> 	for THIS WICKED BODY is a burden.
> 
> 	these boots feel so good
> 	used, like the dead man
> 	he committed suicide
> 	THE ULTIMATE IN MASTURBATION.
> 
> 	my mind is
> 	breaking
> 	down;
> 
> 	my will is holding me up
> 	sheer force of I AM DOING EVERYTHING WRONG.
> 
> 	don't take these boots from me
> 	they make me alive
> 	like when I pass the three-car pileup 
> 	and whistle past the graveyards.
> 
> 	"Welcome to Hell.  No pity here."-- Heiner Muller
> 
> 
> C&C appreciated.
> 
> Tom W(itherspoon)
> 

Tom -- is this some new form of group flirtation?  If so, I don't get it.
Clean the mud off your writing boots, Tom.  


	-- Marie

P.s.  Good to have you back.  Or have you just been quiet?
From: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: not poetry, profanity, and general disgruntlement
Summary: stop
Date: 18 Dec 92 05:28:16 GMT
Reply-To: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us



Stop it children, it's Christmas ...
--
From: ktw@polaris.att.com (79243-wolman)
Subject: Benjamin Among The Bonobos
Originator: news@cbnewsb.cb.att.com
Organization: AT&T
Date: Sun, 13 Dec 1992 21:58:36 GMT


BENJAMIN AMONG THE BONOBOS

Benjamin my son, at 11, is Aware:
and like anyone learning the content of a Truth,
modeling insouciance to cover amazement
at a world he never knew, speaks often to shock.
When he heard the (for him) salient truth about pygmy chimps
--that love, given, received, is its own reward--
his first response was Can we get a pair for pets?--
knowing this impossible, but wanting me to laugh,
ask him what we'd do with a family of apes,
fornicating under our roof.

But when he turned the pages of the book,
saw the photograph
of the (for them) salient moment,
he looked up at me,
his face silent, sobered by wonder,
as if to ask This is it?--and I nodded yes.

He stared, robbed by wonder of a glib reply,
seeing the moment that eradicates pain
and initiates pain:
looked at me again, pointed at the lower of the two,
whispered, She looks like she's smiling.
She is, I said, I think she is,
someday you'll know, like we all do.
And I think Ben got the point:
that when I said We, I included them:
joined the bonobos to the House of Life
in the sacred celebration of mortality,
brought them into the rickety, windblown shelter
of us who love with our bodies, 
if we're lucky with our souls:
and who, as Ben has proclaimed himself,
are apes who imitate humans, bonobos of the spirit.

Kenneth Wolman, December 13, 1992
From: ariel_s@west.darkside.com (Ariel S)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Words
Date: 14 Dec 92 15:46:37 GMT
Organization: The Dark Side of the Moon +1 408 245 SPAM

Words
-----

Speaking slowly cadenced rhythms,
rolling thought sounds
on my toungue ground --
that fertile patch of appetite 
where springs, where roots
the seeds, the sproutings
of my brain -- in slow spring, 
quick autumn,  
the long, hot summer of my impatience
where I wait,
in tolling silence...
for the phonemes 
to take sound --
hoping 
that thoughts 
will find their form
in the gaping,
in the gasping,
in the slapping silence
of my tongue --

my tongue: 
where amorphia.. takes shape,
in sound, 
and thought... takes wing 
and flys
on the the wingings 
of my words.


9/25/92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gdnikoli@undergrad.math.waterloo.edu (Greg Nikolic)
Subject: Re: Need - A Poem
Organization: University of Waterloo
Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1992 08:21:24 GMT

In article <1gsiasINN3o@leela.CS.ORST.EDU> petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen) writes:
>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. :-)
>			I am the answer
>			to your need
>			and I am willing
>			to answer your need
  [rest of enrapturing poem left out]

  Finally! A good, sold, erotic poem, from a woman no less. Well written.
If you have any sequels in mind post them please.


>	Marg Petersen	petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: no ducks / Marek
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Thu, 17 Dec 1992 16:23:57 GMT



		no ducks
		------------------------------------------------------------

		let's feed the ducks.
		well, what are you going to feed them?
		bread?
		
		that said, we go to bagelworks &
		buy two plain bagels for eighty-two cents.
		
		at the pond, no ducks, two swans.
		we take out the bagels.  yum.  they're still hot!
		i don't know, i feel like eating mine.  me, too!
		
		see, i'm a kinder soul than you, i say
		throwing the first morsel, which is accepted.
		but what does the other swan do?  it's eating
		leaves of a tree and hardly paying any heed
		to us.
		might as well give up on the swans
		and eat the bagels ourselves.
		no ducks.
		they must be here somewhere.
		i tell you they aren't.
		oh, want to bet?  what is there that you would want?
		this is no-win.  i don't want anything that you don't want.
		makes it kind of hard to bet, doesn't it?
		
		no ducks.
		
		
			Marek Lugowski
			26 April 1992
			Ames, Iowa
From: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: roman lust
Keywords: centurion
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 92 12:16:55 PST
Reply-To: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us



   every other night
   
   she,
   being the ultimate mind fuck,
   loved, among other things, to be a slave girl
   for his centurion ...

   he,
   being sly, and more than a little bit afraid,
   gave her everything she wanted
   save his starry eyes ...


     "In the Electric Shadows"
        copyright (c) 1992 by JJWebb
-- 

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jww@evolving.com (John W. Woolley)
Subject: Re: Mortal (c&c welcome)
Date: Fri, 11 Dec 1992 19:20:45 GMT
Organization: Evolving Systems, Inc.
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL4

Read it again, folks:

moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne) writes:
: Mortal
: (Another Tale of True Thomas)
: 
: In my British cousin's attic, in her creaking wooden house,
: A chest that held a tapestry, dulled with dust and age.
: And near it lay torn pages, edges nibbled by a mouse,
: We sat and read together, grimy thumbprints on each page.
: 
: The pages told a story, scribbled in a shaking hand,
: Of a human man named Thomas, and a lady all in green,
: How he met her at a crossroads, and followed to her land.
: The pages told the story of the tapestry we'd seen.
: 
: He wore swirling rags of color and a harper's cape of blue.
: His hand was in the lady's, harp of silver at his side;
: But a curse was laid upon him; every word he spoke was true--
: His reward for kisses stolen; curse a harper could not hide.
: 
: Mortal weaving can't do justice to the beauty of the fey,
: Her glory rivaled beauty of sunset or sunrise,
: But we held hands and shivered on that cold December day,
: For the weaver had caught perfectly the terror in his eyes.

Wow, really good ending.  I shivered, too.  Good poem!

You do good stuff with assonance and alliteration, especially in the
first stanza -- "dulled with dust".  "age"/"pages"/"edges" is very
fine.

Might I suggest (humbly, hesitatingly) that you leave out the word
"that" in line 2 (making the sentence gramatically complete, and
adding some rhythmic irregularity) and the word "human" in line 6
(unless it's for some reason important to you).

There are two half-lines that strike me as clumsy, the second halves
of lines 4 and 7.  And line 8 repeats line 5 too closely, I think.
Maybe "Their story was the story ..."

The third stanza needs some rhythmic variation.

"Do justice to the beauty" is, maybe, a trifle cliche-ish.  Try
something like "Mortal weaving couldn't bear the wild beauty of the
fey", or whatever?
-- 
Fr. John Woolley (jww@evolving.com); vastly enthusiastic about Augustine,
Austen, babies, Bach, backgammon, baseball, beer, the Bible, Botticelli, Burke,
Chesterton, Dante, Dixieland, hardboiled, Hitchcock, Dr Johnson, Latin, Mozart,
Shakespeare/de Vere, St Teresa, Tolkien, Trollope, Fats Waller, and Washington
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Circles of Time
Date: 18 Dec 92 12:48:50 GMT
Article-I.D.: leela.1gshbiINNt38
Distribution: world
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University
NNTP-Posting-Host: jacobs.cs.orst.edu

Just a little whimsy I concocted.



                          round 
                    and round and round
                  in     never     ending
                ever             increasing
               circles                  time 
              is         not            linear
              it    is      moving     circles
               ever                  shifting
                convoluted       overlapping
                  with              neither 
                      beginning nor end
                           time


December 14, 1992

Kathleen O'Toole

-- 
*************************************************************************
"Insufficient facts always invites danger, Captain."- Spock in Space Seed
	Marg Petersen	petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu
*************************************************************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jacobs@cerritos.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: like shakespeare -- jchien
Date: 15 Dec 92 18:48:28 PST
Organization: Cerritos College, Norwalk CA

In article <1992Dec15.184210.3941@news.acns.nwu.edu>, marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
> In article <1992Dec15.103919.8750@leland.Stanford.EDU> jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien) writes:
>>
>>
> ["like shakespeare" omitted]
> 
> 
> I'm glad you are getting wise to the concept that the universe runs on fuck.
> This includes biology and astrophysics, not that they are any different.
> I am just making it easier to grasp by using more words, a storytelling thing.
> 
> However, it is silly to sound jaded at 19 with virginity still a fresh
> memory or an on-going reality, whichever.

I think that Jennifer made a valid point, your criticism seems like more of a
personal attack. While your world may be fucked and revolve around it, it is
possible for a person to have a different point of view.
> 
> Write about what you know.  And don't come crying to me when the sun gets

> fucked over by its diminishing hydrogen fusion (fucking) 5 billion years
> from now and swallows your keyboard or what's left of it.

What the heck does this have to do with Jennifer's poem? Your cynicism about
the world is outstanding, but I thought the subject here was poetry. 
> 
> 
> 				-- Marek
-- 



------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Karl Jacobs jacobs@cerritos.edu       Born Again Christian, Nikon owner
				      and Raider fan, how ironic!!! :)
______________________________________________________________________________
From: aep2@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (AMY ELIZABETH PASECHNICK)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: October Sunset
Date: 16 Dec 92 03:46:26 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University

In article <4763@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us>, stevem@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us writes
:
>
>(Please forgive the bbs rookie who types his poem twice to make sure it worked)
>
>October Sunset
>
>Down at the seaside
>Rose tint fades from Autumn sky
>The Merlot in my glass goes ruby red to black
>And a chill moon rises over infinite, shifting waters.
>Who's to say why they come and go?
>These feelings like the rolling tide -
>In rhythmic assault
>They breach my best defenses
>Wash my sand castles back into the depths
>And leave me here, speechless
>To watch
>The moon
>And sea
>And scattering clouds
>Measuring out the length and breadth of my days.
>
Fantastic poem.
--amy
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: fuck / jtrue
Date: 17 Dec 92 19:52:48 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054


Table of Contents:

1-brief comment for (against) Marek

2-poem for (from) Sheila

In article <1992Dec17.170930.10834@news.acns.nwu.edu> marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
>
>Also, you have not read any feminist erotica, pal.
>

uh-oh, Marek.  You're picking on Sir True, who is not a mental midget.  
You've been warned.  

As per "feminist erotica"--Much like "English-language haiku", it has not
been proven that such a thing exists.  What I mean by this is that there are
plenty of feminists who don't believe in such a thing.  And believing makes
it so.

And now a poem, dedicated to Sheila:


My Grin Headache


I saw a dragon melting, green and slippery,
fading in lilies among meadow edges,
melting due to dreaming, eyes skipping
with a childish attitude and three grins:
I see you grin, you see me grin, and
my grin is your grin.


Posthumous O'Toole
12-21-92

I hope that popped your bubble, Sheila.

(If not, let me know and I'll try again)
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems