HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Natalie)
Subject: RE: More Pain
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 22:20:00 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24
Organization: University of Regina, Regina, Sask., Canada

block@iccgcc.decnet.ab.com (Rolling Thunder) says:

>Was it worth the pain? 
>Would you go back again?
>Treated like dirt
>Was it worth the hurt?
>About to expire
>Would you jump back in the fire?
>
>      B.B.
		would you jump back in the fire?
		------------------------------------------------------------

		without hesitation.
		i'm a sucker for the sensation.
		the burn of the fire is so
		deliciously exquisite.
		an indescribable high.
		i've savored nirvana.
		i've choked on despair.		
		and still i'd let you
		lead me there.

		i'd rather take the chance,
		even knowing the outcome in advance,
		than live a life of
		sheltered emotions.
		barred from joy,
		as much as sorrow
		what's the point 
		of another tomorrow?
		
		i'd rather feel 
				anguish
		than 
				nothing.
		i'd rather be dead 
		than forever numb.
		
		with no risk of pain
		there is no chance of love.
		i rejoice in the fact that i can feel!
		deeply. passionately. ecstatically.
		enthusiastically. excitedly.
		delightedly.

		i'll pick heads
		or tails 
		and take my chances.
		every time.
		
		i'll just be a little more choosy
		next time,
		about which coin I flip.
		
			Natalie / November 19, 1992

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(prowse@meena.cc.uregina.ca   |	"I wonder if you think about me,
		              |	 Once upon a time, in your wildest dreams."
			      |					-Moody Blues
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Scorpion
Date: 21 Nov 92 04:13:13 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


SCORPION

The Scorpion's house is riddled with damp.

The tapestries, tattered, hang in loose threads,
scraps and pieces of the early pride they bore...
but the master of the house has changed,
has shrugged off all the human that remained
(has sprouted gills, for God's sake, breathing
oxygen an afterthought his snout is pink and
trembling like a jellied mass encased in skin)
and brought down shame upon his head a crown
(of thorns and rubies, greedy drops of sweat)
he bears with rancor and some trace of hunger...

His useless nose emits a snort of air, a laugh
(the closest he can come to such now all is done)
a shake and then his curls fall down into place
a Roman mass of dying wavelets done in greys...
his humor has escaped with undue haste.

The Scorpion has dinner in a nightspot.

He always eats dessert first, and last,
the tiramisu a favourite and, if the service
is up to his standards, he may tip the waiter
or down him as a second meal, cerebral, this time;
the hatcheck girl has wondered when she's seen
how huge his head if other measurements are
indicated - vindicated, she returns intact
the Scorpion's lair a little colder than before.

He chuckles in a dry voice, coughs his pleasure
raises subtle hell when once again he's all alone
demands attendants rush, surround and pamper
but they're all gone, all gone into a cooler
kind of night, their venues not demanding...

The Scorpion's damp house cringes in the dark.

-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Natalie)
Subject: Last night I dreamt of you...
Date: Sun, 15 Nov 1992 23:51:18 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24
Organization: University of Regina, Regina, Sask., Canada


Last night I dreamt of you.
And in this dream,
you no longer hated me.
We talked and laughed
as old friends do.
And it felt so nice and warm.
When I woke to the harshness
of the morning light,
reality filled my heart
with a deep sadness
and silent tears
slipped softly to my pillow.

(prowse@meena.cc.uregina.ca)

 "I won't cherish grudges. I'll forgive those who change their minds and
  actions, just as I reserve the right to change my own mind and actions."
        -Bruce Sterling
From: chenowet@rd1632.Dayton.NCR.COM (Steve Chenoweth)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Perfection
Date: 23 Nov 92 16:43:47 GMT
Reply-To: chenowet@rd1632.Dayton.NCR.com (Steve Chenoweth)
Organization: NCR Technology & Development, Dayton, Ohio

In article <z#31v6b@rpi.edu> newbeb@rpi.edu writes:
>  Well here's my first posting. I hope many more will follow.
>
>	Perfection
>
>My work is never perfect,
>And nor I'd wish it'd be.
>For when a piece is heavenly wrought,
>In heaven must you be.
>
>		-Brian Newberry

Nice first contribution, Brian, and your jovial point is well taken.

BTW, who was it that wrote the famous essay about the word "wrought"?
H.L. Menken comes to mind.

And it's probably important to note that an iron hammered out of metal
would be "a wrought iron."



-- 
Steve.Chenoweth@Dayton.NCR.com
From: GRS02947@CONRAD.APPSTATE.EDU (*Chris C. Craven)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: To the Vanishing Point... (or, Wasting Away)
Date: 16 Nov 92 07:49:16 GMT
Organization: APPALACHIAN STATE UNIVERSITY
NNTP-Posting-Host: stat.appstate.edu
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24

I know I usually don't post much here but once in awhile....
Besides, Ialways welcome a friendly word. Hope you enjoy  .....

To the Vanishing Point
-----------------------

I do not quite remember the exact moment I guess I realized it
I mean things happen so fast maybe I did  not knowbut rather  surmised it
You know weird things can happen when Depression occurs
Your thoughts are twisted, deranged, provoking thoughts that stirs
Emotions  of a negative sort no beginning to an end as such
And all I know is that I do not want or tend to love as much
Can life be so brutile just to throw you away
Like a piece of garbage that the trash collector comes to pick up day after day
Do I turn to methods of  Death that would promote my destruction
There is  only one of me to end it would be extinction 
Yet could I do that to loved ones and mostly parents
To die would be ritual a sin in appearance
God grant me wisdom and the strength to survive
Give  me the will which I need to live
So beneath all the pain and the pressures endured
Can there be a love so holistically pured
The questions are there and the answers may lie
To no avail I will not know them until the day that I die
So after all I realized that I am wasting to nothingness
No social life, no education, and most importantly no status
It's not too late to change or so they keep telling me
Push me all you want, knock me down, the cuts are bleeding me 
But I will not ever give in to the stress and  humiliation
There must be something better for me in this great nation
I have an intellect and a natural rhythm fortunately
This I hope will help me in what I see the future to be
And so I prepare to face the trials ahead with my faith to annoint
And never let it be said I ever went past the Vanishing Point


                              Ron Gillespie

An Afterthought:
      I know this is probably  getting lengthy, but  let me put in this
afterthought. The poem speaks for itself, I do not speak for it. Read what you
will into it. I should note that I did  not compose this poem on paper first
and then type it in. I composed it  as you see it now; what you are reading is
the final product. I composed as I typed it in basically.  I should say that
although it reads roughly, it does tell how I feel. All I hope to do with it is
inspire at least one person for what is the art of writing if I cannot spark an
intelligence into creativity? Please feel free to pass this around to whomever
you see fit, but remember, give credit where credit is due....and that is to
God for giving us this wonderful gift of writing. Thank you.
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: those were mine (elvy))
Date: 19 Nov 92 10:42:09 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

bn442@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Marc S. Queen) writes:


> hi martha 
> elvy

interesting piece, this. apparently about noncommunication, or possibly
sexual tension, but with a strong undercurrent of sociotheology, as
shown by the clear reference to scripture, and the interweaving of
religious social archetyping (magdalen) with modern pop culture
archetyping (presley) ...both being such potent images of death and yet
persistence after death. of course, the play on words is wonderful:
"elvy". notice the substitution of "is" by "y"... i.e. elvis not is and
we may wonder y...

all in all a marvellous piece, and not a wasted word. not a wasted
word.


-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Anglocentricism in rec.arts.poems Re: Urdu Knowledge. Re: Urdu Ignorance (part II)
Summary: Diversity isn't a bad thing...
Date: 21 Nov 92 01:16:11 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana



I've been following this thread haphazardly for awhile and am surprised by
some of the comments and the general feeling emanating from the participants -
in my experience it is a pleasure to stumble upon poetry written in other
languages (with or without translation) and I'd hate to see r.a.p. lose
that special kind of contribution.  All work is relevant, however much one
might ignore some styles in favor of others, and creating separate
newsgroups for one culture or another, or for a specific style/genre/etc,
will ultimately make this group not worth reading.

Diversity is a wonderful thing to be strived for, not a detriment to be
avoided.  The creation of an Urdu poetry newsgroup is necessary if
enough people want it but please, before taking such a step, try to post/
discuss and see what happens...some people may not like it but, hey, I'm
not about to try to get a "post-modern" poetry group started just because
that's my personal preference!

Just my opinion...do with it as you will.

Tracy Flynn-Marsh
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: hollasch@kpc.com (Steve Hollasch)
Subject: Village Idiot
Organization: Kubota Pacific Computers Inc.
Date: Fri, 20 Nov 1992 18:10:05 GMT


            Village Idiot
            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Offer to me a new pain
           and I will weave
               a poem
               of it.


Hollasch, 20-Nov-92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bhattach@quip.eecs.umich.edu (sayan bhattacharyya)
Subject: Re: Subhash Mukhopadhyay wins Gnanpeeth Award
Organization: University of Michigan EECS Dept., Ann Arbor, MI
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 18:33:28 GMT

In article <NIKOLAY.92Nov22205023@husc10.harvard.edu> nikolay@husc10.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev) writes:

>
>
>I don't know anything about the politics behind Subhas's award,
>but I know, practically for certain, that he is West Bengal's
>finest living poet. 

Of course, such judgements are very difficult to make and very
subjective, but I think that many Bengalis will disagree with 
you. ( I certainly will ; if asked to name the finest living poet 
of my language, I will doubtless name Shankha Ghosh. Even Shakti
Chattopadhyay writes far better than Subhash Mukhopadhyay does
nowadays. But of course it is a matter of personal taste).

I think that Subhash wrote most of his best poems in the forties,
fifties and sixties . Of course, a few of his poems during this   
period sometimes degenerated into slogan-mongering for the Party
(for example the poem about the marxist-led strikes in the 
Braithwaite and Gwalior companies) but this was also the period when 
he wrote the really memorable
poems like "Saleymoner Ma" (Saleymon's Mother) and "Lal Tooktooke'
Din" (Bright Red Day). In many ways his poetry of this period 
is reminiscent of that of Sukanto Bhattacharyya , his close friend
who died in his early twenties in tragic circumstances while the
Party was still banned in India. 

His change of heart was apparently brought about, as Philip hints,
by his disillusionment with the corruption that crept into the
West Bengal CPI(M)  following its electoral success. He also 
tried to portray himself as philosophically dissatisfied with
what communism had to offer, but I think that the immediate 
disillusionment with the CPI(M) was a more obvious reason. The
"storm of hatred" this generated in communist circles in Calcutta
(Philip Nikolayev's words) seems like an exaggerated description.   
I was in Calcutta when all this happened and the general reaction
of the communist press was, as I recall, dismissive. Many people
I talked to at the time opined that Subhash's strange behaviour
was brought on probably by an onset of senility. Equally inexplicable
was his decision, following these events, to associate himself
with the election campaign of a right-centrist party which was
rife with corruption. The importance of Subhash's recantation
"in Bengali intellectual history" has , I think, been greatly
overestimated by Philip Nikolayev.

-Sayan Bhattacharyya.

-- 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sayan Bhattacharyya          |   Colourless green ideas sleep furiously.
Artificial Intelligence Lab  |
The University of Michigan   |
From: bkv2673@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Miester aLster)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: wherever you are...
Date: 17 Nov 92 03:49:48 GMT
Reply-To: bkv2673@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology


	wherever you are,
	however you are,
	i'm there in spirit 
        wherever you are,
	however you are....

	- aL
	  11/16/92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: Brother,Mother,Brother,Father (Part 1)
Keywords: Brother,Mother,Brother,Father (Part 1)
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 1992 01:03:59 GMT

marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:

>In article <steele.722032310@chip.aem.umn.edu> steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele) writes:
>>
>>
>>(this poem is much too long and useless to post all at once, so i will
>>torture all of you in little bits....or um, parts.)

>I don't know...  I'd like to see all of it at once, unless it is
>substantially larger than 75k.  do ls -s <poem-file> to find out.

>I suppose little chunks are ok too.

(ahgh- poem deleted, but please feel free to pick it up under the title
above)

>This is very good so far.  I'd consider not mixing tenses -- keep
>everything in the everseeing present.

i hope you realize marek that you've just committed to reading all four
installments, consciousness required.

sls.
>			-- Marek
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: Mr. Nikolayev/Hail JJWebb
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 20:35:53 GMT

In article <1992Nov19.093614.12806@news.acns.nwu.edu>, marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu
(Marek Lugowski) writes:

> Actually, I would recommend on the same level Ms. Coffin's "Song of
> Solomon's Girlfriend", which although slightly less aged and therefore
> not as full-bodied in its after taste (am I getting the wine talk down,
> Mary Anne?), has the advantages of being readily available from Ms. Coffin,
> and if you e-smile to her kindly, she might even post the non-Hebrew
> version, to facilitate comprehension without learning Hebrew.  After all,
> Hebrew, unlike Italian, actually has the property of needing to be learned
> before idiomatic use. 

*sigh*  Thought you'd never ask.  Here it is:


	Song of Solomon's Girlfriend
	--------------------------------------------------------------
	
	My love is like a roe upon the mountaintops
	he has embarrassed me to tears.
	Oh, my love,
	how, tell me how, tell me how
	could you talk about 
	my breasts?
	
	And now
	the entire known world has learned
	that my skin
	is dark.
	
	Oh God!
	I could just die.
	
	Why, oh why, I wonder why
	can't you write poems like all the other guys
	about the limpid pools of darkness 
	that are my eyes?
	(Because they aren't.
	Right at the moment, in fact,
	they look like flint.)
	
	Well then my nose.
	Or no -- not that.
	It's always been
	an embarrassment to me.
	I guess
	you could write a poem in praise of
	my hands.
	(I think I mentioned them
	somewhere.)
	
	But these other parts are right out
	of the question!
	(Why are some parts ok but some
	are not?)
	Because.
	Because.
	Because it's my body.
	(Yes, but it's my poem.)
	
	Arise!  Oh daughters of Jerusalem
	go find my love
	awaken him -- if that is possible
	-- I can't get through to him --
	and tell him
	I wouldn't marry him
	if he were the last man
	on earth.
	
	Instead, I shall wear black for life
	and write
	bitter satiric verses
	in which
	I reveal to his peers
	the exact shortcomings
	of his anatomical parts.
	(then I'll tell everyone what's 
	really in your navel)
	{Vengence is mine, sayeth the Lord.....}
	Oh, shut up!


Marie Coffin
May 6, 1992
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jww@evolving.com (John W. Woolley)
Subject: Actaeon [Sonnet]
Summary: C&C welcome.  Copyright.
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1992 20:25:44 GMT
Organization: Evolving Systems, Inc.
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL4

Gentles:

Herewith another sonnet.  Note that the name "Actaeon" is accented
on the second syllable -- ac-TEE-on.  I really would welcome comment
or criticism.  The ante-penultimate rhyming in the sestet was a bit
of an experiment, but I think it worked okay.


                        Actaeon
                       ---------

        Actaeon hunting glimpsed a goddess bare.
        He stopped concealed.  Perilous, mad, moonbright,
        she splashed, laughed with her maids.  His was no light
        mistake, rash wanton sacrilege, to stare,
        devouring virgin flesh.  Once aware
        of mortal lust, Diane's offended might
        unmanned him.  Antlered terror leaps, takes flight
        too late -- Actaeon's hounds his hot flanks tear.

        Moderns will scoff.  "What, reverence virginity?
        How very quaint!  Ignorant ancients talked
        of vengeful powers, attributed divinity
        to what they feared or couldn't grasp.  We're shocked
        you'd buy such crap."  Take warning! -- femininity,
        sweet, wild, and strong, like God will not be mocked.


-- 
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
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: M0LI <M0LI@UNB.CA>
Subject: REQUEST HELP!!!!!!!!
Organization: The University of New Brunswick
Date: Tue, 24 Nov 1992 00:32:54 GMT

Netters:
   Could someone please help me by posting some 'romantic'
poetry.  I am trying to complie a list to give my girlfriend
for our 1 year anniversy.  Any suggestions/postings will be greatly
appreciated....
                Mark M0li@unb.ca











Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: wh@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Winter Nova)
Subject: Autumn Wanderer (C&C welcome)
Organization: Purdue University Computing Center
Date: Mon, 16 Nov 1992 03:49:47 GMT

                    Autumn Wanderer

          Tarnished leaves of ancient copper
          What a melancholy sight to offer!
          Yellow spots, green spots, all alike
          Hints of passage of summer's delight
          Rustling, stirring, and dancing leaves
          Come, celebrate mid-autumn's eve
          Ere the silvery full moon with grace appears
          Sing a while for the wanderer to hear
          Autumn leaves, cease not your rustling
          For music it is to the solitary pilgrim
          Dance, and forget your timeworn state
          Just as the wanderer has accepted his fate!

          --written on Mid-Autumn's Eve
--
Metamorphosis....

Autumn leaves...sadness in gyrating freefall.  Autumn Wanderer is no more a
fantastic creation in the mind of an exhausted wayfarer than Don Quioxte is
the Knight of the Imagination.  Season ends.  Once more, the weary Wanderer
must depart and wait for another day to step forward again to claim the 
tainted glory that is rightfully his....

The chill of winter's touch.  Winter Nova has awakened....

*************************************************************************
* Wen-Hung Fang                   * Ceaseless windmills to the music of *
* Autumn Wanderer / Winter Nova   *   seasons sway                      *
* the lean, mean studying machine * Just let our friendship fade away   *
* wh@mentor.cc.purdue.edu         *   into the autumn days              *
*************************************************************************
From: beh@kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu (various Howellses)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Flaming pits in r.a.p.
Date: 23 Nov 92 23:05:48
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu


This place is flaming so much it's beginning to feel like the University of
Mich... uh, hell, hell is what I meant to say.  At least put it in verse,
folks, please.  geez... if I'd wanted to be privy to a bunch of catty
comments, I'd have stayed at UM in the opera department where, even though
you're good, they've got you beat on both the petty and the catty.  And I
would know.

So, to keep to my own comments...

It flames like hell, 
I smell the fetid stink of 
dragon's breath...

'tis a flame war to the death...

NOT!

--N

--
If it's me, it's not the other one.  If it's the other one, it's not me.
But then again, we're basically one and the same... oh bother, we're
--Various Howellses (Bruce and/or Nancy)
beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: swhiting@nyx.cs.du.edu (Simon Whiting)
Subject: Dormant
Organization: University of Denver, Dept. of Math & Comp. Sci.
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 92 10:43:11 GMT


                 Dormant
                =========

     My body is extensive
     Of size near yours,
     Yet I am Individual,
     'Girt by sea'.

     Forever will I be
     Halfway to tomorrow,
     Yet what ever you do
     I feel weeks later.

     Your great village,
     A buzz of human interaction,
     Yet within my whole self
     There is less life.

     You live life fast
     With many oppotunities,
     Yet all the while I walk
     Within your shadow.

     For you are the great
     United States of America,
     Yet I always remain lowly
     'just Australia'.

     or so you like to think....

          -SW Fish 92.

Hmmm, this should get some varied feedback.  All C & C is welcomed
(not that I could stop it if I wanted too anyway).  I have not
really ment it to be offensive, but to place a different 
perspective on things.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Simon John Whiting            %     "Poetry is like a fart.  If it is
                              %   strong & overbearing, it should be
UG Bach. Eng. in Comp. Eng.   %   flamed no matter how proud the owner
University of Canberra,       %   is"            -SW Fish 92.
Australia.                    %
                              % Demitri  "Its the cave of no return !"
tp914780@fir.canberra.edu.au  % Demestos "Yes, I've been here before."
swhiting@nyx.cs.du.edu        %                  -the D-Generation 88.
----------------------------------------------------------------------