HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: lyra@camelot.bradley.edu (Heather Loresch)
Subject: Once I Dreamed
Organization: Bradley University
Date: 26 Jan 93 21:49:31 GMT


back by popular demand! i had a request to post something again, so
i'm back. this one's for jorge. (i really hope i spelled that right!)
as always, c & c very welcome.

		Once I Dreamed

	Once I dreamed of times to come,
	Of all the things that I would do.
	I dreamed of places I could see.
	I dreamed of clouds and skies of blue.

	Once I dreamed of times gone by.
	I thought of those whose lives I shared.
	The memories of those love-filled days
	Reminded me that someone cared.

	Now my dreams are cold and dead.
	What good to me are cloud filled skies?
	My dreams just do more harm than good
	When everyone I care for dies.

	How can single dreams survive
	When my soul remains alone.
	How can they live in the place
	Where my heart has turned to stone?
		-hal

--
lyra@camelot.bradley.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: Re: Purity Tests and Spanish poetry / Marek
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Wed, 27 Jan 1993 23:46:52 GMT

In article <1993Jan26.083927.17362@tid.es> alberto@TITAN.tsa writes:

>I'm interested in spanish poetry and exchanging poems in spanish with
>other people.

Heather Corbett of Cal Berkeley just posted a Neruda poem in Spanish and in
an English translation.  Perhaps you could talk her and others into more.

>Since this group is devoted to English poetry (though still I
>haven't received a single poem) it could be an inadequate place to do it.

This newsgroup is expressly *NOT* devoted to English poetry.  In fact, on
occasion it has seen posts completely in French, Norwegian, Bengali,
Russian, and Urdu, as well as regular bi-ligual English/Polish and other
combinations.  English happens to be the language most of us understand
best or can count on being understood the widest.  Feel free to use
whatever language you want, including the computer language perl (which
shows up here, too, courtesy of Sharon Hopkins).

>If someone is interested, please contact me.

I hope you will get them and yourself back onto rec.arts.poems pronto.

	--=- - ==-=---=-- -- - ----==--=--==-- ---=----=-----=----

>P.S.: By the way, can anybody explain what a "purity test" is? Is it
>related to freedom of expression, censorship or something like that?

I hesitated with responding, because, truth be known, I fear that I cannot
explain purity tests or what a purity test properly is.  It takes a lot of
green tea just to endure one.  Anyway, to give you a flavor, a purity test
question might center on a cultural aspect of ethnopsychiatry, such as:
"have you ever had sex with a frog while holding a person of opposite sex
in your mouth?"  The next question usually asks the same thing, except
whether you were holding two persons of opposite sex, or one person of the
same sex, in your mouth, at the time.  All the answers are then added and a
score is computed.  One of the charms of the test is that some people think
the 63% purity test score is what others think a 37% purity test score is,
so a raw score by itself is perfectly ambiguous.

What makes the purity test different from mere questionaries or college
entrace examinations is that it has no redeeming value or purpose other
than to shyly foster indirect communication about coming-of-age topics
amongst young or young-at-heart persons sharing repressed childhoods.

In that sense, purity test is related to freedom of expression, as well as
to censorship, but primarily -- as you intuitively guessed -- to something
like that.

				-- Marek
>
>
>	Podra no haber poetas; pero siempre
>		habra' poesi'a.
>
>			G. A. Becquer

Oh yes, we have no bananas.  siempre.
From: ESB107@psuvm.psu.edu (KeyMaster)
Newsgroups: psu.test,rec.arts.poems
Subject: Thru the Looking Glass
Date: 27 Jan 93 19:37:24 GMT
Organization: Penn State University

What? What was that You see?
It's a rock, a rock i say
The same i see most every day
It sits there, day and season
Need  no thought or reason
To see that it's a rock
Significant to me, i think not
For all i care let it rot
i hardly notice it anyway
It's   just a rock! A rock i say!
Why now that rock, it bothers me
Yet seems no one else can see
That rock, that rock, it's watching me
Disturbing peace of thought
Resist the force! i fought
It's  just a rock! a rock i say!
Make this guilt go away!
A rock, a rock sears my soul
Inanimately has control
Of my thoughts, of me
Silence...
.
====================================================================
+ E.S.Boese                 * 'What person really knows another    +
+ ESB107@psuvm.psu.edu      *  or even himself?'                   +
+ boese@crayola.cs.psu.edu  *   -Herman Hesse                      +
+ sugar@akh104.psu.edu      *          _The Journey To The East    +
====================================================================
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ecronan@maths.tcd.ie (Eoin Cronan)
Subject: Re: Depressed
Organization: Dept. of Maths, Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland.
Date: Wed, 27 Jan 1993 12:09:32 GMT

I know how you feel.

why.
---

Upon the shore I walk alone ,
Sun gives way to ghostly moon,
Mind subsides to twilight zone ,
And I recall upon this Dune,
The pleasure and joy of simple life,
Colours bright and fragrance sweet,
Unconscious of the trouble and strife,
Oh , why does my heart still beat?

Within the darkness , the rain is falling
And from the sea I hear a calling , 
From unknown place in distant land,
The meloncoly tune of a morbid band,
Mind drifts back to present time ,
Muses over this life of mine ,
Might I be better there ?
Oh why, don't I even care ?

Then inspiration dawns over me .
This distand Band i can see ,
The skeletal hand that plucks the wire , 
Soft saddening note from his lyre ,
Is there some soul that I should should mourn ?
Bitter embodiment , sweet release ?
But is there now tranquil peace ?
Oh why I wonder , was I born ?

But now I hear another sound ,
My whole being it does astound ,
My still senses it does shock ,
A might God , and He doth mock ,
And yet , it isjust the wind , 
But to this place I stay pinned ,
Rigid , in the dark I lie 
Oh why , must I still wait to die ?

The Moon itself does now retire ,
And there is silence from the lyre ,
Couldn't I stay here forever ,
All my ties with life just sever ,
"I reguard my life 'til now with scorn ,
Better to have not been born"
This thought appears in my mind's eye .
So I wait and wait and die.....


I know it's not a very original title but it's how I felt at the time

			Eoin

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: root@bing.atl.ga.us (Administrator)
Subject: Re: Poppy My Love
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."
Date: Sun, 24 Jan 93 23:31:31 GMT

hseung@oz.anatomy.upenn.edu (Rebecca H. Seung) writes:
> 
> Poppy-seed bagel, I love thee.
>   (You look so good!)
> Stuff some SeWooJeot, I lust thee.
>   (You smell so gooood!)
> Dip it in GanJang, I dote thee.
>   (You taste so goooooooood!)
> Oh Poppy, won't you come back to me?
>   (You come out of that oven RIGHT NOW!)
> 
> --
> Rebecca H. Seung              SeWooJeot... salted shrimp
>                               GanJang..... soybean sauce
Hey! Those are Korean foods and words!
Does this mean you are a korean too?
--
Bing H Bang                                  +---------------------------+
Senior Systems Analyst                       | This is my home computer. |
National Data Corporation, Atlanta, GA       | I do not speak for NDC.   |
uucp: root@bing.atl.ga.us                    +---------------------------+
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: dew@acca.nmsu.edu (Universal Angel)
Subject: Re: First Post
Organization: Alternative Collegiate Computing Association
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 23:13:39 GMT

In article <C186po.8D5@unccsun.uncc.edu> dmkuklen@uncc.edu writes:
>NO
>
>
>Sitting by the fire
>I made a move, 
>   You said NO.
>
>Standing in the hall
>Our bodys rubbed,
>   You said NO.
>
>I tucked you in
>And tried again,
>   You said NO.
>
>I statrted to leave,
>   You said NO NO NO!!!
>

gosh -- !

i think i know exactly how you feel! :9


dEw

Of course, Lou noticed the angels
in Rilke's pockets and hat
but wondered: Does he have to be a poet
ALL of the time?
          -- Thomas Lux                        ***dew@acca.nmsu.edu***

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: R3TLM@VM1.CC.UAKRON.EDU
Subject: 2 poems on dreams C&C please
Organization: The University of Akron
Date: Thu, 28 Jan 1993 00:17:36 GMT

poem #1   Once I Dreamed
 
once i dreamed a beautiful dream
i dont know what it was about
i cant remember that dream
but i know it was a beautiful dream
 
and once i dreamed a not so beautiful dream
i dont know what it was about either
but i know that the dream left me scared
 
i dont know that i dreamed any other dreams
and im not sure i want to dream anymore
 
but once i dreamed a beautiful dream
 
                              ---bonehead  january 27, 1993
 
 
 
poem #2
 
I dreamed that I fell forever
or it seemed like forever
after all it's a dream
and when I awoke
my dream left me
wondering
if it's
real
 
                           --bonehead   january 27, 1993
 
 
     Hope you like 'em. They just sort of happened spur of the moment.
Know what I mean?
 
 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: blaisec@sr.hp.com (Blaise Cirelli)
Subject: Smooth Descent
Date: Fri, 22 Jan 1993 19:53:00 GMT
Organization: HP Sonoma County (SRSD/MWTD/MID)
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1.9 PL6]


There is a soothing comfort in the descent.
The filmy milk-white roadsigns.
Sighing ash-brown grass along the hillside.
The earth in fallow rest


Wipers deftly flick the warm rain.
And it sheets off softly into the jet stream.
Remaining for the road to gently deposit it;
In a shallow watery-vein


Oh angel, warm the creamy stars.
And St. Christopher come at our behest.
To guide chary sojourners long-ago lost
Journeying from the fruitless harvest.


This trip so like many others that came before;
Is sewn in to the pillows of silky dreams
And we rise and feed it like our children
Whispering lies and promising more..
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: daq@fc.hp.com (Doug Quarnstrom)
Subject: Re: opinions...
Date: Wed, 27 Jan 1993 20:04:46 GMT
Organization: SPUGE
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1.8 PL6]

 (hcorbett@pattie.wellesley.edu) wrote:
: I simply can NOT let TWO flames on Marek go by without making
: some comment.

I bet you COULD if you REALLY tried.

doug
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Idea Economy
Date: 26 Jan 93 15:41:33 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054


sheila has recently expressed an interest in the notion of an Idea Economy.
Hopefully, she will post about this.  Until then...


		The Idea Economy
		-----------------------------------------

		idea:  A bird dies in the air,
		not shot.

		marketing:  It flies directly down,
		flipping and vibrating,
		a bird of its own prey,
		its grand silhouette a shadow dance.

		product:  Either clutch at your heart
		or sigh with relief, "Ah!
		Damocles' sword falls limp."

		jingle:  Tell the mice not to worry.
		Tell the mice not to hurry.


		by Posthumous O'Toole
		aka Defender of the Realm
		aka Chucklehead O'Toole
		aka Acolyte O'Toole
		aka Archangel O'Toole


There are two kinds of poets in this world.  Those that sidle up to you and 
say, "I am a thief and a liar," and those who don't.

yours,

Posthumous
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig

Aaron Radomski, where are you???
Organization: Bar-Ilan University Computing Center, Israel
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 15:52:25 IST
From: <X67107@BARILVM.BITNET>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: haircut! / Marek

(Marek Lugowski) says:

 headcut!
 ------------------------------------------------------------

 i just paid 20 dollars for a headcut!

 that is way more than i expected to pay,
 seeing the posted prices
 (8 dollars for a regular beheading,
 no mention of beards).

 i was charged 19 dollars and i threw in the balance.
 i bet my beard, the mustache, and
 the hair there were minmised.

 oh, and he also made an attempt to detach my nose
 or maybe it's what the market will bear --
 should i have been shch a dick head?
 i am commercially mute except at the deli,
 when they misprice lorraine swiss cheese.  yum.

 "nineteen???".

i knew i was fleeced in cincinnati
that one time, when i paid sixteen...
(not dollars, mind you teeth)

I thought you had to request a castration
to pay 20 dollars for a head-cut.

my regular barber charges me five
and i tip her -- or her sister -- one.
(and she can keep any eye or two as well)


                         Marek Lugowski
                         23 January 1993
                         Chicago, Illinois

 Sick, sick, and SICK!!! What people write these days. Headcut, behading,
 hanging and lyncing are all the rage in down town Chicago (or so I hear)
 no wonder you people pay so much. I got one senteces to say the author
 "I chagre 8 $ per skull but you my friend I'll do, in, for free."


-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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: elee@napier.uwaterloo.ca (Salty Freckles)
Subject: VOYEUrn
Organization: University of Waterloo
Date: Thu, 21 Jan 1993 05:05:22 GMT

 
		VOYEUrn
		------------------------------------
 
		i rn and sit.
		watch it all,
		read and read.	
 
		sometimes a w,
		so i can see you.
 
		and i hide.
 
		touch me not,
		no finger on me, please,
		not a hair,
		nor a breath.
		only leave me alone.
 
		i rn.
		but not talk,
		not a whisper.
 
		not even a post, a rail,
		but guards.
 
		i rn and rn and rn
		but you cannot see me.
 
--
Gene Lee
elee@descartes.UWaterloo.ca
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (   Wilde Dame)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: An early influence / Sheryl
Date: 26 Jan 1993 01:43:35 -0800
Organization: Seattle University
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: sumax.seattleu.edu


No, not a poem called "an early influence..."

About a half a year ago, my mom mailed me a newspaper article from my
hometown.  A girl I had gone to high school with, Dawnya Calbreath, had
been senselessly murdered in her workplace by a former employee seeking
revenge.  Tonight, for some reason, I got to thinking about Dawnya and her
writing.

There are those poets who are "greats," who can be depended upon to appear
in the list of influences of modern poets.  Dawnya was a peer of mine, but
one of my greatest influences as a writer.  I doubt she ever knew.

Following are two of her poems printed in our high school literary
magazine.  I feel some sort of obligation to share them.

		Monarch Summer
		=====================
		I stalk the monarch
		poised on a sun-crusted milkweed.
		His batik wings tremble,
		the dye running orange and black
		into that summer of peaches where jars
		collected on the storeroom shelves.

		Sun throws prisms on the killing jar.
		The rusty lid stains my hand orange
		as the splashed color of his wings.
		My shadow whispers.

		Startled, he rocks upwards, a feather
		floating over the twisted apple tree.
		Orange and black caterpillars,
		their spiked hairs sensing his grace,
		feed on August wind.


++

		Grandma
		=================
		Wind weaves milkweeds
		through the night; still,
		she sits, a statue etched
		in shadows, calling my grandfather.
		No one speaks to her.

		I wake and hear her chair
		rocking silence.  Her eyes,
		sunk into the cancer
		of that house, call me.
		I rise and sit

		watching a moth, its moonlit
		dusted wings powdering the bedroom
		window.  A string of smoke wraps
		around her hand, a stream
		of liquid blue pearl.

		Her thin finger traces
		his shadow on the photograph
		where he stands,
		next to Plymouth Rock,
		smiling under a yellow stained sky.


					Dawnya Calbreath
-- 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sheryl Stover (& Hemingway & Clio)                  = sstover@seattleu.edu
"Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures." --Samuel Johnson
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: "Marek Lugowski" <marek@cs.indiana.edu>
Subject: Re: Note Bene, PBFT.  (was Re: opinions..)
Organization: Indiana University, Bloomington
Date: Wed, 27 Jan 1993 21:24:34 -0500

....Ms. Rebecca Lowell!!!!:

>sounds like the "why is marek a heavyweight" discussion.  established?
>there are plenty of people who have been on rap for years.  and vocal.
>you are entitled to your opinion of mr lugowski's poetry.  it has been
>noted.  the rest of us are also allowed our thoughts on it.  which have
>also been duly noted.

What Ms. Lowell is correctly (and darkly) hinting atout is that
neither rain nor snow, nor the gloom of the night, shall stay my swift
execution, at the appointed time.

My only wish is to look at least half as good as Jane Fonda did on her
gallows in _Cat Ballou_.  To this end, I would like to request a loan
of a full-length lace-trimmed number in pure white.  It's just a
hanging, as in: gardens, so don't worry about any stains.  Size XXL.

>excuse me if my enthusiasm wanes on this topic. pbft. 

Yes, indeedee.  I remember, long, long time ago, when Ms. Lowell was
still a pup, she came my way bright-eyed and bushytailed, beguiled by
my versifyings and versifications, not to mention the occasional sleight
of verisimilitude.  Well, it's always time to move on, and no one should be
kept beholden to their youth.  :(

>-Rebecca

Love you too, hon.  Always will.

:) :) :) ;) :) :) :) :) *smooooOOOOOOOOoooooch* :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

				-- Marek
From: bg@stein.u.washington.edu (Bill Whitson)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Sober (C/C always welcome)
Date: 27 Jan 1993 00:59:02 GMT
Organization: University of Washington
NNTP-Posting-Host: stein.u.washington.edu

-Sober-

Morning sets in
like a bad haircut.
My head throbs
and my body aches from
last night's activities-
now no more than
vague images.
I curse myself
for doing this again
and reach blindly for the
near empty bottle.

Bill Whitson

(all bullshit legal stuff in my name...)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gj156879@alfred.carleton.ca ( gj student 156879)
Subject: Like an empty saxophone's bleat
Organization: Carleton University
Date: Thu, 28 Jan 1993 16:03:30 GMT

Like an empty saxophone's bleat
-------------------------------

The jazzy night sky was filled
with white glowing dots.

Swinging Hipster blew a sickly note
which squeezed out of his empty sax
like the mournful cry of a dying mole
deep underground.

The note flew through the air
like an arrow of sound
looking for a bullseye to pierce.

It finally fell into the ear of a deaf man 
who smacked his lips together and said
"Blow baby Blow"
like he really meant it.

                                                  Nik
                                     All real poetry deserves
                                        comments...
                                     [Crazy, man, crazy...]             
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: Travels
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Date: Fri, 22 Jan 93 08:00:15 GMT

	Travels
	------------------------------------------------------

	The city.  The Golden City.  
	He stopped just outside and took
	a hatchet to the faded yellow kayak.
	Night and no money for a room.
	The curved wood burnt brightly.
	Paint shriveled and cracked 
	looking the way his skin felt when he 
	approached a furnace too closely.

	The kayak had been lashed to the 
	worn vinyl top of the bluish car
	when he bought it.  Old Tom said he
	couldn't bear to cut that rope, the
	mysterious silky rope that held it.
	Old Tom was sentimental, he thought.
	Still, in respect he worked two hours
	trying to untie before severing the
	cat's cradle with that rusty hatchet.

	The road to the city was black and
	empty except for the faded lines and
	scattered stones.  Squatting on the
	sand, he pulled a lemur salad sandwich
	out of what had been a camera bag.
	The camera was long gone, smashed on
	a rock, its springy guts spread in
	hidden fragments amongst the damp 
	rainforest undergrowth.  It had been
	possessed.  Spirits.  It shot souls
	like bullets, penetrating the eyes and
	conquering the subject, a 50mm dybbuk.  
	The villagers kept pestering him 
	about the urban proletariat and the role
	of the intellectual in a workers' state.
	Damn East Germans.

	The Golden City glowed orange in its
	protective layer of fog.  His fire
	crackled.  He had spiced the lemur
	salad with rose petals.  It was good.
	Except for stray bits of fur,
	which burnt in little grey puffs
	when he spat them into the fire.
	From the trunk he pulled his fine
	catskin coat, not strictly legal, 
	but it made him feel regal and true.
	He wondered again if he had seen 
	any of them alive, moaning in the 
	moonlight, or hiding under a bush.

	A car whooshed by, eating the breathless
	miles to the Golden City.  His wet
	eyes followed the red lights along
	the bare road across the aching desert.
	But he would not betray the darkness.
	He threw another kayak rib on the
	fire and lay down for sleep.

		Michael Lichter
		January 21, 1993
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alk4@ellis.uchicago.edu (Alex L. Karan)
Subject: Shantih
Reply-To: alk4@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 21:04:57 GMT



Shantih
-------



Through rain 
fallen

and enlightened
point of view

sun becomes
the tongue of candle,

blown out
yesterday.




Alex L. Karan
From: rizzo@cbnewsf.cb.att.com (anthony.r.rizzo)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: _
Date: 26 Jan 93 18:36:17 GMT
Organization: AT&T



      #     #
     #     #  ######  #       #                   ####  
    #     #  #       #       #                  #    #        ####
   #######  #####   #       #                  #    #       #    #        ####
  #     #  #       #       #                  #    #       #    #       #    #
 #     #  #       #       #                  #    #       #    #       #    #
#     #  ######  ######  ######              ####         ####         ####


What's the use --
There's nothing here.
There isn't even an echo!
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--War's end
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Mon, 25 Jan 1993 13:40:07 GMT


                                War's end

Your blood in my mouth after so many years of famine
it rains in the desert blood red and the fields bloom
strong green grasses where once only sand flourished
and we sit in the very middle with our basket lunch
the wildflowers our carpet
and I know you
from somewhere long ago and that blood of yours
it is my very own
as this least civil of wars comes to an end.




-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: gadberry@neurocog.lrdc.pitt.edu (Mike Gadberry)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem  -- virtual reality
Keywords: Original poetry
Date: 22 Jan 93 22:46:52 GMT

virtual reality
	-a poem for Winter '92 by Michael R. Gadberry

I am a confessed psychotic
monitored by my computer's unblinking eye
fractured personality manifest
in the legion of users in root/usr
all of whom are Me.

Though the golden threads of my silicon sharer
scintillate with My darkest secret
I am unplugged from the net of systemic attachment
secure from the touch of menacing hackers
all of them like Me.

Driving the RAM of my CPU
I can crash the mind of God
questing fearless against divine involvement
My carbon-silicon symbiote is omni-sensed
a creature possessed of intelligence
	--albeit artificial
-----------------------------------------------------------
copyright 1993.  Michael R. Gadberry.  All rights reserved. 
e-mail to gadberry@neurocog.lrdc.pitt.edu  (Pittsburgh, PA)