HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: American Romantic
Date: 11 Jan 93 15:23:12 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054

In article <1993Jan11.054723.16226@news.acns.nwu.edu> marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
<In article <1993Jan11.041413.11515@midway.uchicago.edu> 
<alk4@midway.uchicago.edu writes:
<>
<>You chicago folks has actually seen this...
<>
<>American Romantic
<>-----------------
<>
<>
<>
<>On Lakeshore Drive,
<>
<>almost dancing 
<>as he shuffles
<>foot to foot
<>in gray slush,
<>
<>a gentleman 
<>selling cold roses
<>to the romantics
<>
<>waiting for the light.
<
<--
<>Alex L. Karan
<
<Again, I like this one.  Reminds me of the 50's Polish poetry of Tuwim and
<Galczynski.  One technical point: why introduce the ungrammaticality of a
<flawed subject-verb agreement for "gentleman".  Shouldn't "sells" replace
<"selling"?  I see no benefit in breaking the sentence grammar here;
<alternatively, implying *both* the subject and the verb in the dependent
<clause.  Getting three present participles in a row does not justify the
<blood on your hands. :)  

Point of Order!

This poem is not "ungrammatical".  What you mention here is the difference 
between a complete sentence and a noun phrase.  If this were prose, a 
sentence would be expected.  But it is not prose.  Alex's poems are poems.
That's one reason I like them.
  
And don't mention the capitalized "On" and the final ".".  Poems can be 
capitalized.  "flawed subject-verb agreement" indeed!  You see subjects 
where there are none.  You flinch at shadows--and you build houses on 
sand because you think it is cement and it will dry eventually.

And also don't gloat if Alex does change it.  Only if he changes it for the
specious reason you have given.

Yours,

Posthumous O'Toole, Defender of the Realm

-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig

Aaron Radomski, where are you???
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alk4@ellis.uchicago.edu (Alex L. Karan)
Subject: American Romantic
Reply-To: alk4@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Mon, 11 Jan 1993 04:14:13 GMT


You chicago folks has actually seen this...

American Romantic
-----------------



On Lakeshore Drive,

almost dancing 
as he shuffles
foot to foot
in gray slush,

a gentleman 
selling cold roses
to the romantics

waiting for the light.




Alex L. Karan

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Growing
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Tue, 5 Jan 93 14:35:03 GMT


                              Growing

I am not as old as I once was
having grown into my youth with age
no I won't explain
perhaps you will linger on the image
until you
too
grow younger...



-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Expectations
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 10 Jan 93 02:38:22 GMT


                                Expectations

You do not doubt when food is placed in front of you
sitting there with your expectations of dinner
seated at the white cloth of your hunger
see before you a dead bird in a blue bowl
fly up into the sky
above the vastness where you are seated
perhaps you can use the bowl
now empty
for something else.




-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: bcorkum@hamp.hampshire.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re:Preface: please critique!
Date: 11 Jan 93 21:05:20 EDT
Organization: Hampshire College
NNTP-Posting-Host: hamp.hampshire.edu

Hey, nice poem.  I guess I'm a little biased, huh?  

love, Beth

*;>
From: gardabr@unix1 (Gard Eggesbo Abrahamsen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Get a life (C&C welcome)
Date: 6 Jan 93 09:00:40 GMT
Organization: KJAKAH productions
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL6]


         Get a life
===============================
         burn a cross
         fuck a baby
         shoot a president
         dance with the devil
         puke on a nkotb album
         shit in public
         whatever you wish
         just do it
         get a life
        =====================================================================
                                     GEA January 6th 1993



       ______
      /      \  <== This is a self portrait.
     |  O  O  |
====OOO======OOO=============================================================
= Gard Eggesboe Abrahamsen                         PO Box 5061, Larsgaarden =
= Gard.Abrahamsen@mrih.no                             6021 Aalesund, Norway =
= "Don't ask me what I'm feeling. Finger me. It's greatly appreciated."     =
=                                           (Gard Eggesboe Abrahamsen 1993) =
=============================================================================
     /  \  /  \                      finger address ==> ga@samson.mrih.no
     \__/  \__/ <== Shoe size 42...
^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'
'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jwm3@vivaldi.psu.edu (James Walter Martin)
Subject: hearing
Organization: hatross 
Date: Mon, 04 Jan 93 07:18:36 GMT

hearing those words
half made in my own mind
the angels on my perimeter
lifting me silently
out of my screams
 
she is not the one
let die and let go on
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (   Wilde Dame)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Act / Sheryl
Date: 10 Jan 1993 14:55:02 -0800
Organization: Seattle University
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: sumax.seattleu.edu

OK kids, this one needs help.  Really.  So, C&C (of all kinds, preferably
strong) requested...

	Act.
	========================
	Act of fear. 
	These, too, are tears, this
	an uncontrollable sobbing,
	and you, always leaving,
	recede into a horizon.

	Act of desperation.
	Fierce thrust of hope against hope,
	slaking of thirst,
	full and throbbing and
	empty.  Aches.

	Act of reconciliation.
	Pouring of self into self,
	resolution of the Burning Question,
	slow crest of a wave into
	the inner rooms of the home.

	Act of giving,
	of drawing electricity from the air,
	of growing to be whole
	and not fearing the edge,
	the fall,
	the green sleep, the words
	spoken there.

		SDS, 10 January 1993
-- 
       Sheryl Stover  %  If you ask me what I have come to do in the world,
  & Hemingway & Clio  %  I who am an artist, I will reply: "I am here to
sstover@seattleu.edu  %  live aloud."                    -Emile Zola
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Final love
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 10 Jan 93 17:15:01 GMT


                                Final love


He was twenty five
that seems to me old for a goose
but that's what he was
when he lost his mate of so many years
and in the midst of his grief
she came to him all stately and tall
the letter box before the house
with her bright red flag of a beak
which seduced him from his grief
into pure obsession
til after weeks of protecting her
from mailmen and owners
his mania drove him to attack his final foe
and his white feathers move no more in the January snows
between the fading tracks of the snowmobile
now long gone.




-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cara@athena.mit.edu (Lorelei)
Subject: "there is a place"
Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Date: Fri, 8 Jan 1993 21:46:40 GMT




There is a place deep in the wood
Where she still walks in black-green shade,
But most who seek the forest's heart
Find only a sunlight-dappled glade.

Few speak of the room in an ivory palace
With banners of silk and a golden floor
Where angels stand with flaming swords
And gently, firmly, bar the last door.

This far--and no more.

--
Organization: Bar-Ilan University Computing Center, Israel
Date: Tue, 12 Jan 1993 15:23:46 IST
From: <X67107@BARILVM.BITNET>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: ftp ???????????????

Hi people of rap.

Does anyone know of any ftp sites, were poetry is available ?
Also (If there are any Email servers providing a similar service)

                     I will collect your replays and post a suumary.

+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
+------------------------  Axiomatic Avartar ------------------------+
+-----------       The Darkest Incarnation of Death     -------------+
+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: howells@athena.mit.edu (Nancy A Howells)
Subject: a hundred ways
Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Date: Sun, 10 Jan 1993 03:11:39 GMT


There are a hundred ways
to tell the truth,
maybe more,
to see you, to know you, to touch you.

The smile which lights your face, but
not your eyes,
the smile which lights your eyes, 
but never touches your face,
and then, in the midst of trouble,
your non-smile,
still and caught,
the fluttering of anxiety in your stomach,
but not a trace on your face.

There are a hundred ways
to know you,
from the slightly damp sweat
of sleep to 
the very damp sweat
after making love;
your scent, your sounds,
your movements,
and yet,
there are times when nothing,
nothing is known
but the fact that
nothing is known.

nalh, Somerville, Massachusetts, 9 January, 1993
--
Never try to teach a pig to sing.  It wastes your time and annoys the pig.
--Nancy Howells
howells@athena.mit.edu
howells@mitvmc.mit.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ronena@tau.ac.il (Ronen Altman)
Subject: A free-form poem
Organization: Tel-Aviv University Computation Center
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL8]
Date: Mon, 4 Jan 1993 12:42:37 GMT

This is a poem written on IRC by three different people, responding to eac other's lines.. considering that i think it's quite good.

~r poem
From: rocky@NeoSoft.com (Joe Mullally)
Subject: Re: Instead
Organization: NeoSoft Communications Services -- (713) 684-5900
Date: Wed, 6 Jan 1993 23:43:46 GMT

In article <1993Jan5.170652.29728@news.acns.nwu.edu> marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
>In article <402@uiunix.ui.org> donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli) writes:
>>
>>		Instead of Growing Old With You
>>		----------------------------------------------
>>
>>
>>		I wish my lips to touch your eye
>>		Where flowers I placed in your hair
>>		Who bargain for shadows that lie
>>		On your face would not their darkness dare.
>
>Remarkably bad piece of writing.  Are you mocking someone or is this
>sincere?  Pending answer I leave listing the (obvious) flaws to fellow
>rappers.  More generally -- why write just to annoy?  Surely one can write
>to annoy in style? :)
>
	Perhaps, by example, you might lead? (-:

-- 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe Mullally (rocky@sugar.neosoft.com) PH:713-681-2495
"We need stronger death penalties..." George Bush, debate #2
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: howells@athena.mit.edu (Nancy A Howells)
Subject: there aren't any memories here
Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Date: Tue, 12 Jan 1993 01:50:24 GMT

There aren't any memories here,
though when I turn my back,
a horde seems to tap my shoulder,
and a multitude to whisper.

There aren't any memories here,
not like the pine trees of a certain place,
not like the bright-patterned sunsets,
not like the moon, walking its path
in the clear, smoke-scented skies.

Why, then,
does the afternoon ache?
Why does the morning wake me
with tears?

What is the melancholy,
the feeling without words,
when I remember the touch of a hand
far away,
the triumphs of once-song
achingly bitter sweet
in the long afternoons of winter?

There are no more words,
no more songs,
no more desires,
no more moon-walks
or shadow dances,
violets
or dreams...

There aren't any memories here.

--nalh
Somerville, Massachusetts
11 January, 1993
--
Never try to teach a pig to sing.  It wastes your time and annoys the pig.
--Nancy Howells
howells@athena.mit.edu
howells@mitvmc.mit.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cdl0915@ultb.isc.rit.edu (Chris Losinger)
Subject: :(
Originator: cdl0915@ultb
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Tue, 5 Jan 1993 21:15:14 GMT


	her grandparents are slowly dying
	and that is reason to be unseasonably unjolly
	but she is cold and distant and silent to me 
	and christmas couldn't be less merry consequently

	something is wrong that she will not decant 
	and always i hoped it was my job & honor to know & help
	but she is bottled corked and sealed
	and hence my corkscrew is unseasonably useless
-- 
        --------------------------------------------------------------
        	c  h  r  i  s   l  o  s  i  n  g  e  r   r  i  t
From: tony@swrinde.nde.swri.edu (Anthony R. Benitez)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Autumn Night
Date: 6 Jan 1993 18:36:22 GMT
Organization: Southwest Research Institute, San Antonio, Texas
NNTP-Posting-Host: swrinde.nde.swri.edu

AUTUMN NIGHT

I spent an autumn night afar, alas I called your name and felt
the echo of your laughter resounding in the pointed lights
of this and yet another night.
Somewhere in the moments that pass, I sing a never-ending song,
a melody pitched in the key of what I desperatly wish would be.
And frightened far beyond some mortal man, you raise me to
myself, naked, laughing, tugging, sighing softly begging
never. Oh! Jason sought the golden mane, to prize? or once to
be wrapped in it's soft allure?  I hear the song all men
whose ears were deaf would never play, beating the rythm
pounding, resounding in the torrent of my very soul, I 
surrender to your voice yet lashed to the mast of this life.
To search for knives that cut the bonds running reckless into
your arms and pour a river upon your breast caring you
beyond the sphere of myself or whoever I ever wanted or
desired to be.  
And spend forevermore casting forth my smiles as chaff upon
the farther fields of our little lives,  I wrap my chant
around the body of your wildest guessing not who you really
are, but rather of who I in my laughter make you!  Tell me
your stories that make me you and I in turn will write
you the living sonnet the world never dreamed or could possibly
understand.  You are the precious pen that scrawls my soul
these words I only half-dreamed spent in autumn nights afar.

A.R.Benitez
***************************************************************
tony@tex.nde.swri.edu
***************************************************************
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Poem from a 10 year old... not the same old thing
Date: 7 Jan 93 00:37:05 GMT
Distribution: na
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA


 ( gj student 156879) writes:
>Why is it I find kiddy poetry much more interesting than most of the
>stuff posted in here by adults?

Here's one from my oldest daughter. She was around 10 when she wrote 
it several years ago.




                          The train rolls through the station
                          people all around,waiting,watching
                          as the train flies past,faster still
                          clunkety,clunkety,clunk
                          Into the dining room,people eating
                          That is supper,then time for bed
                          walk unsteadily back to our car,
                          clunkety,clunkety,clunk
                          Let the rythm of the train rock you to sleep
                          Up and down,back and forth
                          through a tunnel,over a river
                          clunkety,clunkety,clunk
                          Breakfast is over,to the T.V. room
                          time for cartoons,Bugs Bunny,Mickey Mouse
                          Some from Disney,some from the Warner Bros.
                          We'll see them when we get where we're going
                          And the train goes clunkety,clunkety,clunk



                          Heidi Williams
                          **************



Cecil
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.humor
From: eskerb@jpl-devvax.jpl.nasa.gov (Esker B. Davis)
Subject: Re: More Damned Roses Stuff
Keywords: Roses, red, violets, mauve
Organization: Jet Propulsion Laboratory (NASA)
Date: Sat, 9 Jan 1993 10:44:37 GMT

roses are red
violets are blue
sugar is sweet
and so are you,

the roses are dying
the violets are dead
the sugar is lumpy
and so is your head.



roses are red
violets are blue
I dont stink
but your ass do.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: howells@athena.mit.edu (Nancy A Howells)
Subject: in patterned shadows
Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Date: Tue, 12 Jan 1993 01:44:11 GMT


In patterned shadows, 
day fades into evening,
minute by fading minute;
crimson-amethyst sunset
out the back windows.

In the once-blue, now-yellow kitchen,
someone sits,
but no one is there,
no one.

The half-shades of dusk
whisper with the trees;
winter, spring, summer, autumn,
nothing changes but the light,
the grass, the leaves.

Silence surrounds,
in the patterned shadows,
and someone touches a hand,
but no one is there.

The trees grow older,
the land sighs in boredom,
and they all wait the return
of night once more.

--nalh
Somerville, Massachusetts
11 January, 1993
--
Never try to teach a pig to sing.  It wastes your time and annoys the pig.
--Nancy Howells
howells@athena.mit.edu
howells@mitvmc.mit.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gardabr@unix1 (Gard Eggesbo Abrahamsen)
Subject: My Heart
Organization: MRIH, More og Romsdal Ingeniorhogskole
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL6]
Date: Tue, 5 Jan 93 08:17:37 GMT


                  My Heart
============================

                  my heart
                  trembles
                  falls into
                  a ditch
                  pukes

                  it's sick
                  ===========================================================
                               GEA 13.11.1992





       ______
      /      \  <== This is a self portrait.
     |  O  O  |
====OOO======OOO=============================================================
= Gard Eggesboe Abrahamsen                         PO Box 5061, Larsgaarden =
= Gard.Abrahamsen@mrih.no                             6021 Aalesund, Norway =
= "Don't ask me what I'm feeling. Finger me. It's greatly appreciated."     =
=                                           (Gard Eggesboe Abrahamsen 1993) =
=============================================================================
     /  \  /  \                      finger address ==> ga@samson.mrih.no
     \__/  \__/ <== Shoe size 42...
^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'
'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`^'`
From: tpl@eng.cam.ac.uk (Tim Love)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Digital goes Analog
Date: 7 Jan 93 09:22:52 GMT
Organization: cam.eng


        Digital goes Analog

You can't tell what's going fast
until you know how far away you are.
If it's faster than it looks, it's further,
and small enough to hide in closer things,
like years trapped inside minutes
spent waiting for hand to gain on hand,
for numbers to become an eager wedge blunting
as sightlines grow apart, scan the horizon then, becoming
tired, fold back together like a map as the minutes
clock round, overtaking hours propelled 
like a pushbike in a lorry's aftertow.

An orrery, a barometer tapped in disbelief,
a radar's arced detail glowing, fading, glowing --
anything to avoid a line of zeroes 
as the hour hand clocks round, and the last minute's
always there, the lost hero returning for the final scene.
In the sudden darkness the pale green luminosity appals.
You'd like to go, but the people around you
are  still clapping like crazy.





Tim Love 1992
Another oldie up for review. Should I slash or burn?
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: hjb@netcom.com (H. J. Bae)
Subject: Re: atwood
Organization: Peaceful Star, Inc.
Date: Sat, 9 Jan 1993 06:10:35 GMT

In article <steele.726533482@chip.aem.umn.edu> steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele) writes:
>>		-- Margaret Atwood
>>			from A Women's Issue
>>			from _Notes Towards A Poem That Can Never Be Written_
>
>h.j.bae- this should *really* be printed in its entirety- got an extra couple
>of minutes to type it in?



	A WOMEN'S ISSUE


The woman in the spiked device
that locks around the waist and between
the legs, with holes in it like a tea strainer
is Exhibit A.

The woman in black with a net window
to see through and a four-inch
wooden peg jammed up
between her legs so she can't be raped
is Exhibit B.

Exhibit C is the young girl
dragged into the bush by the midwives
and made to sing while they scrape the flesh
from between her legs, then tie her thighs
till she scabs over and is called healed.
Now she can be married.
For each chidbirth they'll cut her
open, then sew her up.
Men like tight women.
The ones that die are carefully buried.

The next exhibit lies flat on her back
while eighty men a night
move through her, ten an hour.
She looks at the ceiling, listens
to the door open and close.
A bell keeps ringing.
Nobody knows how she got here.

You'll notice that what they have in common
is between the legs.  Is this
why wars are fought?
Enemy territory, no man's
land, to be entered furtively,
fenced, owned but never surely,
scene of these desperate forays
at midnight, captures
and sticky murders, doctors' rubber gloves
greasy with blood, flesh made inert, the surge
of your own uneasy power.

This is no museum.
Who invented the word love?



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Optimistic
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Tue, 5 Jan 93 14:33:18 GMT


                               Optimistic

I remember how we walked along young streets
when your black hair joined in your excitement
optimistic hair
like the rest of you
and your kisses
how they served too
as punctuation
to all the dreams you had to tell
and now
how your hands speak
successors to your words
and now I too experience your excitement.

-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:13524 rec.humor:37687
From: cholette@JSP.UMontreal.CA (Cholette Martin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.humor
Subject: Re: More Damned Roses Stuff
Keywords: Roses, red, violets, mauve
Date: 9 Jan 93 14:33:48 GMT
Organization: Universite de Montreal

Well here is a favourite of mine:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm a schitzophrenic
And So am I!
From: gt7244c@prism.gatech.EDU (Dull Dandelion)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: fashion check / g'alt
Summary: i hope this isn't a re-post
Keywords: too amused to be abused
Date: 6 Jan 93 04:54:33 GMT
Distribution: usa
Organization: Georgia Tech


 [this is a formal request for surgery on the second speaker's stanza]

   Fashion Check

   There is of course that hind of horse
   Who faces quaint society
   But home alone my face is shown
   To a waiting mirror with piety
   To test my lines and see if my confines
   Are lately more relaxed
   To strike a poe and wrinkle my nose
   In expression overtaxed

   "He squints and smiles
    And all the whiles
    Waiting for me to judge
    Though I never offer a guess
    He begs for it nevertheless
    To disappeal begrudge
    Anything he wants to wear
    But I only blankly stare
    As ever I'll do unless
    With much discern
    One day he'll learn
    There's no one here to impress"

surgery welcome
john g'alt

p.s. hi mom
-- 
John Greenawalt, gt7244c@prism.gatech.edu (whooptydoo yes I'm a number)
"...i am rich with delirium,       | "...i tried to listen with a casual ear,
    but a pauper in everything..." |     but into the fray i was tossed..."
                           - Figures On A Beach