HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: estrada@inland.com
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re:  O F T A X E S   &  D E A T H
Date: 15 Apr 92 23:38:17 GMT
Organization: Inland Steel Company; East Chicago, IN

In article <1992Apr15.173437.1953@inland.com>, estrada@inland.com writes:
> In article <1992Apr15.173141.1952@inland.com>, estrada@inland.com writes:
>> Just for humor, here it is right in the midst of doing my Taxes (Late bird
>> arent ?)
>> 
> 
> 
> OOps! I forgot the poem.... here it is.. I hope!
-- 

OK OK... I finally learned how to import from my text editor into NEWS...


April 15th - Fateful Day

It is tax time again!
Taxing isn't it?
I used to gather flowers
As a kid I liked baseball
To what degree we lose
Our conscience and joyful soul
Green were the fields
And blue the waters
But the green of money took over
And blue is really black and blue
Yesterday I do recall that I had
Not a penny in my pocket
But there was Penny 
Blue eyes, golden hair
And laughter to fill the air
Now I hurriedly fill 1040's
And a few exemption forms
If I can't make it, then brake it
Should I file for an extension
Or submit my gruesome return?
I read many stories as a child
Scary ones I thought
Now I read boring TAX regulations
And my life is a big bore
Just who the hell took soul out of life
For a fistful of dollars and a tax return?

Dave-

:)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: squacken@zephyr.cair.du.edu (The Black Dreaming Unicorn)
Subject:  Bible Slaming poem, don't read if your religious
Organization: University of Denver
Date: Wed, 8 Apr 92 01:45:58 GMT

          *The False Scriptures*


  Heaven above and hell below 
  As the world goes so slow 
  Heaven is always over our heads.. 
  a place we'll never see... 

  Hell is the place on which we tread... 
  where evil grows and feeds... 

  The writers of the past
  wrote the words for the bible
  which says be good to thy neighbor
  and never be idle

  They wrote the Scripture 
  In the past so long ago 
  And I just have to sit and ask 
  what the hell did they know 

  In a time where there was no light 
   and darkness ruled the land... 
  to claim that they are right 
   and that this is god's given land 

  how do we know for a fact 
   that it was not someones dream 
  that they made a imaginary pact 
  with someone they have never seen 

  So why follow the scriptures
  The may never be true
  They were just written
  To control me and you.....

                 Written By
           Stacy Quackenbush   
 BlackMist the IRC POETESS
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: crystal@glia.biostr.washington.edu (crystal)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Harbor Fog
Date: 13 Apr 92 22:35:19 GMT
Organization: University of Washington


 
      Harbor Fog
 
Been in this harbor much too long
It's time to cut the line
The dock is shaky and seaweed slipp'ry
Been safe for a long long time.
 
The fog is thick out there in the bay
Can't see my hands or feet
If I cut the line and let myself go
What are the dangers I'll meet?
 
The foghorn sounds its lonely cry
I listen with my heart
To heed its warning of the rocks
I can't win if I don't start.
 
With knife in hand I sever the rope
Setting sail upon this sea
Uncertainty with each passing wave
But the main thing is - I'm free.
 
So in my little boat I drift
Like so much flotsam and jetsam
To flow in limbo with the tides
Or paddle my own direction.
 
 
1-11-92
Crystal
 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: glj27240@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu (the cult of Carrie )
Subject: -------------
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Mon, 13 Apr 1992 01:58:54 GMT

  "my idle happiness, so long asleep,
     at length begins to waken"


Voici mon coeur brise'
glace humble
a` mon ris rompu

Pour ta bouche, tes genouilleres
ne repondent pas
a mes  ridicules glances
my absurd dreams

if i brought you Cythera

you would only paint it on your nail
still, you would be concerned with more fleeting things

 - stay?  even though you        yea, and etc.

etc.           - Kokla remonstrating Ollie

etc.            - Bubbles, Brown.
	                            we'd dance, perhaps.  if you'd just
             pause 
	                           a  minute  

etc.     etc.


  actually, i've always found it rather   
  (i told you on the phone....) 

  Oh?     -you were preoccurpied.      and etc.


     later -

     whatever:     seeing you....
		   
                 (hearing) your voice, on the phone  ---
                                                                   . 


 your name reminds me of chocolate cookies

i put on my shoes
				             (my pencil on the table)
 
 your lips colored with the blood of my heart



Voici mon coeur blesse'
glace humble
a la soliel   joyeux 


-- 
							 
                                                  the cult of Carrie
From: jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (john)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: don't ask
Date: 17 Apr 92 02:58:29 GMT

DonUt ask why 
she just walks on
as the two of you pass,
without
looking up into your glance
to acknowledge your
presence and your friendly
man-smile.

Maybe she has her reasons.

Not to fear you
but to simply be wary
or just not to
complicate her life.

Suitors are indeed 
a dime for a dozen.
And they rarely evolve into
what she truly needs:
friends.

Way back in evolution
the chemicals driving
you and her diverged.
And now you each look for
different things in the other.
Her pretty face
and shapely
body are all that is needed
to get
them flowing in you.
The substances that move
through her are driven
by sentiments far more subtle,
and perhaps more noble.

Still,
these chemicals
are no excuse
for another reason
why she may be looking
at the sidewalk
as you pass each other.

The violence
and violation
she and her sisters
have come to expect
from some
of your brothers,
there can be no excuses for.

Do not call
her downward stare coldness,
know it as simply
the instinct to survive.

-JRTrue
(c) 1992 JRTrue
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
c/c welcome
It is night and it is night.
jtrue@acpub.duke.edu
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mfactor@taronga.com (Marco Landin)
Subject: THE LADDER
Reply-To: mfactor@taronga.com (Marco Landin)
Organization: Taronga Park BBS
Date: Mon, 13 Apr 1992 19:44:01 GMT

This is from Wayback.  Copyright 1990, Marco Landin (Rev)
	
THE LADDER
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
   Climb the Ladder or jump off,
It's come down to those two choices.
It's time to have some changes,
And we're here.
   Like a safe deposit box
Filled with sweet desires,
You think I'm mad? A dreamer?
No, I'm not the dreamer, you are.
   It's time to not believe
In petty, trifle things.
We must put on real wings and fly.
   This is a threat.
Climb the Ladder or jump off,
Got it?
   Yeah, everybody wants to go to Heaven,
But there are very few
Who see my point of view;
That we can catch this fleeting kingdom on a rope
And hoist it down,
Inch by inch,
Yard by yard,
Mile by mile,
And if we all pull,
We can all jump in,
Alive.
   So climb the Ladder or jump off,
Because many would be glad to take your place.


-- 
      |                   |
       \0__,___   ___,__@/
        +  '         `  =
       / )             ( \
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ahawks@isis.cs.du.edu (andy)
Subject: -
Organization: Nyx, Public Access Unix at U. of Denver Math/CS dept.
Distribution: usa
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 92 04:23:38 GMT

untitled

faces to hide
i slip
and i slide
out of myself

	.....and into your soul

--


ahawks@isis.cs.du.edu						andy
From: rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: The Business of Poetry
Date: 11 Apr 92 03:09:45 GMT
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories, Murray Hill NJ



>death to make our own body immortal.  I can show this in action
>and can show it again and again in literature.

It has the structure of a transformation.  You can find it in
anything with that structure.

Are you referring in general to the scapegoat principle?  Say
in Kenneth Burke, or in Derrida's pharmacy.  Or something in addition?

For Burke, it's an interesting discovery; for Derrida, an undecidable
term.

The last ought to say that you won't escape the effect no matter
what you do.  You could work everything out backwards from that.

Cinders there are.

>I am not fantasizing inexpressiveness.  There are millions of
>people who are not permitted to speak.  Any language they might
>have has been taken from them by their masters.  Your grammar
>of pain stuff is what you can chat about in the cruise ship
>lounge.   Your dark-skinned waiter doesn't want to listen to these
>marvelous chats.

Stanzas where dark-skinned waiters come and go, showing off
the author's ability

The waiter needs development, you use him as a prop.

One of the tricks for the fantasy of inexpressiveness, the inventor
friend and his robot, who almost ``feels'' ``pain'', we've really
got it down pretty good now, watch this!  etc

----
The anticapitalist rhetoric needs something to distinguish it from
other anticapitalist rhetoric, I can't follow it very well. 
The effect is that the village idiot has been replaced by the
village explainer.
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: re:  the business of poetry (0)
Date: 16 Apr 92 20:45:49 GMT
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA

In rec.arts.poems, daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:

> This patriarchy has ENABLED many groups to cry out about their
> plight.  YES, the patriarchy is hideous in its own ways, and
> YES, it may be time to start talking about ways to throw it
> off, but let's clean up our rhetoric and acknowledge just who
> it was that took the first steps toward giving liberty and
> justice to all.  It sure as FUCK wasn't YOU or Joe Green.
> These MEN may have been products of their system, and the
> system they created may indeed perpetuate oppressive thoughts
> and methods, but you are being intellectually dishonest if you
> do not acknowledge a very great debt to the men that acquired
> the freedom that you DO have to sit in your comfortable little
> university and free-associate into a computer terminal.
> 
> 
> Just another GEM for your collection........!KOPJFPO:U#)(I

Actually, I was being dishonest in failing to point out that
a great number of WOMENTsacrificed and worked to gain this
patriarchy as well.


doug
From: comptec91072@camins.camosun.bc.ca
Subject: forced in reality
Organization: Camosun College
Date: Wed, 15 Apr 1992 19:35:14 GMT

.pg
.nf
.c
^&Forced in Reality\& (Mike Laur)
.s1
Bars on windows makes me see
Things aren't always real to me
Padded cells, chains on the floor
My brain can't take this anymore
.s1
Mellowed out and medicated
I can see they're dedicated
"Just lie back and think like us"
I don't see why all this fuss
.s1
Late at night when I come down
My brain starts spinning round and round
Remembering when I was once free
Please take this jacket off of me
.s2
Just lie back and drift away
I'm too tired for games to play
Withdrawn completely in my mind
I make myself so hard to find
Help me, hold me, set me free
But don't force me in reality
.s2
Can no one find out where I am?
Maybe no one gives a damn
Someone's banging on my wall
And someone's screaming down the hall
.s1
Their cries of pain just breaks my heart
I know their brains are ripped apart
Anesthesia's numbing spell
Takes me to another hell
.s1
This is why I feel no pain
Though the knife is in my brain
I was me but now I'm gone
I'll behave from this point on
From: sc4d+@andrew.cmu.edu (Sean Michael Colletta)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: three o clock updream
Date: 15 Apr 92 19:34:14 GMT
Organization: Junior, Biology, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA


		three o clock updream
		-----------------------------------

		when the windows fly out to the surroundings
		the trees are bare, the trees are bare
		but the booming life hidden there is all around you
		now.

		it's only the falling down being why
		of all that is and was and now reflected
		in this tiny drop of dewdream.
		the web that felt the spider broke asunder 
		under the driving pressure of thoughts 
		that remained unladen,
		broken only for a song.

		and i am in the singing moody blooming
		terrestrial heartbeat, oh new age skies
		rip apart for me now and let me fly
		back in the heat of my sorrow
		till some of marek's gods descend and turn this day to
		the morrow.

				
					sean
From: sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (sheila)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: remembering how i felt, when i wouldn't let myself
Date: 14 Apr 92 20:29:42 GMT
Article-I.D.: ut-emx.70314
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin, Austin TX


mind inside of a clock
is tied up very tight
with each twist
with each twist
resenting the things
it learns
mind inside  of a clock
is tied up very tight
wound
wound
is sharpening life
to cut off very self
mind inside of a clock
is tied up very tight
dark 
dark
inside of the clock
is saying
the turning thread
mind inside of a clock
is tied up very tight

no slow tonight
before we go

remember the quiet
remember the rhythm
the unnatural song

mind inside of a clock
is tied up very tight
the unatural song is
unaturally sung to
a free face angular shape
the people walk
the people walk
the people walk
mind inside of a clock
is tied up very tight
to go nowhere
to do noplace
the people quiet 
the people quiet
mind inside of a clock
is tied up very
to do no scream
-- 
stark raving sane -- sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu
From: tumlin@cs.utexas.edu (Evelyn Tumlin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Modern poetry
Date: 9 Apr 1992 13:24:16 -0500
Organization: CS Dept, University of Texas at Austin
NNTP-Posting-Host: manx.cs.utexas.edu
Keywords: none


Speak not to me of sonnets, love,
Of rhythm nor of rhyming;
Alliteration, assonance
Nor consonance, nor timing.

These toys were for our parents, love,
And those of tastes old-fashioned.
For us the abstract imagery
And not the pleas old-fashioned.

I'm not impressed by any form
The poets ever heard of --
So write me loving lines that I
Won't understand a word of.



(c. 1992)
Lyn Tumlin, residual member SAP (Society for Anachronistic Poetry)
;-)
****************************
Comments and criticism welcome; flames returned unopened.
From: henning@acsu.buffalo.edu (Karl inflexible Henning)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: program notes for the upcoming Univ @ Buffalo grad composers' concert
Summary: Sunday, 10 May
Date: 10 Apr 92 13:24:26 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: UB


	Karl Prescott Henning
	=====================

    Henning has dedicated his life, or at least hours at a
stretch, to writing music of greater coherence (and keener
interest) than his biographical data.  He is currently working
on the piece which will transform him into a doctor of
philosophy.  He maintains an inventory of 286 words, on 6x4
index cards cut into fifteenths;  when he needs to provide
program-notes, he spreads these words out over the carpet,
and stares at them for days.  As the deadline draws nearer,
he grows increasingly satisfied with their natural arrangement.

    It is important to realize that, although Henning has been
known to work with words in this manner, he appears to follow
an entirely different (and, in some respects, more absorbing)
procedure with note-heads, beams and accidentals.


	Charmant(e)(s)
	==============

    The necessity for this piece erupted from a struggle with
the length of the clarinet, which impressed me for two dire
months in Charlottesville, Virginia, as inordinate.  The piece
itself was the result of a dicotyledonous struggle, to shape
the abbreviated sounds some- musical -how, and to discover a
lucid means of notating them.  If performing the piece is a
struggle, it ranks among the pleasanter sort of struggle.


	LITTLE TOWNS, low countries
	===========================

    I wrote this piece because, one day, Luk took me seriously
when I told him I was thinking of writing a piece for him;
one's idlest words can sometimes return to haunt one.  I wrote
this piece as though I had never heard of Liszt or Debussy;
the excising of data can sometimes facilitate the creative
process (one of my neat ideas).  I could probably have gotten
away with calling these three movements, collectively, "piano
sonata number one";  but I suspect that five other movements
are lurking in poorly lit corners of my apartment, waiting.

-- kph
-- 
    In the force if Yoda's so strong,   []	 Karl Prescott Henning
    construct a sentence with words in  []  128 Hewitt/upper [] 57 Glasgow st
    the proper order then why can't he? []  Bflo NY 14215    [] Roch NY 14608
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: ode to my karma
From: sturner@vax1.umkc.edu
Date: 4 Apr 92 13:57:35 CST
Reply-To: sturner@vax1.umkc.edu
Organization: University of Missouri-Kansas City

ODE TO MY KARMA

I ride in my roller-coaster
mental state and careen
off the tracks.

The bronwn grass of
the killing winter
gets caught in the wheels.

The looney police come
after me in their
Marx Brother's fashion.

But I'm too fast for
their Fruedian
Superego stuff.

My unconscious is having
a hell of a weird time.
From: sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (sheila)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: pain
Summary: do i honestly want enlightenment?
Date: 16 Apr 92 10:01:04 GMT
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin, Austin TX


this is what happens with natural disasters, now we reach
to remove pain
but what replaces it?
and what can
--
will we finally learn
that it is necessary?

we want to learn that it is not.

i am so afraid that it is.

what if it is?

is this how things are?

and we will not know...

do we want to?
-- 
stark raving sane -- sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu
From: tumlin@cs.utexas.edu (Evelyn Tumlin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Another triolet
Date: 8 Apr 1992 16:21:40 -0500
Organization: CS Dept, University of Texas at Austin
NNTP-Posting-Host: ocelot.cs.utexas.edu


With you, I need not wear the veil
That hides the beating of my heart.
All fearful machinations fail
With you.  I need not wear the veil
To hide my face from growing stale
Before your eyes; nature is art
With you -- I need not wear the veil
That hides the beating of my heart.



-- Lyn Tumlin (c. 1992)

****************
Comments and criticism welcome; flames returned unopened.
From: messer@utkvx3.utk.edu (The Jagged of your Dreams!)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: several short poems
Date: 8 Apr 92 19:06:00 GMT
Organization: University of Tennessee Computing Center
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41


Here are several short poems (just like I promised above).
They are all about cars.
:)

Please feel free, even obligated, to respond.


______________________________________________________________________
I do not know
	the moon 
	cliffs
	blood-ruby-red
	the permanance of waves

But I cannot question
	your head on my belly
	felling you giggle



_________________________________________________________________________




smoother things do not befit a wait.
my wrist were _never_ slit.




__________________________________________________________________________



How will it be when I'm old with more scars?
I'll be covered.
arms, legs, here there.
New one on finger (accident).
I covered myself.


___________________________________________________________________________



one stiff leg
twirling on it
as if it were broken and set incorrectly.
grown back and won't move.

but the leg is lovely
and after the dance
she goes and talks to her girlfiend.


__________________________________________________________________________



So there they were, several short poems.
Big whoop.
More, probably sooner than you think.


*******************************************************************************
*                                            |Damian K. Messer                *
*     "For he on honey-dew hath fed,         |Internet:messer@utkvx.utk.edu   *
*      And drunk the milk of Paradise."      |Bitnet:messer@utkvk3            *
*                                            |5809 Haynes-Sterchi Rd.         *
*   -_Kubla Khan, or Vision from a Dream_    |Knoxville, TN 37912             *
*     Samuel Taylor Coleridge                |(615)689-5722                   *
*******************************************************************************
From: melchar@west.darkside.com (Melchar)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: sf poetry
Date: 17 Apr 92 20:20:56 GMT
Organization: The Dark Side of the Moon +1 408 245 SPAM

Read Stephen Vincent Benet.  He did quite a bit of it 'way back when' -- 
especially his 'Nightmare' poems  ('Nightmare #3 was the best IMHO).  
There a large body of fantasical poetry, but there's much less in the sf 
vein.  Lovecraft & Dunsany did sf as well as fantasy poems.  Look for 
'The Fungii from Yuggoth'.  It contained lyrical poetry.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: "Andrew C. Aiken" <aaiken@silver.ucs.indiana.edu>
Subject: Re: here's lookin at U
Organization: Indiana University
Date: Fri, 10 Apr 1992 10:05:15 -0500

In <1992Apr10.105543.3309@willamette.edu> dbeacham@willamette.edu (Daniel Beacham) writes:


>	O Sheila, I am touched at your sudden change in heart.  Why don't
>	your shiny aluminum teeth grin at my screen every morning any
>	more?  Where are the coathangers that pull your lips into the
>	same flawless smile, the marbles in your pockets, the devil-may
>	care pigtails and pink nail polish?  Shiny happy people have to
>	blow off steam once in a while too, no?

>	Give it a rest, you should not take it upon yourself to think that
>	nasty mean ol' jabolliger was talking about you; she could have 
>	addressed that to any of the flower drones on this network.

	Performance art has its uses.  Here, a letter that we are not
to read anticipates the forbidden reader, and welcomes him.  The questions
multiply the mystery.  The careless sobriquet, "flower drone."
	A wise and witty attempt to erase the distinction between 
the public and the private.


Andrew Aiken			"Ideology: the science of idiocy" -John Adams
From: casteley@phil.ruu.nl (Eric Casteleyn)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: hardly any unicorns (sorry..)
Date: 15 Apr 92 12:51:34 GMT
Organization: Department of Philosophy, University of Utrecht, The Netherlands



  the voices are back
  in tune with my thoughts
  the rythm of my breath
  too slow to understand

  different levels of garden
  I am a catlike shadow
  until I reach the water
  and plunge into the lake

  I raise one hand
  a raindrop hits my fingertip
  grasping for the sky
  my hands are washed away





              ...I hear the singing of the things
                 and I sing back in words. - EJC

              FOOTSTEPS INVADING SOUNDS
From: kchu@uop.uop.edu (Kwei-Cee Chu)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: short, but it works for me...
Date: 13 Apr 92 15:52:44 GMT
Organization: University of the Pacific, Stockton, CA [138.9.200.1]

Tanya II

Am I dreaming?
Is that smile for me?
Don't wake me up!


Sounds like I've got it pretty bad eh?  Oh well...

Kwei-Cee Chu
kchu@uop.uop.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems