HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: v008pcqu@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: A love poem
Date: 12 Apr 92 13:52:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41

I claim to be no poet.  In fact I have little faith in my writing ability,
but this piece was written for a girl who I miss more than anything.  PLEASE
tell me what you think of it.


	LOVE

love
how could i know if it was true
how was i supposed to know that it was true
oh, but now that we've been apart for so long
and though i never thought it true we drifted apart
now is when i know it was true

memories haunt me...
i lie awake at night
dreaming of the past we shared
the times we talked,
the times we laughed,
the times we held hands,
the times when our lips met,
and i felt i could be no happier.
it's all just a dream now.

how I long to be as happy as i once was
with you in my life every day
your beauty filling me with joy
the one person who always made me smile
without having to say a word
the days passed too quickly for my liking

soon it will be two years since we met
and 300 miles separate us
how i wish you were mine again
how i wish i could be with you
to tell you how much i love you
i fear they are words you care not to hear
my heart wants to speak these words of love to you
but my mind knows these words shouldn't be spoken

so here i sit
with my hopes burning inside me
hoping that someday you'll be mine again
every wish devoted to the same cause... the same person
if only my dreams would come true
i love you so
From: lane@ug.cs.dal.ca (David Lane)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: My second post
Date: 7 Apr 92 06:45:52 GMT
Organization: Math, Stats & CS, Dalhousie University, Halifax, NS, Canada


 The Truth

I don't think I
could look you in the eyes
tell you the truth
uncover the lies

I don't think you
could bear to hear the facts
in spite of our love
destroy our pact

So I will sit here
and listen to your dreams
quietly confide
and secretly fear
----------------------------

David Lane 1992
Any comments welcome.
I think this group is great.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: olexyj@cu4500.dnet.cua.edu (Jeanne Olexy)
Subject: Early poem by J Olexy
Organization: The Catholic University of America
Date: Sat, 11 Apr 1992 00:08:21 GMT

9/22/91

I cannot touch his emptiness.
I cannot fill his void.
I cannot fix the broken things
or a love that's been destroyed.

I cannot bear the pain for him
or know the lifelong fears.
I cannot sing the songs for him
he says he thinks he hears.

I cannot give him love enough
to make it right again.
I cannot hold him tight enough
to cancel all that's been.

I have to let him go his way
and I must go my own.
And from our places far apart
we'll start the journey home.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: n2412@cray.com (Joe Green)
Subject: Re: tv commerical poem REBUTTAL
Keywords: cher,tv,poem,rebuttal
Organization: Cray Research, Inc.
Date: 9 Apr 92 15:35:15 CDT

In article <1992Apr9.200659.1052@cbfsb.cb.att.com> colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope) writes:
>
>thanX joe
>you said it was an "ok poem"
>
>you said "the copyright was interesting"
>and 
>   so
>     lots of r.a.p. must have interesting copyrights
>     cause that's where i derived it from

Yeah, you probably got it from Carwreck.  I keep copies of that
stuff in the smallest room in my house for my personal use.


>
>thanX joe
>cause people got to see MY poem again
>and hear YOUR criticism of
>
>copyrighted-poets-have-such-fragile-egos-need-to-see-their-name-in-lights-
>who-are-in-no-way-true-artists-because-they-do-not-create-art-for-the-
>sake-of-art-

Wrong.  I didn't say anything about creating art for the sake of
art. I am saying that copyrighting your work reflects certain
notions of property that underlie the notion that everything
is a commodity.  I like to think of poetry as a gift. 


and-bring-about-the-downfall-of-TRUE-poetry-because-of-their-
>little-self-satisfying-motives-of-look-at-me-i-am-writing-poetry-which-it-
>really-is-not-because-its-copyrighted-and-besides-who-cares-there-is-no-money-
>in-it-anyway

I didn't write this.  It's not that there isn't any money in it --
I think that there shouldn't be any money in it.


>
>------------
>
>one school of thought says that 
>"artists reflect the society in which they live"
>SO
>  if a copyright is needed so that people know its my writing
>  and that there are rights associated with it
>THEN
>    let it be
>BECAUSE
>       the MANY need protection from the FEW who would exploit (even poetry)
>    
>

How would your "property" be exploited.  Someone else would say
its his?  What the hell's wrong with that?

Why do you want it known that it is your writing?  What's the point?


What "school of thought" is so thoughtless as to make anything meaningful
of the assertion that artists reflect the society in which they live?
I suppose Nazi artists were justified when they produced their little
verses?  



--
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Muse that fell from the sky
From: Maloaufaatasi.Wendt@comp.vuw.ac.nz (M J Wendt)
Date: Wed, 8 Apr 1992 00:23:53 GMT
Organization: Pacific Island Poets, Victoria University of Wellington, NZ
Originator: mwendt@aro-valley.comp.vuw.ac.nz


 What can I give to thee, my Muse ?
 My possessions entire are yours to choose,
 or perhaps the stars in the sky that shine
 I would freely give, if they were mine....

 Alas all that I own is all that I am,
 and I am but a simple man,
 and all that I have to give to thee
 is my life, my love, and my poetry.

 - Tuss
From: glj27240@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu (the cult of Carrie )
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: note on a poem
Date: 17 Apr 92 01:58:46 GMT
Article-I.D.: ux1.1992Apr17.015846.23214
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana

"Premiere image d'une revolte" was, again, par Andree Chedid.
 
 Flammarion, etc.

-- 
							 
                                                  the cult of Carrie 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rizzojp@craft.camp.clarkson.edu (Jon Rizzo)
Subject: Re: The two planets
Organization: Clarkson University
Date: Thu, 16 Apr 1992 15:05:42 GMT

kumar@ug.cs.dal.ca (kumar yelubandi) writes:



>I have to applaud this poem publicly. I think that it is so very rare that
>>such a type of poem is done as successfully as this one. Maybe its the 
>>way it attributes human qualities to the main subjects of the poem (sun 

>   I agree...great poem...finishes off with insightful observation

>>
>>			Jason

>>
>>P.S. If someone reads this who knows what the word is that means to give 
>>     human attributes to inanimate objects is please tell me, its really 
>>     bugging me that I can't remember the word.

>				     
>       The word I believe is "anthropomorphism"


>    Kumar


No, I believe the word is personification

-jon

*



--

		                     __________________________________	
Jon Rizzo  			    |  rizzojp@logic.camp.clarkson.edu |
Clarkson University		    |             OR		       |
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Sun Above - An *Old* Poem
Date: 12 Apr 92 09:38:56 GMT
Organization: CS Dept. Oregon State University, Corvallis, Oregon.

Recently there were a few poems that the posters mentioned were
*old* poems.  Here's one of mine.  Written a long time ago, in
a galaxy far, far away,,, well, maybe not. :-)



                            O SUN ABOVE


               Shine, O sun above me
               Caress me with your power
               Send down your warmth, your healing warmth
               And drive me from my bower.

               Where have you been, O Sun
               Lost in some distant world?
               This earth you guard has missed your love
               Since from us you were hurled.

               Dank and damp and cold this place
               Without your loving touch.
               Send us your love, O blessed sun
               Restore my dismal soul.


                              Marguerite K.A. Petersen
                              January 1965

Marg
petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu
a.k.a. Elvira
From: sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (sheila)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: be silly with me
Date: 8 Apr 92 16:23:06 GMT
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin, Austin TX

i want to be silly and giggle. look at the words i found
in my misc/poems directory! haha.

cat
color
come 
here

hit
leaf

lone
milk

shoe
shot
time

trees
under
water

wick
wine

:)
everybody swing a friend around! spin with the seasons :)!
how lovely to follow the spring!
if you are still in winter, wrap yourself up in a warm blanket.
i love being happy!
i pause, and empathize with all the unhappy people? no, i cannot.
it is too big. i can still be happy.
"flower flower flower"!!!
-- 
stark raving sane -- sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu
From: jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: second post
Date: 9 Apr 92 15:09:19 GMT


 David

	welcome, welcome to the net, though i question your judgement
	about this system and who am i anyway?  Another voice, that
	is all.  this voice enjoyed your truth poem, i post my truth
	as reply.  

	ja

			If you want the truth

			Don't listen to my words

			They are not directed 

				to your ears

			My words are

			Water flung from a bucket

			Arrows released from a bow

				My words

		     Melt as they come from my mouth

		They are birds blown before the storm

			A comet across the night

	       An Iron that leaves it's mark on you skin


Jean Ann Bolliger
Middletown OH
Dark Sun Rising
Copyright 1992
From: nikolay@husc10.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: DENIS NOVIKOV (translations)
Date: 10 Apr 92 05:20:14 GMT
Article-I.D.: husc10.NIKOLAY.92Apr9222014
Organization: Harvard Arts and Sciences Computer Services, Cambridge, MA


Denis Novikov is a published poet who lives in Moscow.
He is 25. I have translated some of his stuff into English.
Comments are welocme.
 


* * *

Our scratchpads are bleeding, but often in turn
we're scarred by our very own words,
although we aren't scared by out names any more -
they've grown on us over the years.

Hey, what's in a name? It's a hackneyed old song,
a part of a practical game.
Come, roll it all over the place with your tongue,
my common, conventional name.

Or write it in black over white, or just call
it out from a distance, and next -
I'll wear out my eyes, but won't make out a soul
round this aching axis, perplexed.

These days we are all on the friendliest terms -
mates, compeers, hail fellows well met.
It's cheaper this way to survive the alarms,
chores, nightmares, revulsions, regrets.

Yet soon we shall venture to riddle the skies,
flung out of our guts in a trice,
and nothing will count but a few lilting lines,
dead stuck in this typewriter vise.



MOTHERLAND

See our native country clad in snow?
yards and alleys, desolate and wild,
yellow busses ploughing down the road -
our unprepossessing Christmas gifts.

Light a candle which a year ago
we procured in Riga for a song.
Just to tease my senses, I'll take aim,
blow that flame out with a single shot.

I will shoot the flame as though it were
an exotic coin one keeps for luck
or at least the farthing that I've saved
for a ride on yonder yellow bus.

Motherland of tawdry trifle shops
and vast woodlands, where on trembling boughs
robins sit - the weights that work her clock.
Hark, the hour is come! All doors unbarred!

Headlights blaze, bells ring throughout the land,
which - oh mystery! - doesn't creep apart.
Snowdrifts hide the lethal blades of schism,
and the rivers' ice has made ends meet.


* * *

There's another, better world,
where no jerk will ask you once,
'How yer doin', fuck you, Sir?'
(pickled yellow eyes askance).

Now, what's your opinion, snob,
of these charming local mores?
Did you fancy all life was
as appealing and diverse

as it seemed to come across
from your books and conversations?
Savage towns, all of a face,
leave no room for variation.

Better versed in toponyms
than your school's prodigious swots,
have you ever heard of this
little town of Blimey Rots?

Everything one hears and feels
on a train from Rots to Pest
is the rumbling of the wheels
and the rattling of the rest.

Here's a vodka-brimming mug
with a lollipop of ice.
Just shut up about that nice
other world. Don't pull me leg!





copyright (1992) by Philip Nikolayev

Philip Nikolayev at nikolay@husc.harvard.edu
From: Ralph.Cherubini@f10.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org (Ralph Cherubini)
Sender: uucp@p0.f39.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--The Poemknapper
Date: 16 Apr 92 12:53:28 EST

                           The Poemknapper
 
Straight from the wire services it comes,
the news that R.W. Snee,
world's richest person,
man or woman unknown,
assets of three billion billion,
has confessed to
ABDUCTING
A YOUNG POEM. 
"I had no intention of hurting it,"
said he in deposition,
"Wished only fondle its little syllables,
and eye its spondees,
had no intention of anything wrong,
have always wanted one of my own,
but could never write one."
Investigators said--
in monotones, of course,
this being an ongoing investigation--
that the suspect may be responsible
for thousands of unsolved forcible entries,
around the noncircular country,
in which nothing appeared to be missing,
but we know better:
He was searching for innocence and sweetness
on white paper beds,
for scrawls of the heart and soul,
which he could not read within.
 
The young victim,
she of the lissome pentameters,
offered only forgiveness and understanding:
"May he find in himself the peace he sought in me."
 


 * Origin: Connect America #1, multiline, 512-459-3351 (1:382/10.0)

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: squacken@zephyr.cair.du.edu (The Black Dreaming Unicorn)
Subject:  More BlackMist stuff 4
Keywords: condolences
Organization: University of Denver
Date: Mon, 13 Apr 92 22:23:10 GMT

More BlackMist poems:)


224)   *crow*
Hello Hello you silly crow
Just how fast can you go
Can you tell my why the winds so cold
and where is the blowing snow

Hello hello you silly crow
tell me what you know
of lands forgotten long ago
where the Unicorn still roams...

Hello hello you silly crow
Just how fast can you go
on your wings of black ash gold
Can you take me home???
6/91

225) *Distant Places*

Dreaming dreams of distant places
where the black unicorn races
over trees and lakes and streams
chasing after a fading dream
above her flies the black winged crow
going wherever the wind should blow
he watches over the unicorn
pure black with the golden horn
together they travel across the land
for on a twisted path she stands
watching the crow in the sky
and wonders where her future lies...
6/91

226)  *angel tears*

Angels weep their silent tears
for its been a hundred years
since I've laid down by your side,
and looked into the sea behind your eyes
but each night I dreamed
of laying by a sparkling stream
curled up within your warm embrace
looking for the love, shining in your face
walking silently, hand and hand
in the shadow woods we walk
together we will always stand
there's no need to speak or talk..
and even though we are apart
I love you with all my heart
so each night we've slept
an angel softly wept
for love so far apart
grows strained and breaks the heart...
so hold me in your arms tonight
beneath the dancing moon light
look into the sea behind my eyes
and find the place where my heart does fly
and I shall wait for that day
when you'll come back to me and stay
so hold me in your arms tonight
protect me from the chilling night
and as I lay down by your side
remember all the love you feel inside.
6/20/91 


227)   *THE CAPTURE OF A UNICORN*
 In the day that future lost
 and the light that was never found
 the unicorn lost his soul
 and till death, was forever bound...
 *
 The chain was made of gold
 as fine as silky thread
 draped so gently behind his ears
 a golden bridle upon his head
 *
 In darkness the past was lost...
 the gates  between two worlds, the lady held the key
 for you may pass into that mysterious land...
 when a unicorn walks with thee...
 *
 held by a thread, his soul was lost
 to the love of the maiden fair
 wandering in that distant world...
  the last unicorn disappeared...
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: english  /  Wlod 1992-04-06
Summary: from wlod not tom
Keywords: from wlod not tom
Date: 7 Apr 92 13:21:36 GMT
Reply-To: wlodek%wiltel@uunet.uu.net
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=

	

			my strict stepmother
			-------------------------------------
			
			english tongue -- wigglish
			a snake  a fish
			the grammar-bird flying over
			the boundless melody
			of liquid phrases
			
			the hungry snake
			the slippery fish
			the bird of steel
			demands the grain the pearls the words
			
			english -- the rarefied mountain air
			english -- a rock on my chest
			
	H.Texas
	1992-04-06
	


(by wlod, forwarded by tom)
-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie A Coffin)
Subject: This is not a spring poem / Marie Coffin
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie A Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Tue, 7 Apr 1992 03:49:31 GMT



                This is not a spring poem
                --------------------------

                The spring of 
                nineteen
                ninety-two
                will go down in
                history
                (or infamy)
                the political
                climate 
                being such
                that a woman
                in iowa
                and a man in
                new hampshire
                (those states 
                of early
                so-important
                primaries)
                could meet 
                via the 
                wonders of
                electronic
                technology 
                and talk and 
                talk and
                talk
                for months 
                and never
                mention the
                presidential
                election.
                
                    
                Marie Coffin
                April 6, 1992

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: squacken@zephyr.cair.du.edu (The Black Dreaming Unicorn)
Subject:  Yet another Blackmist Poem
Organization: University of Denver
Date: Fri, 10 Apr 92 03:52:18 GMT

   *Mind Trap*

Trapped within these walls
through a maze of endless halls
I can not find my way out
no matter how I scream or shout
I can not hear your ancient call
as I blindly slip and fall
lost within these halls of dreams
no one hears my silent screams
trapped here for eternity
with no doors to my reality
twisting, turning, there is not end
down this hallway, another bend
there are no doors, there are no gates
I guess this is my eternal fate
to be lost within the halls of time
deep in the recesses of my mind...
there's no way in, there's no way out
no matter how I scream or shout...
       Written By, Blackmist The Black Dreaming Unicorn
Stacy/ The IRC Poetess

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope)
Subject: tv commercial poem
Keywords: cher, tv, poem
Organization: AT&T
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 1992 15:30:15 GMT


	tv commercial poem (nutraSweet)
	-------------------------------

SO
  we were watching tv
&
 we saw a commercial
&
 i thought to myself

 "cher
  you sound like a poeem"

&
 what i am referring to ?


"and my doctor said

 cher

     you just gotta

 CHANGE
      
       your diet"


                        Copyright 1992  Jack Thomas Weres                       
                        All Rights Reserved.  Personal use copies okay.         



c         _     m         
 o        \\     i        
  l      ((\\     c      
   o      (\___    r      
    s      ||       o                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
     s  ========     s                      -=-  e-mail: att@acpfs!jtw  -=-=-
      a               c                       -=-=-  jack thomas weres  -=-
       l               o                        -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
                        p                                  |||
                         e                                 |||
From: Malfeitor@uflorida.cis.ufl.EDU
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: When You Smiled...
Date: 10 Apr 92 19:15:25 GMT
Reply-To: Malfeitor
Organization: University of Dreams  (mal.edu)
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.3-4


When You Smiled...   (Azure Dreams)
------------------

When you smiled I took off into a mid-day fantasy;
Grasping for ivory-icey cloads, floating through a sky of gentle ectasy;
Off into crystal-azure dreams, tickled by a giggling blue breeze,
Grasping handfuls of life itself while playful gulls tease...
Slow down, nose-dive by a whistling grassy lot,
Where the azure flowers smile and say 'forget me not!'
Feet so light, scene so bright; I can't feel a thing,
A vivid chromatic sight; hovering on an iridium wing,
The wind chorus as the birds sing;
Now playing with the honeybees, no fear to feel a sting.

Soar up again, onto the breathing blue beach,
Snowy white cloads are finally in my reach,
Creamy white mountains of bliss;
Fresher than a spring's morning mist.
Splashing around in the fluffy-foam fields,
Grasping an azure dream, but nothing it yields,
	Just an explosion of sparkling sights,
	Feathery-white emotional delights,
Drifting through endless azure skies,
Star-struck by your starry eyes;
I can't come down to Earth it seems,
Caught up in azure love dreams.

					
				...Malfeitor@dream.mal.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: n2412@cray.com (Joe Green)
Subject: Re: The Business of Poetry
Organization: Cray Research, Inc.
Date: 14 Apr 92 09:51:16 CDT

In article <7710409@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM> daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
>In rec.arts.poems, n2412@cray.com (Joe Green) writes:
>
>> In article <22529@alice.att.com> rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin) writes:
>> >
>> Another banality is the banality imposed by the commodification
>> of everything (including language).  This banality is a consequence
>> of capitalism.  Adorno.  Gramsci. Marx.  The metaphor of the commodity
>> is of a piece with the metaphor of apocalypse which is of a piece
>> with the process of the Hegelian dialectic, which is of a piece
>> with metaphors and myths imposed by patriarchy.
>
>So I would ask what the mature individual does with the philosophy
>of Marx given that, in the hands of its acolytes, it has
>proven quite quite capable of slaughtering plenty of bodies.
>I am not stupid enough to suggest that the behavoir of
>acolytes negates the value of discourse, but Marxism seems
>to have resulted on a lot of bloodletting.
>

Ask what it is in this philosophy that permits this.  The answer is
that -- like capitalism -- versions of revolutionary Marxism see the
individual as metaphor -- as something that must be transformed
to achieve deathlessness.  Both Marxism and the sort of capitalism
we have now derive their principles and programs from patriarchal
myth and from a way of thinking that inevitably appropriates
others to reproduce itself.  This appropriation always occurs to
some degree and is unavoidable.  Both of the systems we are chatting
about kill what they appropriate to provide various versions
of immortality. 



>> 
>> We have inherited the values of a priestly and aristocratic
>> culture bent on conquest, this culture modified and made more
>> powerful by capitalism.  Adults in this culture are dominated
>> by the ideologies necessary to reproduce this culture.  If
>> an adult is someone who struggles to be free, then an adult
>> is not a person who accepts these dominations.  The struggle
>> against these dominations is not a "romantic" struggle in
>> which a pure and deathless world is imagined -- it is
>> a struggle against the nostalgia that imagines a world like this
>> and sacrifices other bodies to achieve it for itself.
>
>I would have to say that this sounds eminently reasonable to me.
>What do we do to be mature individuals?
>

Suspicion.  Asking what is served by various myths.  Trying to
see through them.  Refusal to participate in death in life.
Nervousness about your own opinions.  Maybe just doing small
things.  Occam razoring pain.  Golden rule.  Hanging on.
 





--