HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: sik@cs.uow.edu.au (Stein I. Krav)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Last Goodbye
Date: 24 Aug 92 01:16:31 GMT
Organization: Dept of Computer Science, Wollongong University, Australia


    The following poem is written by my 15 year old daughter,
    any comments are welcome...
    
    The Last Goodbye
    ----------------
    I'm crying into my pillow, almost every night
    I hear the tiniest little noise, and i get the biggest fright
    For your spirit is no longer here to keep my fears at bay
    When usually it would protect me day by single day.
 
    I knew that if you left me, my heart would surely die
    Your love meant the world to me, now all I do is cry
    We shared so many things... That made me feel so glad
    But when you left you took them, and now I feel so sad.
 
    Now I look at my watch and it's nearly half past two
    The time when my heart would beat at the thought of you
    But a deep breath is all i have, as your memories fly
    To a far away place... From the day you said goodbye.
 
                Copyright 1992 by May Helleren (11-AUG-92)


Stein - sik@cs.uow.edu.au
--------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---------
'I'm not smoking, just keeping the insects away' - Stein I. Krav
'When thou walkest through the fire, thou shall not be burned.' -Isaiah 43:2
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
From: rsquires@cyclops.eece.unm.edu (Roger Squires)
Subject: Re: I give up...
Date: Thu, 03 Sep 92 10:48:30 GMT
Organization: University of New Mexico, Albuquerque
Distribution: usa

>tilden@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Robert Tilden) writes:
>
> [quote from _Dover Beach_ by Matthew Arnold]
>

	Judging by the number of responses, I'd say that either
	this is an incredible piece of work that everyone but myself
	has read many times and memorized, or it is very easy to find in
	popular quote books.  Which is it?

Roger Squires
rsquires@cyclops.eece.unm.edu
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: a touch of green
Date: 28 Aug 92 14:44:03 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ


Well, well, Candlestick has been even more ascerbic than usual and after
much weeping, cloth-rending, etc. I thought I really should respond:

In article <1992Aug28.010311.4577@u.washington.edu> you write:
>
>   donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli) writes:
>>  daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
>>> zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (Queen of the Netherlands) writes:
>>>> >Has Josef resurrected himself in me?
>>>> 
>
>[...]
>>  This Messiah stuff is going to his head.  
>                                  ^^^
>
>Don! Isn't this the pot calling the kettle black?  

Frankly, I'm sick and tired of people telling pots that they can't call the
kettle black.  Leave pots alone!  Legalize pots!

Who is dancing
>around wanting to knight everyone (with the exception of Mr. Tarantiti)
>an O'Toole, 

In this statement you do a disservice to the handful of people who
O'Toolified themselves with little or no help from me.  I merely blew a
trumpet or two to make them feel at home.

the same person who's existence (!) seems to be inseparable
>from his persona of dead fake person.  

I tried to shove my personas in the closet, but they're so unruly.  I
really need to do some more housecleaning.  Until then, I really can't be
held responsible for my personas (personae?).

And who, incidentally is seen 
>as the most flagrant Josef-wanna-be of the bunch by many others.

Ah, a conspiracy!  Are you using your wiles, charm, etc. to woo people
against me?  Fie on you!  My Dulcinea has turned against me!  If only you
would let me finish my account of the meeting with Josef O'Toole, you would
see that this is not the case!  That I could never be a Josef and I am
quite aware of that!
>
>Sorry, I just had to say this.  Doug seems like a decent sort of fellow-
>and I haven't noticed him writing odes about "it's not easy being Green".

Doug is many things, but a "decent sort of fellow"?  I think Doug would be
quite offended at such a moniker unless he, too, is entranced by your
stunning presence, carriage, beauty, etc.
>
>dammit man.  cocktail?
>
<sniff> I...I...I'm not thirsty. <sigh>  <sniff>
>
>-Rebecca           zola@u.washington.edu
>-------------------------------------------------------------------------
>love is a perky elf dancing a merry little jig and then suddenly he turns
>on you with a minature machine-gun.       **kierkegaard via matt groening
>-------------------------------------------------------------------------
shouldn't that be "merry little gigue"?

Yours ever no matter how much you abuse me,

Posthumous Persona


-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ross@cc.gatech.edu (Rosario DSouza, J)
Subject: Loneliness
Organization: College of Computing, Georgia Tech
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1992 00:47:46 GMT



		Loneliness
	

	On a bright and sunny evening,
	By a little street, I'm standing,
	Waiting, with an outstretched hand -
	Waiting, Waiting.

	I can see a thousand faces,
	As they rush past by me,
	Without a glance for each other -
	Without a glance for me.

	Some walk in groups of two,
	And some walk in groups of three;
	And there are some that walk alone -
	They are the ones like me.

	With feelings of bitterness and pain,
	My heart is cruelly torn;
	A thousand people on the road -
	Yet I am all alone.


..Rosario D'Souza

(C) Copyright, Rosario D'Souza, August 1992
All rights reserved.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From:  (Michael Snider)
Subject: Without You
Followup-To: rec.arts.poems
Organization: BNR
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1992 20:52:53 GMT

all comments welcome--wanted, even!

Without You


Not my kind of bar--jazz and show tunes
Sweetly played for white-haired white folks--
But I watch the dancers fill the room
My eyes wet and breath choked--

I thought we'd be a pair of fat old farts--
Just the usual troubles with our hearts.

****   Michael Snider   **********  alas, no email, so reply by post  
******

Talk of fame, honor, pleasure, wealth, all are dirt compared with
affection.
                                                   Charles Darwin          

Critics quarrel with other critics. With an artist, no sane man quarrels.  

                                                   George Santayana
From: sara@gator.rn.com (Sara Gordon)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: garden
Keywords: capri
Date: 2 Sep 92 15:52:43 GMT
Organization: The Gator Public Access Unix Site - 219-289-3745




in the flower fields
the hours yield explosions
vivid drawn and wildly violet

unfolding forth they fall
cascading over rock and green
two children in the garden
yet unseen

filling thickly air
and salted eyes
and cherry sighs

go quickly
til my garden
tills.


-- 

_________________________________________________________________________
knock knock:    who's there?   guest.    guest who?   guest guest.
                            WELCOME SUPERUSER
From: geotoole@inkstone.Eng.Sun.COM (George (troublemaker) O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Kathleene O'Toole, Bringer of Light
Date: 27 Aug 1992 02:19:17 GMT
Organization: Sun Microsystems
Distribution: world
Reply-To: geotoole@inkstone.Eng.Sun.COM
NNTP-Posting-Host: inkstone

>Wrong again.  I am no longer Elvira, Mistress of Darkness, but am reborn
>as Kathleen O'Toole, Bringer of Light.
>

Welcome back!
It's been since Oh wasn't it that blasted triassic
reddening since we last tangled? How by chance did
you manage to lose that trailing 'e' on your ming-
tze? Will I be the only soul to remember the fiery
circumstances of its origin? You won't, be warned,
be able to get into the "History of the O'Tooles,"
written by that Mark A. Tara{ntuala,ntella,diddle} 
fellow, unauthorized and surely not to be kept up-
to-date. Look close: I haven't yet managed to find
myself in those yellowing pages. But I go off this
exciting subject. You have returned. Not, as I can
venture to guess, from the confines of some watery
grave, but through the corridors of old geological 
time herself! For whose memory better serves other
than this timeless journal from which she hails to
speak. Do please tell us of your harrowing journey 
back to feed us with your presence. (I, with Popo,
will be expecting my solid tour through the listed
contents of your thirty-two pockets. Welcome back!


(signed!) George _troublemakre_ O'Toole
From: beh@geech.gnu.ai.mit.edu (Bruce Howells)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: intermezzo
Date: 30 Aug 92 03:19:08 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation


Intermezzo.

There are no words
again, Johannes,
and yet I cannot help but sing
your song
with all my voice,
my inner voice,
my fingers and my inner voice, Johannes.

And oh, my love,
my lover, my friend,
my husband and my friend,
will you sing with me, too?

The song is now of you,
you know, 
and I need accompanimant.

For too many months, I've been silent,
but the call,
the silver call,
the golden call,
the wild white burning call
is enetered my soul again, Johannes.
Can you give me water?
Can you give me bread?
Can you give me air?
Can you give me peace
if only I sing your song, 
if only I find the feelings
which gather themselves just
below my aching breast,
just below the parts of me
which no one knows
and cries out for release
for song and release

I will sing your song,
Johannes
with my fingers, and my soul
and my inner voice, Johannes
and then, I will lift my eyes
to God, to
heaven and to God,
and will sing with his angels

I will sing.

--Nancy Howells
(beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu for a little while still)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lugowski@ils.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: for laurie (que es pineapple?) / Marek (1990)
Organization: The Institute for the Learning Sciences
Date: Tue, 1 Sep 1992 05:44:07 GMT


		for laurie (que es pineapple?)
		-------------------------------------------------------------
		
		i was eating a pineapple
		you know, one of those fresh ones
		that i mutilated myself
		so it wasn't in any sort of
		concentric tower of hanoi puzzle ring shape
		if you know what i mean
		
		anyway, i was eating the pineapple that i cut
		myself
		and the frogs were
		loud
		and the evening
		straight out of faulkner
		minus the really pretty girl
		
		anyway
		i was eating a pineapple
		arranged as irregular mostly convex polyhedra
		that my knife left
		in its wake
		
		it was
		delicious.
		
		it was
		worth eating
		very  much
		
		anyway
		as i was eating the pineapple
		i discovered
		that i was eating
		wood
		
		yes, wood.
		
		wood was
		what i was eating
		because
		pineapple is edible 
		
		wood....
		
		i thought, surely this makes me
		and any other pineapple eater
		into a sort of cosmic
		termite
		participating in a kind of
		self-unaware
		termite colony
		or something.
		
		yes, a termite.
		
		and a termite is something
		that someone wants,
		in these parts, anyway,
		dead
		very much
		
		i was eating my wood
		and i was thinking
		who is
		
		my orkin man?


			Marek Lugowski
			10 June 1990
			Lake Monroe, Indiana
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: Alone
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 04:03:00 GMT


	Alone

I look,
But I don't see,
I listen,
But I don't hear,
I reach, 
But I don't feel,
What is this world,
To which I am entwined?
"Is there nobody there?"
I receive no reply,
I must be alone,
And yet I sense a presence near by,
It is cold,
It is dark,
And I am alone, 
But do you care?
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: Untitled
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 03:42:18 GMT


As the hawk stalks his prey,
It always tends to get away,
The skies above he shall soar,
Even as the rain begins to pour,
He has this undying need,
His heart's desire to feed,
Every chance he has just slips away,
He's left to fly the skies all day,
And when the day finally comes to an end,
He hasn't caught anything, but made a friend...
From: lnewby@lacerta.unm.edu (Lew Newby CIRT)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Feelings
Date: 28 Aug 92 06:31:36 GMT
Organization: University of New Mexico, Albuquerque

Feelings

She is the wind
She is the glint of sun in my eyes
She is my everlasting hope
She is my love

I have dreams
Dreams of love and hope
Dreams of a new life it seams
She is my love

My life is a world
My world revolves around a star
My world is warmed by a star
My world is warmed by love
She is my love

           Lew Newby

This is my first attempt at some poetry so any comments would be nice either 
by E-Mail or here.
From: 2ftylunar@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Silverstein favorite
Date: 29 Aug 92 21:20:38 GMT
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Services

One of my favorite Shel Silverstein poems:
(short but sweet)

	Teddy said it was a hat
	so i put it on
	now dad is saying 
	"where the heck's the toilet plunger gone!"
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
From: chucks@uars2.acd.ucar.edu (Chuck Smythe)
Subject: Re: Poetry Suggestion
Organization: Ntl Center for Atmospheric Research, Atmospheric Chemistry
Date: Thu, 3 Sep 1992 20:16:21 GMT

Dylan Thomas might be a possibility..

   And death shall have no dominion.
   Dead men naked they shall be one
   With the man in the wind and the west moon.
   When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone
   They shall have stars at elbow and foot.
   Though they go mad they shall be sane,
   Though they sink through the seas they shall rise again.
   Though lovers be lost love shall not;
   And death shall have no dominion.

(From ancient memory.  Pardon errors.)

			Chuck Smythe
From: douzzer@mars.ai.mit.edu (Daniel Pouzzner)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: FREEverse, "gribbles"
Date: 27 Aug 92 22:56:36 GMT
Organization: MIT AI/Media Lab

perhaps this belongs in talk.bizarre, but that newgroup is rubbish...

                 "gribbles"

fine the thread is torn along the boundary,
and frayed in the furrows of my well-tilled plains
in my neocortex, of all places, is clear the furrows
are not grey but pinkish-grey and well-tilled indeed.
alright, the fine thread is forlorn in the bungling,
and afraid that in the furious fumbling plane
in my new cord is, of all places, ice claire the
furrows roll.
and clicking at suckling union, or clucking rather,
and deepsatisfy the shouting, the shooting pain,
and the nether never held and always blowing.
blive, flock to the flowing in unison,
the upward-reaching fountain of horror
and ecstasy united.
a well-grated cerebrum is this,
the spices well prepared and the paste done to a tee.
the gribbles at my lipcorners tell the tale.
as does HCl.
19aug92 0343


-- 

daniel, neural cowboy                         douzzer@ai.mit.edu

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ross@cc.gatech.edu (Rosario DSouza, J)
Subject: A Rose for Ellen  -- A Poem
Organization: College of Computing, Georgia Tech
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1992 00:39:08 GMT




		A Rose for Ellen
	

	The rose is just a flower,
	With a common name,
	And yet it has the power,
	To set the heart aflame.

	It comes in many colors,
	But when it's found in red,
	It means something to lovers -
	Says things as yet unsaid.

	So give I unto you,
	Upon this special day,
	A rose of reddest hue,
	My unsaid words to say;
	And may it last a lifetime,
	Within your tender heart;
	Lovely - this rose of mine;
	Lovelier still thou art.


..Rosario D'Souza.

(C) Copyright, Rosario D'Souza, August 1992.
All rights reserved.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
From: loosemore-sandra@CS.YALE.EDU (Sandra Loosemore)
Subject: Re: I give up...
Organization: staff hacker @ Yale Haskell project
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 17:10:03 GMT

 
tilden@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Robert Tilden) writes:
 
           Ah, love, let us be true
           To one another! [...]
 
Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach".  Should be in any good poetry anthology
or dictionary of quotations.
 
For those on the internet, there's an online quotation dictionary you
can access by telnetting to info.rutgers.edu.  Look in the "library"
area.  It has fairly decent search capabilities built in to it.
 
-Sandra
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: pirates
Date: 27 Aug 92 17:24:29 GMT
Distribution: usa
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA


 (Scott Campbell Mfg QIE 4-6778) writes:
>
>I need help, and don't know if this is the group to ask or not
>If there is a better place to post let me know.
>I am looking for old pirate poems
>ditys or songs.  If anyone can point toward a source or send me 
>the words, I would appreciate it.  Thanks

Old Pirates
 rusty cannon balls 
  fractured frigates
   are found at the
    bottom of the sea.
     Their poems
      scribbled hastily
      and corked into rum
     emptied bottles
    wash up on distant
   island shores in
  the black of the night.
 




Cecil
From: v131p9t3@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (Ninstar Cybermage - Back Again from the Mists!)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: +==[====----Terror----====]==+
Date: 1 Sep 92 14:31:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41

Terror

I had a cancer
It's gone now.

Sitting happily with my daughter
On my bended bouncing knee
And looking at the smile she has
Which brings such joy to me
Its easy to forget the pain
And easier to see
Just the kind of future
I'd like for her and me.

Lying in my bed
With my tender loving wife
Feeling her warm body
As she shares my happy life
And hoping one day
To make her free from strife.

Playing the game
With friends I haven't seen
Since I was in the hospital
Way back then...

Then it hits me
In any time or place
Shattering the joy
And moving to replace
With a sickly icy terror
That pierces through my blood
It could come back you see
And my fear becomes a flood.

I'm drowning, 
Help me!

Then it passes
There's no evidence you see
I haven't had a relapse
But I cannot convince me.

I feel the joy of living
Burning in my soul
But there's a pit of fear in me
That won't let me be whole.

James Shank           	#		v131p9t3@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu
AKA: Ninstar Cybermage  #	or	shank@acsu.buffalo.edu
###############################################################################
"Ten thousand years old...He could be trouble." -Vampire Hunter D
"Every night I say a prayer, in the hope that there's a heaven..."-Styx
"How do you make ammends for a god's sins?"-Forgotten Realms
##############################################################################
Sneaky Types,Inc.:Clandestine operations for the common man.
	"Don't call us.  We'll just bill you when it's done."
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: john <jtrue@acpub.duke.edu>
Subject: Re: The Grey Man
X-Xxmessage-Id: <A6BFD92CEE010D08@phil.zoo.duke.edu>
X-Xxdate: Tue, 25 Aug 92 17:33:48 GMT
Organization: .
X-Useragent: Nuntius v1.1.1d9
Date: Tue, 25 Aug 1992 16:32:27 GMT

In article <208@uiunix.ui.org> Posthumous O'Toole, donz@ui.org writes:
>First of all[sic--it should be first of BOTH], no one CONSCIOUSLY writes
of 
>Posthumous, though jtrue tried it once.  (He is in a constant state of
                          ^^^^^
>semi-consciousness, so it doesn't count.)  Second of both, the following

yes
Hmmm...
(apologies to the Herbert estate, here...)
Rev. Mother Helen Gaius Mohiam: "Many men have tried to become the
Quisatz Haderach."
Paul: "Tried and failed?"
RMHGM:"Tried and died."

But with the help of the spice, I was brought back, but only to
semi-consciousness.
Hence my (really) blue eyes.

-john
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Fri, 28 Aug 1992 20:13:35 GMT
Subject: Misc.
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

I wrote this poem a long time ago to make a point in another
notes forum.  I do not think I ever posted it here.  Anyway,
I can no longer say that now:


---------------------------------------------------------------

          misc


Wally-boy Stevens, Ophelia and I,
hand in hand,
strolled down to the sea 
to sit in the sand
and
imagine debates
by sixty or seventy divine reprobates.

"The sea seems twice wet,"
said one with a smile.
"No, thrice wet,"
said two with much guile.
"It seems a bit dry,"
said three, and the others were riled
to the considerable depths 
of their venerable spirits.

"Look, we don't want to hear it,"
number four calmly stated,
and then the nature of tides was debated.

"The tide's coming in."
"Nah, it's going out."
"My considered opinion:  it's just
milling about, 
waiting for chances and waiting for times, 
meanwhile it tarries, a briny sublime."  

"Do not anthropomorphize you wretched boob. 
We have all the data to show and to prove,
beyond a shadow of reasonable, rational doubt,
that tides are, in fact, the fault of the moon.
When the moon lugs its guts, the tide will go out."

(The moon vomited blood at this unauthorized
use of her name, but they used it again and again
just the same.)

"The moon is a HE."
"No, dammnit, a SHE."
"The moon is an IT, you miserable twit."

The argument raged on and on exactly like this,
as Wally, Ophelia, and I engaged in our tryst.
But we wearied of words,
of what we had heard,
so Ophelia spent a few shining hours
picking lonely, enchanted, wild flowers,
and Wally-boy invested an eon or more
imagining limbos for O. to adore,
and me, I just drooled
bile-laced drivel into 
stagnant tide pools.

Soon the tide rose and swept us to sea,
Wally-boy Stevens, Ophelia,
and me.



------------------------------------------
Notes:

1.  Yah, I know I called y'all reprobates, but
    I meant it in a good way.

2.  Ophelia, of course, we all know.  Hamlet's never-was
    lover who went a bit loopy in the fullness of time.

3.  Wally was coopted because of his essays about the
    ability of poets to create society by imagining it.
    Wally was a self-important fool.  He was the
    margin exhibiting typical cetripetal lust for the center.

4.  The moon appears at the whim of the sun, of course.
    Historical evidence that the moon can vomit blood is
    somewhat lacking, so this event should be viewed as
    rhetorical.

5.  The lack of resolution regarding the wetness of the
    sea, the cause of tides, and the sexual nature 
    of the moon should not be viewed as moral cowardice
    on the part of the author unless it is crucial to
    the reader's appreciation of the poem.

6.  The word 'tryst' appears here at the suggestion of
    Beatrice.  She can be quite insistent, and she
    paid me to advertise.



doug
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Why?
Date: 27 Aug 92 09:02:29 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

For those of you who saw my posting Rejection and my comments about losing
my job, here is one that I wrote prior to being fired.  I posted it on the
bulletin board at work but it obviously had no affect.

WHY

I've always told my children
Never ask why.
That is a question
that is not
allowed.
Yet now I find myself
asking why.

Why do you hate me?
When you haven't 
even
taken the time
to learn about me?
Why do you put me
down
every chance you get?
Why won't you
give me the chance
to show you what I
can do?
What could I have 
done
that you despise me
so?

Am I such a threat
to you
That you fear me
so much?
You comdemn me 
without a trial.

I extend my hand in
friendship.
Please 
take it.

August 20, 1992

Kathleen O'Toole, Bringer of Light
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems