HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: jww@evolving.com (John W. Woolley)
Subject: Re: Persephone / Marie Coffin
Date: Wed, 06 Jan 1993 16:53:56 GMT
Organization: Evolving Systems, Inc.
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL4

Marie writes:
: 	Whenever a girl-child disappears,
: 	you know Persephone
: 	has taken her into the dark
: 	to eat the fruit and never go home.

Au contraire (as the Frenchman responded when asked if he'd eaten on
board).  Can Persephone forget the spring, and flowers?


                  Persephone to Orpheus
                  ---------------------

        O Orpheus, sing!  Our hell-bound hearts inspire --
        rescue Euridice!  Let sorrow's king
        (perforce my Lord) affright thee not, but sing
        how love may plunder death.  That Delian lyre
        tune to enchant, bewitch us -- let each wire
        thrill to thy lady's beauty's praise, and ring
        unshackled joys.  Even _my_ fettered spring
        might once have flown hence, winged with such desire!

        Perhaps, too, some strange wasting age will wrong
        their daughters' flowering-time, chain up their spring,
        till some far poet, hearing thy distant song
        arise with words of power to loose and fling
        away the bonds of lust, and free that long-
        imprisoned womanhood.  O Orpheus, sing!

-- 
Fr. John Woolley    For al so siker as In principio,
jww@evolving.com    Mulier est hominis confusio, --
                    Madame, the sentence of this Latyn is,
                    "Womman is mannes joye and al his blis."
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sp15@ellis.uchicago.edu (steven  paul)
Subject: LOVE'S AVALON
Reply-To: sp15@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago
           LOVE'S AVALON
            by Steven E. Paul
Date: Wed, 6 Jan 1993 04:21:36 GMT

Breathless from
Calling out to you...
Having acknowledged
Despair's lamented coronation,

...I reflect...

Your reagl name--
Echoing within the heart's
Once hollow chambers...
Veins teeming with
Angry passion...

...I lash out...

Chilled with remorse...
Numbingly dismissed...
I cower with self-reproach...

...Defeated...

Defiant spirit: Depart!
I hold nothing anymore other than
A bent crown,
A twisting thorn at my side,
A silent heart... bruised and battered...

...Neglected...

Sullen love-- thrashing helplessly...
  Wounded...
Drowning in pools of fearless tears--
  Wildly, reluctantly shed...
Undesired, unwelcomed, rotting...
  This is what has become of my love...

...Condemned...

Savagely, I implore your mercy...
Release me from your binding vows--
  Your contrived veils of fidelity:
  Enmeshing my every fear and love...
  Filtering my every thought...

Take back your spiteful, callous vex!
Release me... and spare nothing...
Sanction me the right of passage
Beyond your intimate misery...

Remove your regal name
From the reaches of my tongue--
The very same tongue that once
Bathed your soul with its sweetness...
Caressing each and every emotion
With its passion... its enigmatic erotica...

--Hallowed be thy name by the passion of my flesh
  By the fires of my own heated breath...

--Emblazoned is your name
  Upon my heart with my own loveless pen...

Aver my lovelorn self!
Permit me salvation--
Deep within Lethargy's sanctum...
Grant me this and no more!

I beg of you...
Love me no more...
Hate me so that I may part
With less misery than I came...

Let me become intoxicated with
Celibacy's rueful hemlock...
Let me drink deeply and
Let me find Love's Avalon...

Grant me at least this,
Then no more...

...No more...


[C&C is amusingly encouraged...]

-- 
____________________________________________________________________________
STEVEN E. PAUL                         *   "A LOVER WHO HAS KNOWN NO LOVE...
sp15@midway.uchicago.edu               *             THIS AM I..."
                                       *
From: kr22+@andrew.cmu.edu (Kathleen A. Rafferty)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: ton vin americain
Date: 10 Jan 93 12:21:31 GMT
Article-I.D.: andrew.0fI_5fm00Uh_M2gFEz
Organization: Psychology, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA

ton vin americain



full-bodied
and
semi-dry

(flavorful)

with a delicate
hint 
of woodiness

i wait  
(aging)
fermenting
daily
(vintage, almost)

while my taste- 
tester
lies 
sleeping
with a sea-horse
across
the 
ocean.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: my life without christie brinkley / Marek (1992)
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Sat, 9 Jan 1993 10:56:33 GMT


                my life without christie brinkley
                -------------------------------------------------------------
 
                it starts half past seven, my life.
                i detest so obscenely early goodmornings
                made doubly miserable
                that there's no christie brinkley to say hi to.
                i would not begrudge her the bathroom
                for an hour -- provided she let me in first.
                as it is there's not too much contention
                without her around.
 
                when i make my breakfast, and often i do not,
                i don't hear marek, would you fix me some coffee,
                i'm running late and the limo will be here any
                second.  so i skip the coffee.
 
                when i take my shower i don't have to
                take her hair out of the drain, saves me time.
                and when i dry my hair i don't trip over her
                cosmetics.  if i did, she might get sore.
 
                when i'm at work christie never calls
                to say wanna do indian for lunch?
                when i get home, there's hardly any mail for her
                except for or current resident.
 
                you know, i could get her on some sharp catalog mailing lists.
                i think she might like that.  always so busy.
                too busy to shop.  too busy to stop by.
                too busy to be around
 
                much.

			Marek Lugowski
                        15 September 1992
                        Chicago, Illinois


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cdl0915@ultb.isc.rit.edu (Chris Losinger)
Subject: Amanda Hugginkiss 
Originator: cdl0915@ultb
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Fri, 8 Jan 1993 14:30:51 GMT

    
        a Guy named Charlie was Robbing
        a Dick named Dave who was Bobbing
     	a Lady named Linda
    	who had Sued all her fingers
    	for Jimmying the lock on her Dolly
-- 
        --------------------------------------------------------------
        	c  h  r  i  s   l  o  s  i  n  g  e  r   r  i  t
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Pity on Paradox
Date: 4 Jan 93 15:54:01 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054

In article <1993Jan2.223742.12198@dartvax.dartmouth.edu> Andrew.W.J.Toler@dartmouth.edu (Andrew W.J. Toler) writes:
>You don't have to read this one as slowly :)
>
>Hope you enjoy it and post some replies/sarcasm/stern rebukes
>to get me to write better...
>
I like your attitude.  Let me make some suggestions for improvements.  
There's no need for me to ramble on about whether I like the poem or not.
If you (Andrew) address my concerns, the poem will not be perfect, but 
it will be a good starting point.

>
>
>Pity on Paradox
>
>
>There are sweet fields of grass made savory with tears,

I like "savory with tears", playing with the salty quality of tears, but
it doesn't work with "sweet".  If it's sweet already, do you really need
salt?  Maybe sometimes, but it's a confusing mix of taste metaphors.  I
suggest dropping or replacing "sweet"

or is this a paradox?  If so, it doesn't seem paradoxical enough, but I
don't feel I know enough about food to say that for sure.

>Wildflowers sown and growing on confused hearts.

sowing wildflowers is a paradox.

>There is but pain over every hill and in every gully,

I would drop the "but", unless you mean "butt pain", which is a very 
vivid image. 

>And there are living feelings breezing on every slope.

three ing's in a row is awkward, plus "living feelings" is vague and 
cliched.  "every slope" is ok since both hills and gullies have slopes
(or are bounded by slopes).
>
>There are places inside which cry, and places which smile,

paradox 

>Faces in shells of loneliness, tumbling around trapped,
>Pierces through shadows on white cracked peeling walls
>Pity on paradox, black blood spilled by pumps of loss.

The grammar/punctuation on those last two lines is very confusing.
but the image is good, calling shadows "black blood" and the cracks
as wounds.  "pump of loss" is another paradoxical image.
>
>There are waves of passion and then they are gone, 
>Alone at last, got that one good, then there is sour.
>Start again sure to go but what when it doesnUt?

the awkward grammar of these three lines is distracting.

>Pain is surely everywhere, respite a distant trifle.
>
>There are fields of grass made bitter with salty tears,
>Wildflowers trying but dying on confused hearts.
>There is pain over every head and in every skull,
>And there are lost feelings breezing through every soul.
>
>
>PAndrew

Enough!  I need to see what you will do with my current suggestions before
I can talk about your last four lines.  Right now, they seem unnecessary
and better off dropped.  They provide a summary, but don't really add
anything.  They explain that your external images were really internal
images, but this is already obvious.


best of luck,

Posthumous O'Toole
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig

Aaron Radomski, where are you???
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: Re: Ce n'est pas
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Mon, 11 Jan 1993 05:21:56 GMT

This one, Alex, has just enough handholds and toeholds.  I like it a
lot.  It also strikes me as very funny, in a Belgian way. :)  

				-- Marek

In article <1993Jan11.041122.11267@midway.uchicago.edu>
alk4@midway.uchicago.edu writes:

>
>Ce n'est pas
>-------------
>
>
>
>In a museum 
>the masses gazed 
>at a photograph 
>of a red fire hydrant.
>
>On the street
>in front of the museum,
>the red fire hydrant
>mostly ignored.
>
>When the museum 
>caught on fire,
>the photograph
>was extinguished.
>
>In its place,
>a photograph 
>of the museum 
>
>on fire.
>
> 
>
>Alex L. Karan
>
>(of course, if it makes you live anything, let me know)
>


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Subject: Karina    (lots of help please...I'm too close - thanks)
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago
Date: Thu, 7 Jan 1993 02:45:01 GMT


I've stood among the wreckage
of love well lost,
gathered scattered pieces of myself
and slowly healed.

When will I grow wise?

She came into my life and arms
a fragile visitor.
Melbourne blond with remnants of red,
and a profile,
gentle as kisses,
that deserved to be painted.

Surely it's time to be wise.

And, don't ask me how it happened,
but all my wise resolutions were hurled away,
laughing.

I never do manage to be wise.

Joy transmutes to sorrow,
once again.
Lust and affection and friendship
are never enough it seems
to reassure the wounded child
within this battle-scarred body.
It is ending.

Wisdom is perhaps not for me.

*****

M.A. Mohanraj
January 6, 1992

-- 
i thank you God for most this amazing
day:  for the leaping greenly spirits of the trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes		 - e.e.cummings
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mort@quads.uchicago.edu (Dave 'Mort' Mortman)
Subject: Poem I wrote for Mary Anne/Kateri
Reply-To: mort@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago
Date: Sat, 9 Jan 1993 02:01:55 GMT

I sit in class
your name comes to mind unbidden
I sleep
and see you in my dreams

Your body rustles next to me
    warm
        soft
            cuddly
You roll over
burying me in an avalanche of long brown hair

You are so beautiful
I have to smile

I pull you close
    whisper in your ear
	_I_
	   _Love_
		 _You_

In your sleep....you smile
snuggle all the closer
and our hearts beat on together...
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: rhythm
Date: 6 Jan 93 12:34:00 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University
NNTP-Posting-Host: jacobs.cs.orst.edu

And yet another for the New Year!


          Rhythm

There is a rhythm to the Earth
A deep and surging beat of time
Its echoes heard in ageless surf
That ebbs and flows against the land

Rotating seasons evidence
Of oft repeated melody
And flying geese high overhead
Add their song in counterpoint.

Flowers grow and fade and die
And just as surely, you and I
At best a solitary note
In melodic symphony.

But we have learned to disconnect
Ourselves from most that's natural
Chasing self-important schemes
Removed from that which does prevail.

There is a rhythm to the Earth
If we would only choose to hear.

December 31, 1992
Kathleen O'Toole,
Bringer of Light


-- 
*************************************************************************
"Insufficient facts always invites danger, Captain."- Spock in Space Seed
	Marg Petersen	petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu
*************************************************************************
From: mteodoro@sumax.seattleu.edu (Mercutio of Verona)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: is nice
Date: 11 Jan 1993 09:12:52 -0800
Organization: Seattle University
NNTP-Posting-Host: sumax.seattleu.edu
To: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu

Satirical C&C.

		is nice
		-----------------------------------
		poetry is nice
		repetition is nice
		poetry is nice 
		repetition is

		meaningful is nice
		political statements is nice
		meaningful is nice
		increasingly overt angry-young-man political statements is
		
		easy is nice
		trite is nice
		easy is nice
		trite is

		is 
		is
		is
		"is nice."

--Mercutio

P.S.: Sheryl--I finally posted to r.a.p., happy? =)  More to come!
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: akcobb@unix.amherst.edu (acapella)
Subject: Staging -c&c
Organization: Amherst College
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL7]
Date: Sun, 10 Jan 1993 22:22:43 GMT


Staging
	(for Michelle Henry)

She left before her cue.
Messed things up so even a Deus ex Machina couldn't help.
The cast has floundered around for a month and blames it on April.
--She wasn't union; what the hell could our people do?
The rain, they claim, makes things melt.
And people.

That's just what they get for involving independents.
--Gotta get 'em in a contract, Dr, right away
  We've held that position from the start.
She didn't seem the type to really learn her part
By heart--there was such a long delay 
Between her call and her appearance.

They're left not knowing the right
Place to resume; they weren't taught
How to act with any insight.
How dare she not follow the script?
Said Dr, after he had flipped 
Through and understood the plot.



Amy Cobb
in the manner of John Berryma
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: Re: A free-form poem
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Mon, 4 Jan 1993 18:19:51 GMT

In article <1993Jan4.124237.25738@aristo.tau.ac.il>
ronena@tau.ac.il (Ronen Altman) writes:

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

Indeed.  How did y'all manage to keep it so concise.  The two last
lines lend a certain ring to it.

				-- Marek
From: slp9k@cc.usu.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Shakespearean Corpses
Date: 5 Jan 93 12:45:19 MDT
Organization: Utah State University

        Below is my poem, written immediately after seeing "As You Like It," wit
 a girl whom I had been dating for some time.  She was, well... I think you can
ee that for yourselves.
        As always C&C is welcome.  Feel free to post, but also please E-mail.

        Thanks in advance.


             "Untitled"

I'm holding hands with a corpse,
And Shakespeare plays below.
The actors live two lives in one,
While the person next to me has none.
I'm holding hands with a corpse.
But wait.  Is there movement there?
A soft flip of beautiful hair.
The corpse becomes animate.
Her head leans on my shoulder,
I shudder in my seat.
"My god, she lives," I think.
The movement ceases
My heart eases.
I'm holding hands with a corpse
And Shakespeare plays below.

-- 
Disclaimer:  I don't care.

********************************************************************************
Darrell Fuhriman          *     "Oh, just like an orange cloud of light, 
SLP9K@CC.USU.EDU          *      that just blows right out of it.  Wow!"
********************************************************************************
From: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: dowry  -- z.
Date: 8 Jan 1993 01:43:42 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Reply-To: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
NNTP-Posting-Host: hela.ins.cwru.edu



           dowry

i can string you leis of morning dew
with strands of spider silk.
i can sculpt filigreed wings
of carrera marble
and weave gosssamer lace 
of milkweed wool.
i can bring you giddy laughter
and earth passion-fires.

i can compose breezy jazz
as the wind bows skyscraper cellos
or the thunder and lightning oratorio
of a midwest summer storm.
i can sing you haunting songs
of my forgotten ancestors
and spin you stories
of disconsolate lovers and blithe fools.

i'll be there when you need loving
or walk away from your silence.
i am the reflection of your eyes
on our early morning trysts.
i will cloak you with ny warmth
on your cold and pensive days.
i can be your forever
or that unforgivable, exquisite second.

all these, i have to offer,
what do you have to give ?

          ***


zita maria evensen
c1992, jan 7

(c & c please. no poetryese techies. . i probably wouldn't
understand )




-- 
........................................................................
 space is not a measure of distance -- st exupery
.........................................................................
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gardabr@unix1 (Gard Eggesbo Abrahamsen)
Subject: Re: My life gets complicated
Organization: KJAKAH productions
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL6]
Date: Tue, 12 Jan 93 09:43:38 GMT

 gj student 156879 (gj156879@alfred.carleton.ca) wrote:
: My Life Gets Complicated
: ------------------------
: 
: How can you express a feeling properly
: While you are feeling it?
Just do it!

: We tend to wallow in our words,
: rolling in our emotions like
: a pig in shit.
Yes, true...

: I don't want to bore you.
: How many people have read this far?
I have...

: What do you do when what you feel inside
: and what you believe inside
: conflicts with what you find yourself doing?
Turn around.

: Like some bad psych experiment:
: "Write an essay on something you hate,
: Now tell me what you feel."
finger me.

: I don't hate it anymore, responds
: the proper little test tube 1st year student.
: 
: This is   not  a poem.
: This is   NOT  a poem.
: This is  *NOT* a poem.
I know...

: Ever have one of those weeks
: where you just want to take the whole world
: and squeeze it
: until the blood pours through 
: your fingers?
Yes...

:                               Nik
:                               Not a happy camper today, folks.
Smile..
====================================================================



	Just do it, yes true
	I have... turn around
	finger me, I know...
	Yes...Smile...



       ______
      /      \  <== 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: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: jetsam in texas / Marek (1990)
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Thu, 7 Jan 1993 08:46:04 GMT


		jetsam in texas
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		somewhere jetsam in texas,
		an imported smile,
		armed and dangerous...
		
		somewhere jetsam in texas
		no longer a child
		semi-automatically shy...
		
		somewhere jetsam not
		in texas
		piercing browneyed sadness
		sets in slow...
		
		somewhere not
		in texas
		a sea coast
		where amber washes up
		in the small
		as jetsam
		in seaweed and tar balls.
		
		amber's dull to not-so-dull
		in the raw,
		unpolished.
		
		polished,
		gives a soft and warming glow
		like tree sap, like honey.
		
		on that beach imagine
		a small browneyed stone.
		have you found some amber?
		or are you all alone
		with a
		message of a bottle
		turned a lonesome rhinestone?
		
		somewhere jetsam in texas
		the lightest, the warmest,
		the dizziest, the clearest,
		the honeyest, the honestest
		amber lives on
		that i ever saw.
		
		it washed out there
		of the pecan tree clumps
		under the wispy high clouds
		it washed out there
		of the twang of the city streets
		the honky tonks and the new music clubs.
		it washed out there
		neonified, cinemafied, b.m.w.fied
		it washed out there
		of the dusty main street shops
		and the blinking yellow lights
		it washed out there
		of the sundays in churches
		and saturdays at seven elevens
		it washed out there
		of the bluest of bluebells
		and the reddest of peppers
		it washed out there
		of nanci gritffith's songs
		and janis joplin's
		and it washed out there
		of the laziest of streams
		and the awesomest of storms
		it washed out there
		of the muchest of flatnesses
		the goldest of winter fields
		it washed out there
		onto
		
		me
		
		in the gentlest of  straighforwardnesses
		
		and they all helped & washed & offered
		guiding caresses
		excellent blessers
		that they all are...
		
		now i
		have to tell you
		i
		need not wonder
		about the trueness
		about the true sweetness
		of this here browneyed jetsam
		lodged deep
		somewhere in the east
		of me
		lodged sweet
		somewhere
		to the west of me
		deep in here & sweet in there
		
		deep
		in the north of texas.
		
	
			Marek Lugowski
			16 June 1990
			Lake Monroe, Indiana
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: internet is / Marek
Date: 11 Jan 93 14:32:49 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054

In article <1993Jan10.024957.24766@clark.edu> t22@clark.edu (Karen M Reagan) writes:

<Very impressive marek, but shouldn't you start at the beginning of 
<I internet 13 ?  If I remember right it says:
<		"Though I speak in the tongues of sysops and wizards,
<		but have not internet, I am naught but a rebounding
<		mailer-daemon or a clanging macintosh.(2)  Though I have
<		the gift of programming and can fathom all algorithms
<		and have all knowledge, and if I have a faith that move
<		molecular storage, but have not internet, I am nothing.
<		(3)  If I submit all that I have to news.groups and
<		surrender my body to the flames, but have not internet
<		I gain nothing."                      -I intenet 1-3
<
<It then leads into verse four where marek picks up.
<
<Once again, I like what you've done here,

ah, but you've done better.

<-karenmarie


Yours,

Posthumous O'Toole, Defender of the Realm

Poetic Larva (assumption being that _I_ will grow wings)
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig

Aaron Radomski, where are you???