HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: benge_kl@lrc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Meaningless
Date: 13 Nov 92 10:59:46 EST
Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC



Meaningless
===========

He is dead.
Gone.
Forever.

Never, ever again to breathe
Or think
Or love.
No, that doesn't really mean much.
Let's try again.
Never, ever again to eat doughnuts
Or watch football
Or strut around the school
Bragging about how Clemson won again.
Yes, that I can understand.
That I can feel.

But it doesn't really mean much
To me.
I don't think I ever really traded words with him.
(Except to tell him
 To shut up
 About that damned
 Clemson
 Football
 Team.)

But look at her--
That dear, sweet, lovely blond girl
In the next row,
The one I've wanted to ask out
All year.
She's crying her eyes out.
I think they rode the same bus,
And she's crying her eyes out.

I wonder if anyone would cry like that
For me?
They say a man can be judged
By who shows up at his funeral.
So, who'd come to mine?

There's ma and pa,
But they have to come,
So they don't count.
Same goes for the rest of the family.
How many of my friends would come?

Well, there's Kelly.
No, she laughs at my jokes, 
But she wouldn't come.
I don't really mean that much to her.
After all, we only see each other
In this one class.

Or there's Jill.
No, I doubt seriously
That she even knows I'm here
Unless I'm talking to her.
She has too many friends--
One less wouldn't even be noticed.

But, what about Tracey?
Don't kid yourself.
She thinks you're wierd.
She'd probably be glad to get you 
Out of her hair.

	.
	.
	.

Unbelievable.
I've gone through everyone I know
And I can't think of a one that 
Would miss me.
Isn't that shameful?
I never loved any of them,
I never did anything for them,
In fact, the most I ever did 
For any of them was 
To help them on a test.

Mr. Clemson here has 
Every girl in the school
Crying over him,
And I wouldn't have anyone.

How sad.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rbn@sunvis.rtpnc.epa.gov (Bob Boyd)
Subject: Autumn Magic
Organization: UNISYS/Environmental Protection Agency
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 22:03:36 GMT


 
     Autumn Magic
     ------------

Gray clouds -- a blanket

Leaves dance, by the millions!

Raindrops, my window


--
Bob Boyd                 
rbn@ralph.rtpnc.epa.gov 
Unisys/EPA               

Organization: Senior, Biology, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 16:18:51 -0500 
From: Sean Michael Colletta <sc4d+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: if it were time



        if it were time
        to dangle in your underwear
        then i suppose the sparrows would be black
        and the sky green

        since you've loved me
        all the time
        i am around wheelbarrows
        picking dandelions
        since you've loved me
        i am chasing those who chase the rainbows
        i am singing
        i am sunlight

        only the ones who can't understand
        they know
        how to fill up the streambeds
        with fire
        and leap up the tree veins
        leaving green for tommorrow
        for the sky is like wine
        tonight, in your eyes.

        i am singing the stories of creeks
        i am laughing the laughter of water
        i am feeling my way through the sunlight


                                        sean colletta
                    
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: stuart@jahangir.UUCP (Stuart)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Stimpee's Deep Thoughts I -Stimpee
Date: 19 Nov 92 18:31:02 GMT
Organization: MDC, NYC

In article <92322.112249X67107@BARILVM.BITNET> X67107@BARILVM.BITNET writes:
>Mostly disgusting.
>
>                  -The Laugting One

No!!!! This stuff is great!!! Keep it up... we need more?  Do you know anyone
named Ren???????


-- 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"No sir I don't like it!" -- Mr. Horse
Stuart Blavatnik			Stuart@Jahangir.uunet.uu.net
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Subject: Re: A few old poems...just 'cause I'm bored (c&c welcome)
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 1992 23:43:01 GMT

Balanced Between Worlds

A tightrope,
     A long, thin wire...
	Sagging a little, in the center
		That the artist wends her way towards.

She bends all her concentration towards staying upright
     Tensely balanced.

Her body is a battlefield,
     and each side pulls her down.
	In their attempts to persuade her towards them
		she almost falls
			and teeters on the brink of an endless chasm.

Her only hope lies in being very, very calm
     weighted with duty and hope and dreams and fear
	sliding almost silently along
		to reach the unsteady center
 			searching for an uncertain, elusive
				balance.
*** 		

A gust of wind, a spark of lightning
    the chasm seems formidable, and ready to receive her.
	The fall is full of fear.
		No duty, no hope, no dreams, only fear.

The morning is calm,
	her body still hurts from the fall
		But she is on solid ground,
			the tension has dissipated,
	And both sides hold her hand in love.

*****

M.A. Mohanraj & Jitendra Singh
July 17, 1992



-- 
More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads.  One
path leads to despair and utter hopelessness.  The other to total
extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.
						 - Woody Allen
From: jeffj@yang.earlham.edu (ChaOs)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem: Song of the Battlefield
Date: 18 Nov 92 20:27:05 GMT
Organization: Honest John's Used Toaster Emporium

I wrote this poem back during the Gulf War.  I've always thought it should be
set to music, but never got anywhere writing a tune.  As always, C & C are
welcome.

Jeff (ChaOs) Johnston                             JeffJ@yang.earlham.edu




	Song of the Battlefield

From the war-torn skies descending
Through the smoke of the guns that have died
The vultures of battle are sending
A message that needs no reply.
They say that the war is to help us
They say we must kill to survive
But they turn on the ones who comply with their wishes
No reason to keep them alive.

By the thousands they force us to follow
Like lemmings, a march to the sea.
An ending in death, in barbarian hordes
We fall under the spell of their insanity
From above, the globe keeps on turning
From below, the world's at an end
And we've lost all sight of our purpose
Of the noble ideal we defend

And our sun-bleached bones bear witness
In the silence that no others can
There is nothing as inhumane as a human
There is no animal as dangerous as a man.
From: v134pfzd@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (dan(n))
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: anti-haiku
Date: 20 Nov 92 15:20:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41



love lied in our weave
(Change "a" to "'" and proceed)
we've lied in our love



                -dan coffey

"Nothing is nothing." -peter hammill
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tringg@rs6420.ecs.rpi.edu (George Joseph Tringali)
Subject: ..we can be loud...
Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, NY
Date: Tue, 24 Nov 1992 01:23:30 GMT


   glossy white off glass bottle
   light reflection
   wipe away memory
   like the whiskey wet on my lips
   the bottle has no contents
   with it went
   that weekend
   turbulent, extreme on cold night
   young boys crying, crying see me
   come - do me
   come - hear me - we can be loud
   but sound waves fade
   no matter how loud
   as the bottle empties into our minds


--- Jake  12/23/92









Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Subject: Revision of Stable (c&c still welcome)
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Sun, 15 Nov 1992 15:10:32 GMT

Stable Configuration

Secure in muscled arms, I dream of green,
That glows from deep-set eyes.  My own are wet.
We try to lie, to hide our hearts, and yet,
Our passion stands revealed in salty sheen.

Without your touch, I find that we are lost.
The stationary point that we revolve
Around.  Yours was the strength and firm resolve
Among the splendor of our lightnings tossed.

So we whirl within our reckless dance;
Our arms and legs entwined, our lips match lips.
But missing are your hands, your breasts, your hips;
So cold futility in every glance.

We told you go, so far and free to roam.
We were so wrong.  Forgive us, love, come home.

*****

M.A. Mohanraj
November 12, 1992


-- 
More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads.  One
path leads to despair and utter hopelessness.  The other to total
extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.
						 - Woody Allen
From: stuart@jahangir.UUCP (Stuart)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Stimpee's Deep Thoughts II     -Stimpee
Date: 20 Nov 92 18:28:51 GMT
Organization: MDC, NYC

In article <1992Nov20.013647.35631@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu> mas4@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (MICHAEL ANTHONY STRAUSS) writes:
>Sometimes I like to stick a hamster up my ass.  Soon It suffocates and dies.
>When he dies, he has convulsions.  It gives me a boner.
>
>-Stimpee

Must suffer from SPACE MADNESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 





-- 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"No sir I don't like it!" -- Mr. Horse
Stuart Blavatnik			Stuart@Jahangir.uunet.uu.net
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Sun, 15 Nov 1992 22:35:37 GMT
Subject: Re: constructive criticism for Doug and Dinosauria
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

In rec.arts.poems, nikolay@husc8.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev) writes:

> daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
> 
> > I certainly think that if improving beginning poets is the goal, Niko's
>                                                                    ^^^^^^
> > critiques are worthless.
> 
> Hah, you are a flippant minor flibbertigibbet, aren't you, Doug?

Perhaps I am.  Perhaps I am.  Still, it was a term of endearment.
You needn't get upset.

doug
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,alt.romance
From: sakata@uhunix.uhcc.Hawaii.Edu (Henry Sakata)
Subject: Untitled
Organization: University of Hawaii
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 04:41:11 GMT


                                   (Untitled)

                            I am the candle
                            That stands in darkness
                            Waiting for someone
                            To light the flame
                            For when I am lit
                            I radiate warmth
                            And bring light
                            To one's needs
                            But like all flames
                            Can be extinguished
                            With a simple breath
                            From one's lips
                            Then I stand in darkness
                            Lifeless and cold
                            To the world around
                            And each time the flame
                            Is lit and extinguised
                            I grow shorter
                            Till I can be
                            Lit no more
                            So the flame brings
                            Life and purpose
                            But it burns the most
                            When it is blown out

                                     --h.n.sakata
                                       november 22, 1992
                                       copyright (c) 1992
                                       ref. hspm0030
                                       (comments and critiques welcomed)

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Briefly
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Fri, 20 Nov 92 17:40:59 GMT


                                Briefly

                        Briefly
                        since I have not much time
                        in which to secure from you
                        absolute independence
                        of character
                        yours
                        not mine
                        and if you do not understand this
                        take it lightly
                        on your arm
                        that it may wear you
                        like a dear pet
                        in your wandering through the paths
                        endless
                        of life.




-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Danny-Boy)
Subject: Will Met in Mutton, thrid praat
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1992 19:49:37 GMT


Don sends his regards and is trapped in net syrup.
He continues:

Subject: Well-Met in Manhattan, part 3
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 92 14:27:51 EST


(cont'd)

THWACK!!  Kate had utter mastery over her bullwhip.  It sizzled like a
frying snake in her expert hand.  The tip seemed sentient as it floated
deadly above me.  I had to think fast, since I'd only planned on dying once
in this decade.

	"Darling, I realize that I made a small mistake..."
THWACK!!
	"A big mistake...a terribly big mistake, but it was just a simple
oversight on my part, nothing to be concerned about.  Really, it's just a
hop skip and a jump away."

	"Where are we going, anyway?" asked John, which distracted Kate
from the punishment at hand.
	I pointed out a dense amber luminescence somewhere near Central Park's 
East Side.  "We need to follow that yellow thick glow," I instructed. 
	So the four of us skipped along, somewhat worried about muggers and
hustlers and bums.  That's when we heard the roaring sound.

GR_R_R_R_OOOOWWWL

It sounded kind of husky, like Christopher Lee with a sore throat.  Kate
once again unsnapped her bullwhip.  I pushed her and John in front of
Sheila and me.

	"What are you doing?" demanded Kate.
	"Don't worry, you're safe!  It's the O'Tooles that he's after!"

GRRRROO__WWWL

And sure enough I saw a glinting pate that could only signify one thing:
the silver beanie of Cardinal Mark Taranto.  I fainted into Lily's arms.


more later...
-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: nikolay@husc10.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: young critic/Gurgling Bog
Date: 23 Nov 92 02:22:52 GMT
Organization: The Kremlin Wall of Harvard
In-reply-to: jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu's message of 18 Nov 92 14:46:17 EST

jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu writes:

> In article <NIKOLAY.92Nov16232036@husc11.harvard.edu>, 
nikolay@husc11.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev) writes:

PN
>> the poet meets no one of any worth, loses his notion of good taste,
>> irreparably loosens the formerly desired standards, and blends
>> naturally into the gurgling bog of the faceless rest.>

JAB
> The gurgling bog of the facless rest?

> 		The Gurgling Bog of the Facless Rest

> 	I know this place, it is 		the gurgling bog of
> the facless rest 		the gurgling bog 		the
> gurgling, gurgling bog 		of the faceless, faceless
> rest.

> 	The rest!  		Rue lest of the gurgling dog.
> Do god!  Do God!  Amongst do frogs!  		The dog of gob part of
> the raceless, faceless pests.

> 	I am in god 		the gurgling god, the burgling
> gurgling god.  		faceless among the rest
> the faceless pests, the raceless fest 		the faceless,
> raceless guests.

> 	Surely you jest 		Shirley you rest upon the bog
> of gurgling, gurgling dogs 		among the reckless, feckless
> best 		Who rise above the rest.

> 	A mob 		steep, in the murgling glob 		deep,
> in the burgling throb 		the hurtling, gurbling grob.


This is funny stuff. But curiously, the source of inspiration
is dual here, while Jean Ann only cites one half of it at the 
beginning of her posting. Here is the second, more crucial half.
(It took me a couple of days to dig up my Norton from under
piles of other books).
	
		OUR BOG IS DOOD
		by Stevie Smith

		Our Bog is dood, our Bog is dood,
		They lisped in accents mild,
		But when I asked them to explain,
		They grew a little wild.
		How do you know your Bog is dood,
		My darling little child?

		We know because we wish it so
		That is enough, they cried,
		And straight within each infant eye
		Stood up the flame of pride,
		And if you do not think it so
		You shall be crucified.

		Then tell me, darling little ones,
		What's dood, suppose Bog is?
		Just what we think, the answer came,
		Just what we think it is.
		They bowed their heads. Our Bog is ours
		And we are wholly his.

		But when they raised him up again
		They had forgotten me
		Each one upon each other glared
		In pride and misery
		For what was dood, and what their Bog
		They never could agree.

		Oh sweet it was to leave them then,
		And sweeter not to see,
		And sweetest of all to walk alone
		Beside the encroaching sea,
		The sea that soon should drown them all,
		That never yet drowned me.

(Parenthetically: indeed, drown them all, sea.) Well, is this
what you had in mind, Jean Ann?

> Jean Ann Bolliger
> November 18, 1992

Philip Nikolayev
nikolay@husc.harvard.edu
From: gj156879@alfred.carleton.ca ( gj student 156879)
Subject: Cotton Candy Hell
Organization: Carleton University
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 1992 19:50:14 GMT

(I have no title for this, if anyone wants to throw C&C at me, by all
means, do so.)
 
          Sodomized by the jelly-bean dragon
          sick blobs of sugar under my skin
          circus worker
          child molester
          breathes gummi bear flame
          has a big red nose
          (it honks
           when you touch it)
          Everyone loves that scally clown
          "So big and friendly
                    and so good with children!"
From: cceager@emory.edu (Claire C. Eager)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: test1
Date: 23 Nov 92 06:16:08 GMT
Organization: Emory University, Atlanta, GA
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL3

This is only a test.
From: zeleny@husc10.harvard.edu (Michael Zeleny)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Another version of "artifacts" / Natalie
Date: 23 Nov 92 05:18:02 GMT
Article-I.D.: husc3.1992Nov23.001803.17716
Organization: The Phallogocentric Cabal

In article <1992Nov22.191927.1326156@sue.cc.uregina.ca>
PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Natalie) writes:

>In <1992Nov22.004301.17681@husc3.harvard.edu> 
>zeleny@husc10.harvard.edu writes:

>(poems removed to save bandwidth)

N:
>>>			-Natalie (I like verbs :-) / November 21, 1992

MZ:
>>You also like wishful thinking and the pathetic fallacy.

>>Hi there, Phil.  Give hell to those douchebags for me!

>>cordially,
>>mikhail zeleny@husc.harvard.edu
>>"Le cul des femmes est monotone comme l'esprit des hommes."

N:
>Despite your puerile comment, I feel compelled to respond....

Do try to practice self-restraint next time.

N:
>What "wishful thinking and pathetic fallacy" are you referring to?  Is it
>beyond your capacity to believe that this image and what it represents are an
>entirely possible scenario?   I take it that you think there is no way a woman
>could gleefully fuck all night, enjoy it and be appreciated by her lover...  Or
>that she could end up marrying that lover, have two kids with him, and still be
>fucking him gleefully after 12 years....  Nah.  that's just impossible! ;-)

"Pathetic fallacy" is a common term of art referring to an abnormal state
of mind, in which one fancies that inanimate objects, like condoms, are
manifesting human qualities.  "Wishful thinking" refers to the idiotic
delusion that writing can convey the quality of experience by quantifying
it.  Am I making myself clear, or should I use smaller words to aid your
faltering comprehension?

>-Natalie
>(To Steph:  thanks for the comments on the need for less vulgarity in the
>depiction/description of sex. Well said!  Sex is not vulgar. But some of 
>the people who practice it certainly are....;-)
>
>
>-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>(prowse@meena.cc.uregina.ca   |	"I wonder if you think about me,
>		              |	 Once upon a time, in your wildest dreams."
>			      |					-Moody Blues

cordially,
mikhail zeleny@husc.harvard.edu
"Le cul des femmes est monotone comme l'esprit des hommes."
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Danny-Boy)
Subject: bunch of traditional concerns.
Summary: same ol' same ol'
Keywords: damn economy. metaphor. assumptions, choices of. war.
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Sun, 22 Nov 1992 22:07:04 GMT


pouring water into clay cups
and why clay cups
how like a uterus, each meaning, like a baby
sticks in the webs of fingers
under your fingernails too
if it is like my mind then it is very fun because
have you ever made a pinch pot?
prepare the clay
Slap! Slap! Slap!

Joy. I love it.
so mushy. 
It is soft when you add the right water and Johnson and Lakoff say we
think sentences and words are containers at times (no, some other guy
they are quoting, oops!)
what are the sentences for containers?

Here are some of the metaphors they talk about -
(and my o my don't they have a grand definition of metaphor! (wow))
ARGUMENT IS WAR
TIME IS MONEY
I've worried about these for a while. 
win defend
what? is everything a war! (yes, to hear us talk)
(J and L didn't go over what war is a metaphor for. i asked matt, What is
not a metaphor? all of a sudden, everything was. He guessed (said, actually)
that something wasn't a metaphor if it was not connected to anything else.)

I'll read J&L's books and sigh very dark.
(dark is deep)
time is money, money is a commodity, time is a commodity.
damn. bothers me.
It feels like the human race fixates on the paradigm implied in 'resources'
or 'economy' and this choice is part of evil.
(how in the world...)
Also, again and again
Why all of the assumptions behind (<-- look! catch it before it gets
away! an assumption) words (see! a metaphor. a word is an object with a shadow)?
I want to pick my assumptions. I don't trust them.
How do I find all of the implied things. If I had a list...
I can look at it and decide, not have everything planned out just by
the way I talk.
-30-

I sigh. it is because, things like everything turn into metaphors.
happens when I read the book. It is baffling to happen so fast,
I will be reading, and all of a sudden I have to pause and think
of pottery. dammit. dame confusing.
of alternatives.

all of a sudden <-- what nonsence.

damn commodity! damn economy to hell!

-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: alk4@ellis.uchicago.edu (Alex L. Karan)
Subject: Gesundheit
Reply-To: alk4@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1992 19:35:58 GMT

Its nice, while armor is dented all around, just to take a breath
and plop down a poem in the middle of "no man's land"


Gesundheit
----------



A sneeze 
in the midst of benediction
is a sacred yes.

Enough proofread prayers;
it takes a mistake 
to transcend word to world,
or a miracle.

An angel with a runny nose
descends, offering a tissue.

Then we see.




Alex L. Karan

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Red in the dawn
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 92 21:54:55 GMT


                              Red in the dawn

                Rising over a planet red in the dawn
                not like the other
                blue one
                before
                I climb the sandstone cliffs' orange hue
                bright soft
                heart's joy and wonder
                no words except
                "How wonderful!"



-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems