HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: crystal@glia.biostr.washington.edu (crystal)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: L'Mirage
Date: 13 Apr 92 22:46:58 GMT
Organization: University of Washington


 
 
 
          L'Mirage
       
Sometimes I wonder if the person beside me
Perceives the same mirage that I do?
 
Does the light shimmer for you
The same as it does for me?
 
Or are we on different wavelengths,
Out of sync with the light?
 
Which of us is the before, the after,
Do we each lead, or flow in tandem?
 
Moving through this dream-like mist,
What hazy pastels do you see?
 
The warm colors of challenge and risk,
Or the coolness of safety and fear?
 
Or perhaps there are no pigments at all
And WE are transparent or translucent?
 
And if we peer inside these ethereal selves, 
Are we limitless spirits or worlds apart?.
 
Take my hand and touch your mind to mine.
What phantasm speaks out to you?
 
Do you perceive the hieroglyphics of intimacy,
Or merely detect the runes of reason?
 
Is the resonance you feel one of harmony,
Or do the vibrations clash in discord?
 
Look to the mirage again and tell me what you see -
Or are you uncomfortable with what you may discover?
 
Perhaps this illusion is placed here not for us
And its reality is not ours to view?
 
Shall we leave it be and return later
To see if it ever existed at all?
 
And if by chance we find it doesn't,
What shall we find in its place?
 
 
12-20-91
Crystal
From: sam@loral.cts.com (Sam Hallmark)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: greetings from coconino
Date: 8 Apr 92 22:00:28 GMT
Article-I.D.: loral.1992Apr8.220028.7228
Organization: Loral Instrumentation





                       greetings from coconino
                       ------------------------------------

                       navajo cop
                       caught us speeding
                       east of walpi.

                       could this be
                       offisa bull pup . . . 
                       no, he let us go.

                       blazing sun . . . rain
                       and hail
                       three times a day.

                       komik-kolored kayenta
                       by morning light 
                       krazy and ignatz are
                       nowhere in sight. 

                       beneath the monolithic
                       mittens   
                       i spent the night.

                       perhaps herriman was right . . .
                       after all.
                       it must be something i'm
                       reading into
                       it.


                            Sam Hallmark
                            26 April 1987
                            Monument Valley



         p.s. a special thanks to Yvette from utah, your kind words
              in response to my first post were most appreciated . . .
              so, how are things out in canyonlands ?
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: leoncioe@ppc.ubc.ca (leoncio estevez-reyes)
Subject: twenty second
Keywords: In Scientia Veritas
Reply-To: leoncioe@ppc.ubc.ca (leoncio estevez-reyes)
Organization: UBC Pulp & Paper Centre
Date: Tue, 7 Apr 1992 21:17:25 GMT

	In Scientia Veritas
			(to the hole in my chest where
			 it used to be a heart)


You let me slide my tongue
between your thighs
so you could prove
that there's no love,
but a reaction
of moist membranes
and eager hormones.

You let me lick your breasts
and pinch both nipples
so you could prove
that there's no joy
but sudden bursts
of wild impulses 
running through your synapses.

You made a point of 
demonstrating that there's
no gasp, no moan, no noise,
no pleasure ripple nor contraction
that can not be
explained in terms 
of muscles, bones, sinew and energy.

Now that you've left
my bed forever,
I can not help
but wonder who
will help me explain
how is that pain
survives embedded
 in my aminoacids.
From: eep1cs@EE.Surrey.Ac.UK (Carl Sutton)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Giverney
Date: 11 Apr 92 15:32:33 GMT
Organization: University of Surrey, Guildford, England

I haven't posted a poem before, but anyway, I hope you like it?
Richmond park is in London.

Giverney; given away.
---------------------

Loneliness follows me with an evil gait.
Is it not a sad and bitter irony
that yesterday I wrote for you a love song
while today, I write you a sad farewell.

"I'm sorry", you said,
"but I'm off to Richmond Park."
and so you were, but in that instant,
I heard your unsaid words, as well..

Once a squirrel did come and run up to me,
climbed upon my knee and it was such a thrill...

Between two railways, a rabbit lived
and I saw her sitting, serene in the summer sun.
How I loved that rabbit, as I watched her run,
like flashing inspiration, her white tail winked at me.

Profusely productive, viciously deductive,
sublimely obstructive, seductive, destructive.
Contagious!
Your subtle disease ate my soul; ate it blind away.

And I dreamt of orange flowers, last year
and this year they did come, and I watched them grow.
But now, I watch them burn and turn dark brown,
beheaded, every one.

"It's just like a painting, by Monet", you said,
and it was just like that, like The Gardens at Giverney
but now with the dust of ages, like you and I,
the picture faded and did pass away.

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

Any comments?
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Chien)
Subject: flowers flowers (the rantings of a madwoman) (ver.2)
Organization: DSG, Stanford University, CA 94305, USA
Distribution: rec.arts.poems
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 92 01:19:11 GMT


	I've rewritten this poem to give a better feeling of what I was
trying to convey.  Not sure if it works, but I'd like to sharpen this up
and do something with it (maybe send it somewhere).  Any input is greatly
appreciated, thanks....  A few questions (not necessary to anwer these
particulars): is the focus too loose?  what images work, what don't?  does
it drag, if so, where?  and anything else you want to say....
(the original follows the revised version.)




flowers flowers
(petals
  tiny
  water
falls)
sultry desert winds
(121o Fahrenheit)
roast skinless chickens
_zrkosdufhg_! (now struggle! noW!)
elementary school
[brick cememt brick
cement brick cement]
walls
feel (like a
lover-worn sock
the wooly wool
threadballs itchy
itch toes)
the InSeCURitY (ten-thousand-
toothed knotted hide-lives 
monster) YEEK YEEk!
Stop! the
(arthritic midnight mist
dampens) synovial pre-
Cambrian j o  i  n   t   s

         world
	revolves
      me center not!
       me around
        all wor-
	  ld
live Right   Down
      Up     Left
(rollerride careen--!
strains against white
steel tracks)
-- 70mph upbound (sunshine)
120mph falling (soil)
tumble dry high

	 ora
	nge s
	 sun
     (no ozone
     burns
     skin)
       muck uck yuck clouds
   clouds  clouds   clouds clouds
 clouds clouds clouds	clouds
      clouds   clouds
colorbook (recycled tan skies-paper)
avec monochrome crayons
	!La joie de Vivre!
Grab (mine mine SNATCH "fuck you!")
before it's

gone
(hehehe)
!pour la commedienne, telephone
	 #1-900-69-42-000!

Monet Monet Monet Monet Monet Monet
o	    (sun)		  M
n     --s h  a t  t  e  r   !	  o
e    tiffany windows  	  	  r
t    serrated arms		  t
       (better than tv		  e
M	miracle knife)--		  
o           (sky)		  M
n      (woman		          o
e             child)		  n
t  (dirt grass)			  e
Monet Monet Monet Monet Monet Monet

	grocery shopping
(rotisserie chicken your kin!
   paper?  or plastic?
(X-press Ln. 10 sacrificial
   lambs (or less)

  flowers
(hearts tin
 y pussi
   es)u
    ns
    t
    e
    m

(get plastic)
flowers


-------------------
(version 1)

flowers flowers

flowers
feeling warm now (temporary)
no zrkosdufhg (mad panic) familiar feeling
insecurity (yes old ten-thousand-
toothed monster) yeek yeek --
Wait
can't continue long
when world gets used
to me and life starts up
down again
now
short
period of
solitary zrkosdufhg
not so bad
en realite.
(smile)

the orange sun (no ozone) burns skin
better than muck uck yuck clouds
colorbooking life avec monochrome crayons
et la joie de vivre
Grab before it's

gone
(rinkling tinkling giggles)
before you're mad
art deco art deco art deco
1. smash glass windows
2. scar arms length-wise
3. when reaching to stars
the red slashes serve as a becons
calling alien life to
4. witness your madness
(hehehe)
flowers flowers

flowers
die

5. (get plastic)
flowers





Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ahawks@isis.cs.du.edu (andy)
Subject: -
Organization: Nyx, Public Access Unix at U. of Denver Math/CS dept.
Distribution: usa
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 92 04:30:51 GMT

untitled

forging a reason
changing the seasons
through the window paine
window shame

passing through time
awaiting some sign
out the window paine
wind and rain

death in my sights
daydreaming lives
beyond the window paine
wind of pain

blessing disguised
accepting my lies
inside the window paine
window insane

--


ahawks@isis.cs.du.edu						andy

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: glj27240@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu (the cult of Carrie )
Subject: Re: The Business of Poetry
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Fri, 10 Apr 1992 13:37:18 GMT

rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin) writes:

>Incidentally, open The Making of the Pre' by Francis Ponge (U Missouri 1979)
>to page 82-83 and tell me where i can get a copy of that painting.
>I want one for my office.

you might also want to put one of Watteau's _Gilles_ right next to it.
to the discerning eye, the affinity may necessitate some imagination,
or poor eyesight, but if we can not take liberty with art, then with
what can we?  
-- 
							 
                                                  the cult of Carrie
From: blosser_cy@lrc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: nomad's song (prose)
Date: 15 Apr 92 00:13:04 GMT
Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC

nomad's song

i know not where i'm going--i have no set goal or destination. 
i am a wanderer, a nomad, a vagabond;
traveling this temporal realm, 
living out a mortal existence,
in a universe of benign indifference.
i have no home to call my own, 
no humble abode where i might seek shelter from the elements
and security from those who might do me harm.
the ground is my bed, a stone my pillow.
i have water to quench my thirst, and fire to warm myself.
i eat what the soil yields to me,
the benevolent sacrifice of the ground.
i accept these offerings with a thankful heart,
and have no want--for i dwell in comfort,
taking pleasure in the gifts of nature,
nestled in the womb of mother earth.

still, the night is cold, 
the air is biting,
and i hear the wolves howling at the moon,
their resounding cry echoing in the canyons,
how many times have we, like they, petitioned the sky?
sought comfort in futile prayers, fabricated myths and elaborate lies?
how arrogant we must be, to claim knowledge of what cannot be known,
do we dare to name one who cannot be named?

and there are times when i withdraw inside myself,
into an empty void as vast as the world without,
a vacant loneliness which threatens to engulf my very soul,
where i am scared, 
and frustrated,
and confused,
where certainty and conviction are stripped away
and my frail, wretched humanity lies exposed to the howling wind of eternity
and even then i crave the companionship of another.

walk with me, draw close, let us talk, 
and tell each other of ourselves and our lives
let us live, and love, and share ourselves,
that we might know each other,
as far as we are able,
for in the end, we are but passing strangers.

--christopher

(comments, criticisms, critiques & flames welcome)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: n2412@cray.com (Joe Green)
Subject: Re: Poem--Grand Idea
Organization: Cray Research, Inc.
Date: 9 Apr 92 16:10:46 CDT

In article <702756895.0@mdf.FidoNet> Ralph.Cherubini@f10.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org (Ralph Cherubini) writes:
>                                  Grand Idea
>
> 
>
>The idea of rocks overrun by water,
>
>for millenia,
>
>for Billions of Years,
>
>is too much for me,
>
>here a waterfall born each moment,
>
>memory of nothing,
>
>where was I,
>
>the happiness of babies and my mother-in-law
>
>can't remember more than the last minute,
>
>her joy--everything new!
>
>If you hold my hand in sweetness now,
>
>consequence of elephantine memory
>
>a billion years hence?
>
>it is beyond me,
>
>and I will not reach out my mind...
>
> 
>
>
> * Origin: Connect America #4, Austin, Tx, 512-459-3351 (1:382/10.0)
>

As an example here is Ralph Cheubini's poem (wonderful name).  He
like many posting patiently and with no public acknowledgement.
This poem a sweet poem.  I want to know whoever could write this.
Looks like the usual thing but avoids cliche with a directness
and seriousness of tone -- and there is a certain lilting and
joyfulness.  His poem about the static on the TV set as memorial
achieves a lot of depth.

But no public comments and still posting -- again like many --
and again perhaps worth more because of this than for example
my stuff with its self-reflexive vaingloriousness.

Or consider the eagles of the field.  No response to criticism
but more poetry.  And why not?  This is the economy of the gift.
More than a little nobility shown also.  A noble bird.
--
From: rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Animal Grammar
Date: 15 Apr 92 22:46:44 GMT
Article-I.D.: alice.22589
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories, Murray Hill NJ



>can appeal to their own intuitions. So far, my intuition's telling me
>that the observed differences in human language and animal
>communication are so vast that they occupy different levels of
>comprehension. Of course, if you'd like to show me an animal that
>can discuss an abstract concept, I'm more than willing to be
>convinced :-).

Abstract Concepts.

My Doberman brings over a toy, say a frisbee, to my chair while
I absently work, pounds me in the knee with it and looks expectantly.

My feeling is, this is a word to her.  Something grasped, something
grasped by it.

Say I tell her that I'm busy, she'll lie down and put down the frisbee,
get up after a few minutes and carry the thing into the next room.

She comes back with a tennis ball, and the procedure slowly repeats
with successive toys until I take a break and we go out.

So toy in that context has to do with ``going out together.''
(She often doesn't want to play with the toy out there, and she
does insist that I go out with her.)

Other times, at night when I read, she comes over with a tennis ball and
just mouths it standing near my knee, obviously talking about how round
the tennis ball is and how wet its pelt gets, if it still has one.

We can talk about that. I say ``You've got your tennis ball, you've
got your tennis ball,'' and take it from her gently and give it back
repeatedly.  She mouths it more intensely then, responding to my
appreciation.

This is clearly a conversation to her, and I keep thinking of the
meanings of grasping and its kin.

When we're outside, and not doing formal exercises, she'll make
sentences, carrying as many toys at once as she can and trotting
around delightedly.  I name each toy she has, and she prances
even more.

If I've been typing for a long time, sometimes I'll find her lying
in the next room sleeping with her head surrounded by frisbee, tennis
balls, tug toys, footballs, and so forth, that seem to me like ideas
near her head.  She's gathered them there waiting for me
to finish.

Are toys ideas?  Have I erroneously taken objects near her head
to be like the ideas of them that I carry in my head?  That would
be a metaphor, taking one thing for another.  Perhaps precisely
what my Doberman has done.

Taking one thing for another.
From: sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (sheila)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: here's lookin at U
Date: 10 Apr 92 03:56:39 GMT
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin, Austin TX

In article <1992Apr6.150446.565@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu> jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu writes:
>HEY
>
>all of you all way ... HAPPY  writing HAPPY

etc
>Here's one to the side of your head.
>
>ja

don't begrudge people their happiness. it is very
difficult to come buy. my initial reaction to your
words is to flame you and say, "i hope you wern't
referring to me fucker..etc blah blah" but that
would be silly. so i'll post a funny poem i wrote
in high school a few years ago. funny because it's
so pathetically angstful. anyway, it's definitly 
a different pace than what i've posted lately:

Spider

I scream I yell I pull out skin with hair.
this cage is iron sheets embedded in my
skull.
wet clay humid against my skin.

around and round the spider spins
from head down.
first my mind
		Can't think.
then my eyes
ears
		I'm suffocating.
nose
		I can't speak.
mouth

The white sticky silk membrane
seals my head
decomposing in its
bone-vault pouch.
		I am your daughter

the end. at any rate. please don't begrudge me my fucking
happiness, jerk. i've changed a lot. i hope my poetry is
more subtle now. idunno. 
-- 
stark raving sane -- sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu
From: denelsbe@washington.cs.unc.edu (Kevin Denelsbeck)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Hitchhiking
Date: 16 Apr 92 01:23:58 GMT



		Hitchhiking

	Let us undertake a fantasy quest.
	First, we ought to find some soft spongy earth
	(that the sun can't bake).  But let's go at night,
	And walk on dark ground in eldritch moonlight,
	Feeling the enchantment of this new birth.
	We will walk among people scantily dressed
	And know public scantiness is unwrong.
	We will hear the song that heroes sing ere dawn
	As they themselves start their own journeys out;
	Following them, ninjas (in corduroys)
	Can no longer hurt (they make too much noise)
	And we take in the scene with little doubt
	That ev'ryone's safe.  We must be getting on.
	The sky is hued off-blue
		-- grey clouds -- distant crowds --
		-- more things to do --
				we must move along.

---------
Kev @ UNC
4/15/92
-- 
Kev @ UNC (denelsbe@cs.unc.edu)

	We demand... 40 million helicopters, and a dollar!
				-- Gen. Chow, _Dinosaurs_
From: leat-a@minster.york.ac.uk
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Alternative Views
Date: 9 Apr 92 14:21:23 GMT
Organization: Department of Computer Science, University of York, England


			Alternative Views
			=================


	I took you to the opera
	We saw the Berlin Wall
	Tell me did you ever
	Really care for me at all?

	
	You took me to the theatre
	We climbed the Eiffel Tower
	I'm so glad you were there
	For me in my darkest hour.



		Linus E.A. Twizell
From: crystal@glia.biostr.washington.edu (crystal)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Two Lonely Planets
Date: 17 Apr 92 03:36:56 GMT
Organization: University of Washington

In <1992Apr15.071512.5417@ecst.csuchico.edu> klaw@ecst.csuchico.edu (Almighty Nodens the Master of the Elder Sign) 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 
>and moon) (I know there's a word for that but don't remember), and that lends
>to a metaphor of human lonliness and like emotions much of which I find
>in the bulk of my poetry (dark emotions) and also in the bulk of poetry 
>that I find appealing. I personnaly find it difficult to write nature type
>poetry and what I do write or would write would probably come off in a like 
>manner, or at least I hope it would come off as good as this poem.

>			-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.


>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
> klaw@ecst.cscihp.csuchico.edu is Jason Livingston
>				  305 Ash #1				
>			 	  Chico, Ca 95928                            
>------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>                               	 .PEACE.
>                                *   *   *
>			      *     *     *
>			     *      *      *
>			     *      *      *
>                             *    * * *    *
>			      *  *  *  *  *
>				*   *   *
>				   ***
I *think* the word you are looking for is: anthropomorphism???

>				     
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: n2412@cray.com (Joe Green)
Subject: Re: melancholy
Organization: Cray Research, Inc.
Date: 9 Apr 92 11:46:11 CDT

In article <1992Apr9.094258.3617@hemlock.cray.com> n2412@cray.com (Joe Green) writes:
>In article <1992Apr7.170803.25388@cs.mcgill.ca> eagle@binkley.cs.mcgill.ca writes:
>>Melancholy
>>----------
>> 
>>A teaspoon lies on the road
>>smashed flat by a cement truck.
>>A window is open
>>but nobody looks out.
>>Perhaps that is why no one
>>puts up a ladder and elopes with
>>the one who isn't looking out -
>>or has it already happened?
>>In a fit of ladderlessness
>>I pick up the teaspoon.
>>Oh how flat it has become!
>
>One hopes that the teaspoon is a metaphor for the monotonous instress
>of words posing for you as they strut down the platform.  This stuff
>very fashionable and as interesting as Alexandra Mussolini faking
>a strip tease.
>
> 
>put your tongue in the ear of the Countess from Monaco.   
>-- 

But still you write interesting poems and have not been overpraised.
Perhaps the little spoon is your Napalm/Vietnam/Cocktail Party poem
and I was driving the cement truck.  What a pleasant thought.
I am a memeber of a kind of literary Good Sam club (we are called
the "O'Tooles") and we drive our Winnebagos and Harleys (with
cute sidecars) over the literay highway.  We find something that
needs to be run over, we do it.  Our hemmorhoids are killing us.
We find a ladderless poet wanting the ladder to find the beloved,
we point to all the little princes stuck in the thorns outside
the window of the sleeping beauty.  We point out the the golden-haired
girl in typical slumber is ideology.  We are bored a lot of the time.
But, along the road, sometimes there is Ariadne hitching in the
rain.  We don't stop.  



--
From: dfs30@duts.ccc.amdahl.com (Denise Solis)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Help!  I'm bein' repressed!!
Date: 14 Apr 92 18:08:35 GMT
Reply-To: dfs30@DUTS.ccc.amdahl.com (Denise)
Organization: Amdahl Corporation, Sunnyvale CA

In article <9204141518.AA20077@ucbvax.Berkeley.EDU> SMTP@UMCVMB.MISSOURI.EDU writes:
>
>You came here
>To lay the blame          I knew I shouldn't have posted
>Of my ancestors           talk about repression. It was not personally
>At my feet                written to you. As I said before the poem
>To glofify thyself        my response was nothing more than my thoughts.
>In a gown of white        As far as the "you came here" comment, I've
>Repressionbeen            been a part of this group a long time.
>                          Your comments are a direct attack on my writing
>Our fathers fought        as misunderstood as they are.
>And did wrong
>To each other      <------- Your opinion. I don't feel my ancestors did
>To themselves               any wrong in defending their lives.
>You carry on  <---------|   And I DON'T feel you have any blame.
>The wrong they left     |   My poem was a comment on you word "PRIDE"
>When they died          |__ By the way look around. The native people
>                            in this country are still suffering.
>I came here
>Where fate left me
>A empty parchment
>On which
>You have no right
>To write the story<------- I have EVERY right to write. I gave you
>Of my ancestors                no ownership or blame. You took it quite
>And call it mine               personal. It was meant only as MY OPINION.
>
>                  If you plan to post publicaly get use to opossing views
>  PGL - 4/14/92   I won't censor my writings for anyone. Feel free not to
                   read them.               Denise


--
=========================================================================
  All poetry posted is Copyright protected, anything else is just talk.
  "Tis true; theres magic in the web of it." dfs30@DUTS.ccc.amdahl.com
=========================================================================