HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: perching look Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Date: 16 Oct 92 15:31:57 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

I hereby post the following creation of the delicious Carol Watson, who is
currently unable to post.

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

wrath of an irish woman

it was late saturday night
and a bald-headed beauty
poured her feelings in song
then in sardonic cermony
shredded a sacred portrait

as those in direct witness fell silent
far way, once-young church boys in newfoundland wept
in recollection of the horrid memories
and the lingering aftertaste
of the bitter apple of sodom


- Carol
watson@hg.uleth.ca

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

I like this trend.  We definitely need more Sinead O'Connor poetry in this
place.

Yours, 
Posthumous
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Forever Untitled (Rolana's Song) *feedback please*
Date: 15 Oct 92 13:26:34 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

Posthumous shall comment:


In article <1992Oct14.180624.7658@iscsvax.uni.edu> pirillo2044@iscsvax.uni.edu writes:
>
>                            FOREVER UNTITLED
>                            (Rolana's Song)

Posthumous likes the title, but not the subtitle, but he does like the
name.

[poem deleted to save space]

I will grant you this:  you rhymed without being too awkward.  That's more
than most will achieve.  The content, however, is pretty predictable.

>                                        -- Chris Pirillo

>        "So what did you think of it.  This poem was written two years ago, and
>    since then has been converted into a sweet-sounding song.  

It would probably work as a song.  It would probably be a very good song.

>        "I'm one of the last romantics, and if there's a girl out there looking
>    for love... I've got plenty of it to give."

I used to think I was a romantic, too.  Tell me this, Christopher:  Do you
have love for the girl you haven't seen?  Are you as romantic as that?  A
true romantic has love for the girl he's never met and he knows nothing
about.  Otherwise, there are thousands like you in high schools and
colleges all over the USA.  There are also thousands of poets.  The only
thing that will distinguish you are the poems you write.  So please,
continue to write and post.

>                                   Until next time,

>                                   Christopher J. Pirillo
>                                   THE LOCKER GNOME

                                    Until next time,

                                    Posthumous A. O'Toole
                                    THE POETRY GNOME


-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska)
Subject: Re: e-Dada haiku #6,5,4,3,2,1
Keywords: e-Dada haiku
Reply-To: frank@IASTATE.EDU (Frank A Poduska)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Fri, 16 Oct 1992 17:14:05 GMT

In article <1992Oct14.195957.19789@cbfsb.cb.att.com>,
colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope) writes:
>                       e-Dada haiku #6, et alia

This has been an interesting experiment (to which I gladly contributed), 
but which, sad to say, has been a disappointing failure. Six haiku of
perfect form, constructed of original phrases, interesting words -
and utterly empty.  I doubt that it is possible to take the limited
material available and give these haiku any real depth.  My suggestion
is to stop posting them.

--
Frank Poduska                 frank@iastate.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon)
Subject: Re: My Obsession! with TIME...
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1992 14:13:07 GMT

Time! Change yourself.
you squalling child
I'll move no more
to pick up the second you toss
like a peevish kid's toy.


(please pardon while I wonder if "squalling" is a word or if it is
spelled correctly. Please also pardon while I suffer this plague of
barren writing.)
(please pardon while I share my favorite phobio, precipitated
by reading words in rec.arts.books having to do with fish:
theonto-ichthyo-phobia. (I always wonder if everything is in the correct
case. genitive? for theo?)
This is supposed to mean fear of god being a fish. But I've probably
made up the wrong words.)
-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Christian Dylan Losinger)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: it rains a lot
Date: 16 Oct 92 19:15:23 GMT
Reply-To: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology


	rain poem #(n-1)...

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

	today feels like England
	Thomas Hardy could have written this day
	the usual blue sky with 1st grade puffy clouds
	is now serious , moral , grey
	and a temperature-less misty rain falls straight down
	into thinly chorused puddles 

	i am a bird today
	my purple and blue and red shirt
	flopping paisley about me in silk
	glows in the grey
	walking past heavy trees which exhale the green smell of rain 

	i am today alive and singular in the grey 
	walking oblivious in the empty streets
	smiling in the rain

	i am an alive, thinking place 
	for raindrops to land upon
	instead of the cold apathetic street 
	
	today is not gloomy or miserable
	come outside with me and feel what it is like
	to be awake and aware 
	free to swing your arms
	to look into the rain
	(so small it feels internal) 
	to feel ten feet tall
	with your eyes closed 
	smiling 
        --------------------------------------------------------------
        	c  h  r  i  s   l  o  s  i  n  g  e  r   r  i  t 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: maufm@warwick.ac.uk (Mark)
Subject: Quagmire.
Organization: Computing Services, Warwick University, UK
Date: Thu, 8 Oct 1992 03:02:14 GMT


'Quagmire' or 'White songs, pure as silk'.

	~~~~
Speaking : Her, of 'The Massacre', fortold
Heralded, singular, turbulent, shadowed Black wabbit
Envoy with carrot written scriptural forwarning
Indicates all revelations, flowing breaking habits.

	~~~~
From endless burrows of purification
For eons of timeless time
Bringing convulsing meditation, forces the
Bright eyes within her shrine.

	~~~~
Songs from those all soon deceased
Carnage, her murders lacking purest provocation
Of all fate, incisors, instantly chuckle
Nights twisting, distorts ghostly flesh, retribution.	

	~~~~
Amongst the scarlet bunnys    
Temptation is so great
Ended, your pale life
Deep within their fate.

	~~~~

'..chomping at the bit..'
'..hindsight is always 20 20..'
	-Talk show folk.

'..sharpening the axe..'
'..looking back, it's still a bit fuzzy..'
	-Big Dave, 'Sweating Bullets', Megadeth.	 
 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: poem - fuck
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 1992 03:35:13 GMT

fuck! i tried to send you a message and i couldn't reach you..
why so anonymous?...i liked your "small" poem and thought you'd
might like to know....:-)

sls

--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
From: tpl@eng.cam.ac.uk (Tim Love)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: A Change in the Weather
Date: 15 Oct 92 14:34:34 GMT
Organization: cam.eng

A Change in the Weather

My heart, it is a weathercock
That turned for you through sun and rain.
Now you have gone, yet still I watch
The clouds blow and I turn again,

always glancing back from whence you came --
Without your forwarding address I feel
More dazed with each seducing hand 
That spins its chance upon my wheel.

Though if on some dark, lonesome night
You think of me all by myself,
Please don't ask me if I want the winds to change,
Just wet your finger and stick it up yourself.




Tim Love 1991
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Subject: Poem:  Adulteress (comments welcome)
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 1992 17:57:02 GMT

~

Adulteress

They speak of her with forbidden glee,
Revelling in wickedness,
In abandon they won't allow to prim and proper lives.

She flirts openly with her lovers, so they say,
Providing fuel for the gossips
While her husband seems to smile in a haze, oblivious.

And while they marvel at her deceptions,
Priding themselves on their ability to see through it all,
To the rotten core within her,

She laughs at them silently.
For every smile, every caress, every hinted, veiled glance is itself a
lie,
And she is the most faithful of wives, to a trusting and beloved man.

Yet even he is snared in her web of deceptions,
Spun without need, without reason, without conscious choice,
Thiking he knows her utterly.

But she finds freedom in her lies.
None know the naked truth behind her masks of shadow,
The trembling vulnerable silence of her mind.

*****

M.A. Mohanraj
September 21, 1992
-- 
The autumn leaves are falling like rain.
Although my neighbors are all barbarians,
And you, you are a thousand miles away,
There are always two cups at my table.		 - A T'ang Dynasty poem
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: thomasfh@edb.tih.no (Thomas Fjaestad Hagelien,o92b)
Subject: Re: My Obsession! with TIME...
Posting-Front-End: Winix Conference v 92.05.15  1.20 (running under MS-Windows)
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1992 17:20:10 GMT

In article <1992Oct13.112822.18174@cam.compserv.utas.edu.au>, psgoh@pieman.compserv.utas.edu.au (Goh) writes:


>
>My obsession! with TIME...
>========================
>
>TIME! - so elusive,
>	time of before
>	time of after
>	  Slipping by, never to be seen.
>TIME! - one of endless change,
>	time to regret
>	time for joyful memories
>	  Where have they been.
>
>TIME! - makes and builds history,
>	time, so eternal
>	time, yet so perpetual
>	  Moving forever, swift and fast.
>TIME! - to remember and cherish,
>	is time in the present
>	and time to come in the future
>	  Together with time felt of the past.
>
>	Yes - TIME!;
>	           through the beginning
>			will again begin at the
>	          		END.....
>
>(13/10/92)
>

How true, how true. I really enjoyed the end of your poem:
                  through the beginning
			will again begin at the
	          		END.....
That confused me for a little while.(for just a short TIME). he he..
But I really don't have TIME for this.
Have a good TIME and enjoy them poems.

___
/homas Hagelien

From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Thu, 15 Oct 1992 15:42:26 GMT
Subject: Re: perching look Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

In rec.arts.poems, sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon) writes:

> 
> Doug and Don bickering like quer...ulous cats. 
> >)Have a care O'Toole 
> >)or this just might lead
> >)to a duel.
> >)
> >I fear not thy miscreant hands.
> 
> 
> (I'll be yaw's second.)

I would be sufficiently honored if you would see to it that
these fellows do not gamble for my clothing once they
have made me their sacrifice.

> 
> (You silly gentelmen! you perturbatious scoundrels!

Words of higher praise have never been uttered my-directionward.
I thank you for your kindness.

> stop this petty fighting. 

Sheila, it is pretty fighting, not petty fighting.
The defendor and I fight for aesthetic effect.

> Fight for something more than vanity.

All is vanity, no?

> 
> (oh Sure - you say it is honor. pfah!))

No, you were correct the first time, it was vanity.
But have a care woman, lest you get pulled into the
eternal fray as well.  It is not so easy to avoid
as you might think, and even my future crucifiction
at the hand of certain seditious O'Tooles will not
stop the battle.  

> 
> (spelling?)

Yes please.


doug
From: colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope)
Subject: e-Dada haiku #5
Keywords: e-Dada haiku
Organization: AT&T
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 1992 18:21:59 GMT



                      e-Dada haiku #5
                      ---------------


                      rustic withered leaves
                      topmost greenleaf  dapples gold
                      rich coffee parade




collaborative poets:
--------------------
line 1: frank@iastate.edu    Frank Poduska
line 2: connorm@Sonoma.EDU (Michelle Connor)
line 3: jtw@acpfs.att.com (jack thomas weres)

---
please submit any e-Dada 5 or 7 syllable haiku lines to the address below
---

c         _     m         
 o        \\     i        
  l      ((\\     c      
   o      (\___    r      
    s      ||       o                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
     s  ========     s                      -=-=-   jack thomas weres   -=-=-
      a               c                       -=-=- jtw@acpfs.att.com -=-=-
       l               o                        -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
                        p                                  |||
                         e                                 |||
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: Re: kids/frozen yogurt mountain
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Distribution: na
Date: Fri, 16 Oct 1992 22:26:43 GMT


In article <1992Oct16.073205.613@cs.ucla.edu>, lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu
(Michael I. Lichter) writes:
> A friend of mine reads her 4.5 year-old daughter poetry each night
> before she sends her off to bed.  This has inspired me to try to
write
> some children's poetry.  I haven't exactly figured out what it means
to
> write children's poetry, unfortunately.  It seems that poetry for
kids
> needs to rhyme and really ought to have an interesting rhyme scheme.
> It probably doesn't have to be fantastic in nature (talking animals,
> fairy-tale places) but I suppose that would help.  What I'd like to
> strive for is poetry that addresses issues relevant to a contemporary
> child, as older nursery rhymes sort of did.  Relevant doesn't mean
> preachy, but ...  Following are a couple tries, the first of which is
> (I think) more successful than the second.
>                         [...poems deleted...]
> Anyway, I'd be interested in comments on (a) how to write stuff for
> kids, (b) your poems for kids, and (c) any really good poetry books
you
> know of for kids.
> 
> By the way, my friend's daughter's favorite is "The Owl and the
> Pussycat", which is really wonderful and I'd post it if I had the
text
> with me ...
> 
> Michael

Michael --  Have you never heard of Shel Silverstein?  How about 
John Gardner?

If you want to know what kids would like, why don't you try talking to 
some kids?  

I'm not sure that poetry for kids needs to rhyme.  I'm also not sure 
that it ought to be fantastic in nature.  It seems to me that some kids
would like this and others wouldn't.  It also seems to me that poetry
written "to order" (so to speak) is going to sound fake.  It would
probably
be a good idea to stop and remember what kind of stuff you liked to
read
when you were a kid, and try to write something that the kid (i.e. your
former self) would enjoy.

Marie Coffin
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Bard
Keywords: repost by request
Date: 11 Oct 92 19:36:20 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


BARD

A winter's Barb has pierced my heart,
  has made my soul of Frost;
my Eyes gleam dimmer in this frozen Dark
as Visions dance heedless from stone Lips.

Singer, some say, Seer...
  never Bard;
for I tell only may be, nor ever Story give
yet I still the Moth-beat of the Sight.

Ah, weary Traveler, come nigh,
  and hear the Hooves clack in my Head;
yours, the only Ears for this disclosure;
yours, the only Hand to hold this Light.

Singer, yes; some say Seer...
  never Bard;
for I am no Bard, my Friend, nor ever Poems preach,
yet I still the Moth-beat of the Sight.

-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
From: gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: as long as this is jello week
Date: 13 Oct 92 18:43:24 -0500
Organization: University of Northern Iowa

since we are commenting on jello
i feel compelled to say
that i have no cuddly warm nostalgic memories
of ground-up animal hooves
nor do nightmarish scenarios of monstrous blobs
sliding across homey checked tablecloths 
haunt my poemresponses.

the only thing i remember about jello
is that it became my father's horrid
dessert substitute
after we discovered he was diabetic
my mother bought awful generic, sugar-free gelatin
in flavors like raspberry and lemon
and pineapple
i remember tasting it, and feeling so sad
that my father had to move from chocolate ice cream
to another one of my mother's ideas.
-- 
********************************************************************************
*   carolee    *      *            *   "listen,for(out of all    *     *
 gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu   *  *  * things)dream is noone's fool"      *
 *                 *               *           *      __e.e. cummings *
*******************************************************************************
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: perching look Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Date: 16 Oct 92 15:27:19 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <280@uiunix.ui.org> donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:
>
>I am the Turtle.
>

I realize that this statement may be somewhat confusing to some rappers.
Perhaps it would help if I explained how I came to this revelation.  It all
began when I discovered the Oldest Extant Haiku:


      _      /      /o
     /o\    /\o    /==

     \|/    \|/    ///
      v      v     |::

     ___    ---
     |::    :::



Translation:

turtle shimmers green
unicorn shimmers crimson
please pass the Jell-O



If you'll note, this is Old Japanese.  It is quite clear that these
pictograms were written well before the Chinese influence on Japanese
writing.  You might be somewhat dubious about my translation, since it
includes something quite modern, namely Jell-O.  I thought this appropriate
since there is no translation available for that pictogram and whatever it
did represent must have had the same shimmering quality as Jell-O as well
as the same capacity for being put into molds.  Jell-O is obviously the
most appropriate modern equivalent.

The first thing I wondered upon finding this haiku was, What is this doing
inscribed in my basement wall?  From the blueprints I was able to decipher
that the builders of my Italian chalet imported the stone from Japan, but
that still didn't answer Why?  It turns out that the architect was Marlene
O'Toole, grand-niece of........Flashman O'Toole, the original O'Toole
Archivist!  Furthermore, she had full knowledge that I would be the next
occupant.  She was trying to tell me something.

The Unicorn reference was obviously Douglas.  The crimson color
specifically refers to blood, i.e. the blood of a martyr.  Note the drops
of blood dripping from a jagged wound in the pictogram.

That leaves the turtle.  I am the turtle.  Next, I must figure out the
implications of my turtle-ness.  Obviously, I have much work to do, but I
will keep you informed as best I can.


Yours,

Posthumous O'Toole 
Official Archivist
Defender of the Realm
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: and some seed fell on rocky ground
Organization: University of Minnesota
Distribution: rec
Date: Fri, 9 Oct 1992 04:39:13 GMT

nancy-

it is very nice work, and very sad... but i'm wondering if maybe
there isn't a way to play against the sadness more, so that it
becomes even sadder...i guess i want the voice in the poem to
have a stronger opinion about being barren, without telling us
the generalities, but by showing us the specifics (even more than
is already shown)...i guess i want the voice to become even more
intimate, more sensual, and maybe the "rocky ground" refrain gives
too much distance...i guess i like your poem an awful lot and want
to like it even more, any chance of a rewrite?

thoughtfully yours,

sls
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
From: msl4@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (MICHAEL SALVATORE LAIACONA)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Pale Shade
Date: 9 Oct 92 18:28:02 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University



    PALE SHADE

    Leisurely drive in the countryside,
    simple
    forgetting life for the moment,
    it was so easy.
    I was nothing but my relation to her
    and it did not matter,
    only to be with her - I did not matter,
    we use to drive on windy roads that i hoped would never end...

    Oh how I waste away!
    drowning in self-importance
    I can remember her, I can remember then
    it's all that's left
    (feel something damn it!)
    feel anything but her -
    let her go the way you always wanted to.

    I'm asking the birds to quiet their song
    for a moment
    so that my voice might whisper,
      such an arrogant thought.

      6-22-92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: shyamani@rtsg.mot.com (Nick Shyamani)
Subject: Modern Romance
Organization: Motorola Inc., Cellular Infrastructure Group
Date: Sun, 11 Oct 1992 11:48:25 GMT


   Hey, sorry about that last message, I think my
   rn editor burped. Hope this is a little more readable!


   Modern Romance
    --------------

  In a lineup at MacDonalds
  modern romance stands and waits,
  gives the order, pays the bill,
  then just walks away.

  Dinner candles spent;
  a forgotten formal dress,
  and a record spinning endlessly,
  misplaced the notes.
  A table, two chairs,
  precisely placed
  on patterned Oriental threads,
  meticulously sewn by hand,
  by a man
  who put his life into it.

  Surreal frame;
  Death lingers on the edges
  while mice gnaw at hardened food
  on French-fired plates
  And the 18th century clock,
  lingering on the wall
  waits to be aknowledged
  with hope and expectation
  by someone
  who thinks its important.

  The room,
  missing expression,
  loses form
  then slowly fades, slips away
  forgotten
  even by that lonely man
  who knitted his life away.


                 (c) Troy Tinnes  October 1992.


   Comments are welcome! I'm at a different e-mail address
   than what's posted at the top (Our machine doesn't have
   USENET but has e-mail). Please post to the address below.

  **************************************************************
  * Troy Tinnes            | tinnes@ocsc.nml.gss.mot.com       *
  * System Administrator   | Business: 81-6-586-3922           *
  * Nippon Motorola        | Home:     81-6-586-1619           *
  * Osaka Japan            | Peeves: manuals written by techies*
  **************************************************************

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems