HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: marsi@oz.plymouth.edu (Marsi Wisniewski)
Subject: Jitters
Reply-To: marsi@oz.plymouth.edu (Marsi Wisniewski)
Organization: Plymouth State College - Plymouth, N.H.
Date: Thu, 1 Oct 92 04:08:25 GMT

Nervous, she rises before dawn.
She looks in the mirror,
And smiles that secret smile.
Soon, her mother and sister arrive
To help her prepare.
The sevice is simple.
Her father leads the way
To where her love stands.
As she says her vows,
Her legs feel weak.
When they exchange rings,
Her hands slightly shake.
She kisses her new husband
With newly found confidence
And the union is made.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: kkr42091@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu (QUEEN ZENOBIA!)
Subject: Poem- dedicated to a slain friend
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1992 04:44:46 GMT

The numbess creeps over me,
paralyzing me with sadness.
A void occupies my
head,
pulsating as memories of you
rush back in and out.
In many ways,
the numbness controls me,
not letting me mourn
you.
I go about my everyday
duties,
a smile plastered on my face,
just as though you
hadn't 
disappeared from my world,
although you still occupy
my heart.


-kimberli roan
kkr42091@uxa.cso.uiuc.edu

please respond in email because i dont often get to read the newsgroups.
thanks
From: gilligan6855@iscsvax.uni.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: eyesblinkluck : after e.e. cummings
Date: 30 Sep 92 13:02:18 -0500
Organization: University of Northern Iowa

thin  frail  cat
                er
                  pill
 hairs
 cree             p
      for
th     on     
           bro  wn   sau
                     cer
                      s
    wi
th                    sma
                         l
                          lblack
 cent
  er                  s
 c    i     r    c    l    e
the   in
                      sect
                      s
           mee
              t     mid
                    way
     &
       kis            s

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: kyrsten@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Kyrsten Swazey)
Subject: The Celestial Swing
Organization: NASA Ames Research Center
Date: Wed, 7 Oct 1992 00:03:11 GMT


Easy sighs, they wander by
Impulse buys
             and sleepless nights
Vistic views slip beyond my sight
Awaken in fright
With eyes open wide

The air is so thin 
And i can't remember where i've been

A distant call
Urges me to fall
But still i cling 
While i can't feel anything
My fingertips sting

And my head wants to explode
My values slowly erode
While reality corrodes

Rainstorms crash through the night
But nothing changes forever
Only the resevoirs

Slowly creep full
Following the stars'
Cyclical pull

Mankind stumbles and maimes
And yet nothing truly changes

                                    _XTC_
comments?...
From: csmcm@ux1.cts.eiu.edu (Mary C. McDaniel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Raising Lazarus
Date: 2 Oct 92 19:46:52 GMT
Article-I.D.: ux1.1992Oct02.194652.12874
Organization: Eastern Illinois University



Raising Lazarus, 1632, 1642     

Who better than Rembrandt
to show us how Christ stands, his back turned,
shadows thickening behind him
as he slits the dark with his upstretched hand,
orders Lazarus back to the body
as if-- with all these strings attached--
the living world is better than limbo,
as if being dragged old and scatter-witted
into an ocean of white 
is an improvement over wandering some dim basement, 
alone, intact, getting nowhere only because
there is no where to go.  You see,
Rembrandt insists, shaking his plump fist
until the paint flies, even with chiaroscuro
the scene is never black and white.
No wonder the onlookers tremble and gasp.
No wonder we are not allowed
to see the Savior's face.

Let ten years pass, 
and the artist will unlearn his own story.  
The creditors are at his door,
his squalling child is not appeased
by a back at an easel, and Saskia, though dead,
cries out to him from a dozen portraits. 
Only now does he offer the human angle, 
Christ's raised arm a gentle horizontal, 
his round nose and puffy eyes 
made less surprising when we follow his gaze,
caught midway between Lazarus 
and the kneeling woman to his left.  Saskia?  
Or is the resemblence merely
a trick that light and line play 
on wishful minds?  
What we know for certain 
is that it is *she* who commands
the riser's attention, not Christ, not the whiteness
that pours out of the castle-- or fortress-- 
above the tomb and buoys Lazarus up 
to the focal point of our expectancy:  
What now, Rembrandt? Should your subject
convince himself that he is still Lazarus,
invent a simple stroke and join a woman on the shore
who may not even want him to make the attempt?
Should he lie back and wait 
for the ocean to recede, knowing that refusal 
is eternal, and a warm thigh 
the only example of grace on earth?
What sort of Savior offers human beings opportunities 
to choose?  What sort of artist 
presents us all these vagaries for error, 
reduces us to onlookers in search of single answers, 
curious, mildly disbelieving,
and oh so sure we'll never have to know?

10-2-92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: ode to the x-acto(r) knife
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Distribution: na
Date: Mon, 5 Oct 92 07:57:58 GMT


		ode to the x-acto(r) knife
		----------------------------------------------------------

		precious knife
		there is none like unto you

		you fit neatly into my hand
		weapon of creation beyond compare

		you cut cleanly through the
		nonsense that hides in my soul

		you reveal the essential in the
		non-essential, paring waste from heart

		you apply yourself with pride
		where others dull and break away

		you cut cleanly through the
		nonsense that hides in my soul

		precious knife
		there is none like unto you

				Michael Lichter
				October 5, 1992
				By My Blade
From: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Christian Dylan Losinger)
Subject: ee cummings poem. 
Reply-To: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Tue, 6 Oct 1992 14:08:41 GMT


	i like my body when it is with your
	body. It is so quite new a thing.
	Muscles better and nerves more.
	i like your body. i like what it does,	
	i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
	of your body and its bones, and the trembling
	-firm-smooth ness and which i will
	again and again and again
	kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
	i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
	of your electric fur , and what-is-it comes
	over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

	and possibly i like the thrill

	of under me you so quite new 

			-ee cummings
--
				thinking of laura
				geograhically imposed celibacy
				sends my glands
				into a dizzying frenzy
				at times
        --------------------------------------------------------------
        	c  h  r  i  s   l  o  s  i  n  g  e  r   r  i  t
From: jmcbride@ccvax.ucd.ie
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Home truths
Date: 29 Sep 92 14:10:53 GMT
Organization: University College Dublin

Home Truths         james p mc bride
===========

Half man,
Half beast.
Says most,
Does least.

What is it?
It's not an optician,
Therefore it must be
A politician.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon)
Subject: set sometime near Martin and the place there called road
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1992 15:28:03 GMT

part of the song Martin hears.


don't walk on the sidewalk
don't walk on the road
don't walk over the cement cars
or you will walk alone

you will be carried away
you will get carried away

swift on the road all alone
fast on a road all alone

There are ghosts that we see in the dark
There are ghosts with thin rigid lines
there are ghosts that we hear -
	only on the road
only with the wind behind


don't bask in the cement
don't play on the road
don't lose your voice like the automobile
or carry your whole life behind

after all it's a machine tooled lake
after it's for men
after all the wagons break
together we will begin

precision precise reside in a hut
precision precise eat brazil nut
precision okay read a math book
precision no way after we took
to the hills to study the plants

(We studied the plants - we sat around and thought. While we thought
our eyes happened to meet the grass while we stared for hours.)
(We sat where we stared for hours.)


author's note - I have a feeling that Martin remembers this song wrongly,
It seems she mixes up "automobile" and "road".
It's excusable considering that she had to walk on the the place there
called road to find this song following her.


I am always wrong and don't believe me ever.
-- 
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: beh@kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu (various Howellses)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: when you slept inside
Date: 6 Oct 92 21:40:36 GMT
Distribution: rec
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation


When you slept inside
the circle of my arms
I was a woman.

You came to me from far away
and called me beautiful.
I was a woman, not a girl,
when you slept inside the circle of my arms.

The nights were chill, then,
in the untimely seasons of warmth
and the life in the trees,
in the grass, in the bushes,
bloomed about us.
Ah!  I was alive
as I have never been alive.

Lilacs.
The scent of lilacs
lingers on my fingertips
where I caressed each blossom
after you had left.
Tears were the rain of
the lilacs in that spring.

It seemed an eternity
but was only three days
maybe less...
memory fades
even as it sharpens
to hold you clear-cut in framed
pictures,
each and every movement.

I see your golden eyes,
lion,
flying higher and higher
with each breath,
as you slept,
man-child
in the circle of my arms.

--Nancy Howells
(beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu through the good graces of my husband)



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ekankaan@kaira.hut.fi (Eero Kankaanp{{)
Subject: ideovideo
Keywords: bandwidth, waste, of, again
Organization: Toxic inc.
Date: Tue, 29 Sep 1992 02:07:30 GMT


   One more for and from the road
   brain squirming like a toad
   specialize it as having fun
   looking for the one with them
   muddied boots on
   who fired the gun.
   Now its Deguello again
   I hear it and my hands dont
   shake no more. 50$ gore.
   No Rio
   No Bravo. Allrights.
   Served well again
   Entertainment as
   allways. Is there
   more. Roger, ofcourse.
   And I'm off the course.
   Space ways.
   By Jupiter, here I come.
   
   
  "I am interested more in my own stupidity. Dont pour your intellect on me."
     -some wiseguy

.


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Christian Dylan Losinger)
Subject: A Wedding
Reply-To: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Fri, 2 Oct 1992 14:31:03 GMT


	In my effort to quit being serious, I've written many awful poems. This
set of limericks is one of the more forgettable :
                                                
	The Wedding, A Love Story in 4 Limericks
    
    	----------------------------------
    
    	a staggering beauty named fay
    	was an exceedingly aggressive lay	
    	she sctratched and bit
    	and chewed on the lip
    	of whomever she was bedding today
    
    	one day mad fay was bedding
    	a minister before a wedding
    	he cried oh lord jesus
    	as she fondled his weenus
    	there are some vows i'm fogetting
    
    	the wedding party was appalled
    	the bride and her mother balled
    	the groom and his brother
    	and any willing other
    	in the confessional stalls
    
    	exceedingly licentious fay
    	had herself a wonderful day
    	not only did she screw
    	the best man in the pew
    	but also the best girl, 69-way          
        --------------------------------------------------------------
        	c  h  r  i  s   l  o  s  i  n  g  e  r   r  i  t
From: ayoung@sumax.seattleu.edu (Angel of the Odd)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Waiting for the Rain
Date: 26 Sep 92 05:16:13 GMT
Organization: Seattle University, Seattle WA


I don't care if it rains--
I need the thorough cleansing.

Snuggled into the nape
of the earth, 
downy grass envelops
every curve.
All the while
clouds settle down
to kiss my face before
they smother me up
and drown me 
to sleep.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The Poet is like the prince of the clouds,    *  The Angel of the Odd
Who haunts the tempest and mocks the archer;  *  (Annette C. Young) 
Exiled on the earth in the midst of derision, *   
His giant wings keep him from walking.        * ayoung@sumax.seattleu.edu
  --Charles Baudelaire, "The Albatross"       *
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Anticlimax
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 92 14:37:38 GMT


                            Anticlimax

In my mailbox
this morning
I found an egg
like a chicken's egg
except green and round
not knowing
being concerned
I covered it warmly
and waited
a few minutes ago
it hatched quite without warning.
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Ever been to a Public Enemy concert?
Date: 26 Sep 92 08:27:13 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland

>
>BTW:  If anyone knows more about this phenomena and would care to explain it
>to me, I would love some comments!

I think you missed the point entirely. Why did you stand and
watch when you could have participated, burnt up your agression
and copped a few ripe bruises in the name of fun?

Here's my interpretation  -

    --------
Five pounds on the door
Spend the change on beer
"Fuck it I've got nothing more"
Is all I want to hear
'Cause your life is just like mine
I can see it in your tatts
Lets link our arms and thrash and kick
And sweat like sewer rats.
    --------

-/\/\/\/-
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: slightly parted
Date: 1 Oct 92 17:13:28 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=

	slightly parted
	you tell me this and that
	and that and this
	it's what I want to hear
	your breath on my near ear




-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: v072pygu@ubvmsd.cc.buffalo.edu (trespassersW.)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: hello
Date: 2 Oct 92 19:03:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41


                   met while shopping one day,
                    and they talked to the gills.

               Each man a prophet,  w
                  with a story to tell
           each with a pot-belly, and a peacock feathered hat
                -the kind to do thinking in.

          These men have spoken to the gods.
             They have seen kindness, and justice, and righteousness.

      Who knew?
From: zog@matt.ksu.ksu.edu (Scott Allen Bauer)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: FRIENDSHIP
Date: 26 Sep 1992 17:22:49 -0500
Organization: Kansas State University
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: matt.ksu.ksu.edu



Could someone please mail me any poems about 
friendship and trying to start a relationship between friends.
The emotional problems of loving a friend etc...

thanks.

Please mail me any responses at

zog@matt.ksu.ksu.edu

Thanks again in advance.
From: RMacMichael@cup.portal.com (Ryan - MacMichael)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: STANZA
Date: Tue, 29 Sep 92 16:23:22 PDT
Organization: The Portal System (TM)

Hi everyone...
 
I'm Ryan MacMichael from STANZA online poetry magazine, the free online
magazine distributed nationwide showcasing poets from all around.
 
I'll be back later with more info -- if you have any specific questions
you'd like answered right away, drop me a note.
 
 
... Ryan MacMichael
RMacMichael@cup.portal.com
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Haiku for Oct. 2nd
Date: 2 Oct 92 23:55:35 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA




		daffy wind-blown seed
		spins helicopter wildly
		out of mother's shade




   Cecil Williams   
   10/2/92
From: megazone@obsidian.WPI.EDU (MegaZone23)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Not A Love Sonnet
Date: 28 Sep 1992 06:57:15 GMT
Organization: WPI USAF -- United Society of Animation Fans
NNTP-Posting-Host: obsidian.wpi.edu

In article <1992Sep28.053054.5442@news.acns.nwu.edu> marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
>Would someone please second the motion that Sharon Hopkins writes wonderful
>stuff, and this piece is no exception?  It merits study.  (Hey, there might

Yes. I fully agree that Sharon writes wonderful works.

###############################################################################
# I have one prejudice, and that is against stupidity.  Use your mind, think! #
#Email megazone@wpi.wpi.edu  Moderator, WPI anime FTP site 130.215.24.1 /anime#
###############################################################################
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sheilah@wam.umd.edu (Sheila Herndon)
Subject: perching look Re: Creation of Urdu newsgroup
Organization: University of Maryland, College Park
Date: Mon, 5 Oct 1992 15:17:12 GMT

In article <260@uiunix.ui.org> donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:
>the initials r.a.p.u. are the same as my proposed newsgroup:
>	REC.ARTS.POEMS.UNICORNS


I suggest newsgroup rec.arts.poems.hummingbirds.perched.look
-- 
I am always wrong. Don't believe me ever.
stark raving sane  sheilah@wam.umd.edu
From: jqtaylor@hpdmd48.boi.hp.com (John Quill Taylor)
Date: Fri, 25 Sep 1992 18:06:15 GMT
Subject: footsteps
Organization: Hewlett Packard - Boise, ID
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems




                  footsteps

	  it wasn't the siren that awakened me
	  it was his footsteps
	  purposeful footsteps
	  a volunteer, perhaps?
	  
          not a run, but not a walk, either
	             footsteps
	  muted by fresh-fallen snow i had not seen -
	  no one had seen
	             footsteps 
          in the dark, morning snow.

	  


          i still remember the
	             footsteps
	  though half of my life has since passed.
	  i never saw his face
	  but i am certain i could recognize it -
	             footsteps
	  he went in a second time
	  looking for perhaps a brother or a sister (there was none)
	  and never came out - not alive.

	  it was a small fire (most of them are)
	  a little house burned to the ground -
	  lit up the town like a christmas tree
	  while the little boy watched his home 
	  flicker in his parent's eyes.
	  he will also remember -
	             footsteps.

                           -jqt -
From: sharon@netlabs.com (Sharon Hopkins)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: P.M. Poetry 3
Date: 2 Oct 92 16:50:49 GMT
Article-I.D.: netlabs.1992Oct2.165049.6568
Organization: NetLabs, Inc.
Originator: sharon@doctor.netlabs.com


	The scent of you is clinging to this room.
	I cannot turn my head to get away
	from knowing you have been here.  Every day
	it fades a little; cloth upon the loom
	fades thus in sunlight.  Soon, so very soon,
	you shall be gone, and not be found again
	no matter where I turn.  I think the pain
	will fade as quickly:  slowness is a boon
	for hearts too blind to keep account of time.
	Will this fade fast or slow?  I cannot tell:
	my brain is addled, trying still to smell
	what's long since faded.  In a warmer clime,
	I should have done the washing, and would know:
	that you are gone and gone, and will not go.


Sharon Hopkins
sharon@netlabs.com
October 2, 1992
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Fri, 2 Oct 1992 04:26:01 GMT
Subject: Re: Re: () -- ARITHMETIC / Marek
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

In rec.arts.poems, bob@netxcom.netx.com (Robert Thralls) writes:
> 393-47-9257 - and each as expendable as the next, "We took 12 percent 
> casualties...." - just what the hell is that supposed to mean to the loved 
> ones of 12 percent?

Daddy's been 86ed.  But he gave 110% so don't cry.  He went
the whole nine yards.

> >By the way:  it does too matter how many deer are in the forest;  if there
> >are too many, they will all starve, and if there are too few, they will 
> >become extinct.  Speaking of which, I will re-post my deer poem below.
> 
> Yes, this is what I meant, The entirity must be considered the only unit.
> But noone really has to count them. The have survived here long before
> deer tags were issued. People should know that death is not nice, and
> to make sport of it is disgusting.

Or that it just is.
Disgusting is completely subjective.

doug
From: mzaransk@ux4.cso.uiuc.edu (>> MR MOJO RISIN <<)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: are we?
Date: 30 Sep 92 23:43:15 GMT
Article-I.D.: news.BvF0K4.5MA
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana


 ***

 are we aware of our hands?
 our existence is a dry   
 beast of an extinct race
 loose in the fields
 of autumn grass
 the horizons  clowds crowd
 strange places perhaps faces
 lips of prophets studder
 on obscene prayers
 in the elder shadows
 of the ghostly woods
 & the forest fires' ll burn
 once again

	      by marcin zaranski <mzaransk>
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: A Sonnet at Richard Bear's request.
Date: 1 Oct 92 09:06:20 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

Here is a sonnet per Richard's request.  It is non sexist, non male,
non female.  I wrote it a long time ago once when I was locked out of
the house as a much younger person.  (I had lost my housekeys and
didn't have the moxy to break a window as my younger brother might have.)



          ON SEEING A TREE ONE WINTER'S DAY


          Naked, stripped of all its glory,
          Seeming lifeless; solemn, stark,
          Heralding an age-old story,
          Holding conference with the dark.
          Spreading branches grope for Heaven,
          Lost in blanket clouds of grey,
          Shifted now by silent breezes,
          As they ramble on their way.
          Seeming dead; it standing stares.
          A symbol lone of Majesty,
          Calling winter to a dare.
          "Destroy, if you can, my Liberty."
               Never dead, just free from care,
               Til once more Nature needs it there.


                                   Marguerite K.A. Petersen
                                   November, 1961

Kathleen O'Toole,
Bringer of Light
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Fog
Date: 5 Oct 92 21:13:00 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA







                                Foggy morning
                               pales the light
                             dim darkness lingers
                              for still a while
                              no sun will break
                            the clouds set thickly
                             upon us in the night
                                damp heavy air
                           all things dew covered
                               and I am coated
                            now against the cold
                              though yesterday
                               the sun was hot
                              today it's naught




  Cecil Williams   10/5/92
  ************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems