HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (sheila)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: what is important?
Date: 17 Apr 92 20:46:37 GMT
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin, Austin TX

In article <70494@ut-emx.uucp>
i wrote, and forgot a comma:

>after wondering what enlightenment is,
>there is none ,
>like we expect.


why do people have desires to learn 
and 
desire to have something to puzzle
over?
-- 
stark raving sane!   sheila@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu
From: ke_kimmell@vax.muskingum.edu (KRIA THE DARK)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Another Deep Haiku by Whak Handee
Date: 8 Apr 92 19:01:28 -0600
Organization: Muskingum College



Sockular Scents
---------------

My socks are quite foul.
 The aroma of sewage
Wafting through the air.


-----

	So, does imagery have its place in Haikus?
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: RE: 42
From: kupixel@oread.cc.ukans.edu
Date: 5 Apr 92 20:32:36 CST
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Serces

   i don't have the poem on hand with me, nor even who the author is.  but
i'd just like to say that i really like the last line:

	you didn't notice.

it struck me as perfect.

kupixel@oread.cc.ukans.edu
From: rkmorris@igc.org (Roger K. Morris)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: we1
Date: 6 Apr 92 03:50:00 GMT
Article-I.D.: igc.1447800005
Nf-ID: #N:cdp:1447800005:000:294
Nf-From: cdp.UUCP!rkmorris    Apr  5 20:50:00 1992


AAHHHH

WE!
  Wistful Entities that we are
  To have come here from afar
  Who fret and fray, Scorch and char
  These Pixels into a jar!

AAHHHH

WE!
  Wistful entities that we are
  Separating our thoughts with a spacebar
  Somehow hoping to break par
  As we traverse this shining star 
  *
From: stabosz@brahms.udel.edu (Rae Stabosz)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: re-post; please excuse if you saw already
Date: 11 Apr 92 02:34:01 GMT
Organization: University of Delaware

Ken tells me that he saw nothing but the subject line of my first
attempt to post this poem, so I will try again.  Gives me a chance
to tweak it, also.


Free Willie: Details at 11:00

Willie wants to kill himself
but hasn't got the nerve
so he curls up Chinese fortune fish style,
bedroom hidden, reading 
all his books twice,
drinking shots & doing lines
but for a coupla months now 'caine & alcohol
don't do it any more
so Willie thinks
I might as well just
marry the bitch

Willie has a flock of girls
in every line of business
who would sleep with him, get drugs for him,
be whorish, wife, or mommy
should he ask, but he never does
(except for the drugs) and Willie's plaintive cry is
"Women hate me"
Tell us another lie, sweet crooning baby

Willie tries to kill himself
but can't quite pull the trigger he
just drives too fast 
and drinks too much
and can't remember days'n'nights
he can't remember much
but he never crashes,
guardian angel hustling overtime for Willie Boy

Willie, pitiful loser is he?  No!
he holds a high position,
his employers near revere him
he's relied on, he's respected,
he's so much admired the expectation of it
pounds him, keeps him bed bound on the days
he calls in sick; they grow more frequent now,
the juggled balls will not stay in the air they drop & thud & fall
but he never crashes,
demons dragging overtime at Willie's heels 

Willie's not allowed in half
the houses of the ladies
he when sane calls friends
although it's babes he calls them
when he sees them on the street,
before he knows it's them he's lusting for

Willie's loved by all the men
he knows & he is trusted with their women
it's the ones he doesn't know who wonder
why their babes are spending time & money
on this drug addicted suicide
who's thrown away the every woman come his way

Where will Willie's days and nights end?
When will the balls crash down for good?
How will Willie die: exposed to the cutting light?

Metaphors & elegance will not suffice for Willie
for his life is not a subject for a distanced pen
when we on every second day
imagine that the bedroom floor
is messy with his brains
and though a headline on page 2
(a cover story if the news is slow)
is a fucking lousy elegy to
one more victim soulless times
gone spinning down the drain,
a host of impotent survivors
we will gather one last time
for Willie's sake, to
curse his stubborn soul,
should Willie will to do himself
tonight.
From: tordm@vana (Tord Malmgren)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Stones'n'Flowers under the Sun
Date: 11 Apr 92 10:08:05 GMT
Reply-To: tordm@vana
Organization: Dept. of Physics, University of Stockholm -- Sweden


 hokay, here's a little something I wrote once; it aint translated from
Swedish to English, so no confusions during translation...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I was walking in a desert
  not caring about my environment
      not caring for any grain in the sand
  Finding some stone now and then
          that was beautiful
               but put it back for someone else
                   someone else who might find
                   it more beautiful than I found
                   it
               Leaving it for someone who might
                       Love that stone
                            Love it, and find it
                       part of him
                       Love every bit of it
                            sharishing it
                            sharishing every moment
                            with it
          Nothing touched me -- like a sandshifter
                  lifting up stones and putting them
                          back again
          No stones can bloom under the Sun of
             Love -- my Love, and my Sun
Not even the brightest of all Suns ever
                       can make Stones bloom
                           bloom with beauty, life and Love
The Stones cannot bloom under my Sun
    Stones bloom in other deserts
           in other deserts
              where they are magnificant blooming
                             beautiful flowers
                                       flowers of Love
           in other deserts
              where other Suns shine
There 
      by the horizon
         a flower
      Probably a very beaufiul Stone
               but I set my direction for the Horizon
      I turn no Stones on my way
        don't turn
              nor look
        gripped by the flower's magic
                the magic gripping my mind
                    leading me direct to it
      I don't eat
        nor drink
            I don't want to lose it





---------------+--------------------------------
 Tord Malmgren | Internet: tordm@vand.physto.se | These opinions are my own,
               | BITnet  : TORDM@SESUF51.BITNET | and NOT of this department!
---------------+--------------------------------
 Department of Physics, University of Stockholm
From: crystal@glia.biostr.washington.edu (crystal)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: 12 Times a Charm
Date: 13 Apr 92 22:37:14 GMT
Organization: University of Washington


 
       Twelve Times' a Charm
 
Once upon a time
There was a time
When you had time
To give me time.
Now there is no time.
You won't take time
To make some time
To pass the time
With me this time.
I'd turn back time
In this trying time,
But I'm out of time.
 
2-9-92
Crystal
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: n2412@cray.com (Joe Green)
Subject: Re: tv commercial poem
Keywords: cher, tv, poem
Organization: Cray Research, Inc.
Date: 9 Apr 92 11:20:07 CDT

In article <1992Apr9.153015.19615@cbfsb.cb.att.com> colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope) writes:
>
>	tv commercial poem (nutraSweet)
>	-------------------------------
>
>SO
>  we were watching tv
>&
> we saw a commercial
>&
> i thought to myself
>
> "cher
>  you sound like a poeem"
>
>&
> what i am referring to ?
>
>
>"and my doctor said
>
> cher
>
>     you just gotta
>
> CHANGE
>      
>       your diet"
>
>
>                        Copyright 1992  Jack Thomas Weres                       
>                        All Rights Reserved.  Personal use copies okay.         
>

An ok poem.  But what is interesting in the copyright notice.  A lot
of the poetry posted here is copyrighted.  Some include the "personal
use copies ok" statement.  Copyrighted poetry.  Poetry as a commodity.
Why?  Cause this is what everything is -- even poetry.  

Why copyright?  So it is known that YOU wrote the poem and so that
all interest (material and "spiritual") accrue to you -- including the
attentions of the tubercular woman with the pierced nose and
the guy in the tweed suit with the sweaty palms?  Perhaps to make certain
that the fact of your poem is included on your resume?

So -- maybe the president will invite all you copyrighted poets
to a photo shoot on the White House lawn where he will pat your
meek heads.  I am his majesty's dog at Kew/Pray tell me sir whose
dog are you?

My muse is panting at the very bottom of Helicon right now.  She never
did get past the first little cabin on the lower slopes but -- if
anyone wishes all my poetry is available for their use.  Perhaps
you want the satisfaction of the immortality of the little journal
and can't get it.  Please adopt one of my poems as your own.  Maybe
this is just what is wanted.  

You should, however, contact me before you do this -- some are
being published here and there and we will have to wait for the
"rights" for the poem to revert to me before you can take it home.


There is enough (not all posted here) to make a little book.
Think of it -- your own book with a dedication (good for a lifetime
of gratitude) and your picture.  On rainy nights ten years from
now a cat locked in the garage of a fellow who used to wear leather
patches on his sportcoats but now wears old sweatshirts and worries
about his kidneys pisses on the only copy that has not been
remaindered.  Everything is so sad.
   


-- 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: krishna@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (Todd A Wardrope)
Subject: Re:  The two planets
Organization: Computing Services Division, University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Date: Wed, 15 Apr 1992 17:27:08 GMT

   Interesting talk about poetics and politics surfacing now and then on
thishere newsgroup.  But for all the talk of poetry saving the masses and
it's effect on our apocolyptic civilization, I ahve to wonder some things.
Why is the discussion being carried out in such an academic matter ?  I
don't think any of this name-dropping is going ot impress the average schlep
on the street.  Why don't you rephrase th eideas you have learne dabout in
your won words, and expand upon them ?  Marx is dead, you aren't.  (In a
relative sense of course...)  Why does th epoetry mentioned and written fall
into this inaccesible manner of speech ?  I don't think poets hiding in and
behind the veil of academia are doing much for humanity, it seems very
masterbutory, adn accomplishing little.
  In a related note, why no C&C on my stuff ? 
  later,
  todd


-- 
"You know something has got to happen soon,
  when you wake up feeling lost in your own room..."
                        -Soul Asylum
From: ktw@cbnewsb.cb.att.com (Ken Wolman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Glass Chorale
Date: 10 Apr 92 20:14:22 GMT
Article-I.D.: cbfsb.1992Apr10.201422.975
Organization: AT&T


 
      GLASS CHORALE
      (after William Kennedy)

      I dream of the music the dead can hear,
      and of their perfect language: its shaped tones,
      like a dampened ringing glass that sounds in air
      and memory long after the last touch.

      There is no clamor: no trumpet summons
      them to judgment: only a single note,
      sostenuto, on a fiddle.  And when
      it sounds, leaves shiver on the trees and blow
      across their stones.  And the dead listen and speak
      among themselves the perfect silence that is the breeze.

      I dream of myself as the fiddler at twilight,
      standing among the stones, in a cold rain,
      playing the lone note even I cannot hear:
      but knowing it is true and it is theirs,
      a summons to comfort, a call to unheard speech
      in the mortal glass chorale that rises in the rain.

Kenneth Wolman, 4/10/92
From: diqman@maple.circa.ufl.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Relics and Regrets in blue...
Date: 11 Apr 92 00:27:39 GMT
Reply-To: DIQMAN%oak.decnet@pine.circa.ufl.edu
Organization: The CIRCA Underground

Sorting out my closet, the immense piles
  of books, dirty laundry, and old letters
from a time grub-ridden with decay, I chance
  upon my high school diploma, many turnstiles
and ticket booths old. I forget my silly sweaters
		and mud-stained pants, reminiscing...

(Funny, how we are controlled by papers and parchment:
  Constitutions, old writings, the almighty dollar...)
This certificate, my immortal tableau,
  not of school, but of what that day in March meant,
the day I finally ventured to call her,
		fearing Fates fist would jab low.

Commencement came, my most pleasant surprise-
  balloons, students, relatives- and following instructions,
we arose, as the band started to play
  its last number, our arms entwined, and claimed our prize.
Though we stayed together for our last introductions,
		on that day we parted our ways.

I put back my keepsake, going to mow the lawn,
  saying past memories, deeds, heartbreaks don't matter,
lying to myself. So I never can see her 
  again; in China, men don't cry. It doesn't belong
in Confucian moderation, my life's pattern...
		yet still I shed the strong man's tear.

-Richard Hildebrand 4/8/92
another one for class... c+c more than welcome :c)
                DIQMAN claims to be: Richard Hildebrand
   	        Internet: DIQMAN%maple.decnet@pine.circa.ufl.edu
   	        Alias: His Eminence, the Honorable Reverend Diq B. Long
  	        Snail: 28-113 East Hall/ U of FLORIDA Gainesville,FL 32612
   
"The gentleman does not grieve that others fail to perceive his merits; rather,
his only concern is lest he should fail to recognize theirs. " -Confucius
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: squacken@zephyr.cair.du.edu (The Black Dreaming Unicorn)
Subject:  Last one of BlackMist stuff
Keywords: condolences
Organization: University of Denver
Date: Mon, 13 Apr 92 22:42:12 GMT

YIPPY>>>> The Very Last File OF BlackMist/my Poems
I hopy you liked all of them.. if not.. thats your loss:)
Well thank you for listening to me ramble on with all 
my poems... any comments/flames are welcome
thank you for your time and patients:)

ps. For those of you like Manne-ly who don't like
all my Unicorn Poems. I could care fucking less
they are my poems. and I don't give a shit what you have to say
about them manne-ly.
*******************************************


256)     *The closer you are the farther you are*

Sometimes you're so close
but yet so far away
thinking of another time
and dreaming of another day

I feel your presence next to me
But still you are not here
Eyes that seem so vacant
at a distant place you stare

In your arms you hold me
then forget that I am here
what thoughts trouble you
so that you don't know I'm here?

I break your train of thought
with a single tender touch
I remind you that I'm here
because I love you so much

No matter what you see
or where your thoughts will stray
Please don't forget me
When your so far away...

Time and time again
you drift away from me
Tell me what your thinking
and where you'd rather be...?
 
10:35pm 1/19/92

257)     *Close your eyes*
Close your eyes for a moment
tell me what you see
What is in the darknes
When you enter this place of Dreams..

Can you hear the angels
singing in the night.
can you see the fairies..
Dancing by the fire light.

What do you see in the darkness
the calm before the storm..?
Do you see your dreams..
As they are formed, and reborn..

Open your eyes again
 and depart this world of dreams
for with the coming of the light
 the sun puts forth its sparking sun beams..

1/19/92 11:00 pm

258)    *A lover leaves*
Wrap your arms around me
and hold me next to you
Kiss me so tenderly 
so I know our love it true.

On this day you'll leave me
And travel far away
And time will go so slowly
as I think of you every day

Each night will be so lonely
without you by my side
But I'll remember your lovely smile
every time the sun begins to rise.

Hours will I wait
by my telephone
for the day you'll call me
and say that you are home

So wrap your arms around me
and hold me close to you
and as you travel far from me
remember that I'll miss you

  1/20/92  BlackMist


260)    *Searching for Reality*

In my dreams I wander
I wonder what i search for
why I'm always hidding
and what I'm running towards..
Is it reality snapping at my heels
as I search for better things
A safer place, a warmer heart
that only time will bring..
 Or am I just wandering
Just to see what is out there...
 Looking for the things that could have been
 and things that never will...

262)         *Heaven full of Stars*

 as I stare out from my window..
 I see all the stars above...
 and the earth is covered in snow.
 as soft as the feathers of a dove...
 each world in its own..
 twinkle in the moon light..
 the crystal sparkles of the snow...
 and the stars shining in the twilight..
From: colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: tv commerical poem REBUTTAL
Keywords: cher,tv,poem,rebuttal
Date: 9 Apr 92 20:06:59 GMT
Organization: AT&T


thanX joe
you said it was an "ok poem"

you said "the copyright was interesting"
and 
   so
     lots of r.a.p. must have interesting copyrights
     cause that's where i derived it from

thanX joe
cause people got to see MY poem again
and hear YOUR criticism of

copyrighted-poets-have-such-fragile-egos-need-to-see-their-name-in-lights-
who-are-in-no-way-true-artists-because-they-do-not-create-art-for-the-
sake-of-art-and-bring-about-the-downfall-of-TRUE-poetry-because-of-their-
little-self-satisfying-motives-of-look-at-me-i-am-writing-poetry-which-it-
really-is-not-because-its-copyrighted-and-besides-who-cares-there-is-no-money-
in-it-anyway

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

one school of thought says that 
"artists reflect the society in which they live"
SO
  if a copyright is needed so that people know its my writing
  and that there are rights associated with it
THEN
    let it be
BECAUSE
       the MANY need protection from the FEW who would exploit (even poetry)
    



c         _     m         
 o        \\     i        
  l      ((\\     c      
   o      (\___    r      
    s      ||       o                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
     s  ========     s                      -=-  e-mail: att@acpfs!jtw  -=-=-
      a               c                       -=-=-  jack thomas weres  -=-
       l               o                        -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
                        p                                  |||
                         e                                 |||
From: crystal@glia.biostr.washington.edu (crystal)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Jigsaw
Date: 13 Apr 92 22:45:04 GMT
Organization: University of Washington


 
        Jigsaw
 
I pull my psyche's raincoat tightly
To protect me from the storm
Of jagged puzzle pieces 
Raining down upon my head.
 
And scattered all about my feet,
Are missing links and anagrams
Fluttering into my awareness
Like wind-blown leaves of autumn.
 
Riddles that once remained unsolved
Now have cryptic answers;
A jigsaw made of cross words;
I have only to break the code.
 
From the thunderheads passing over my life
Fall the conundrums that I need
To set the wheels in motion
And weaken the links in my chains.
 
If only I had the box lid to follow,
So I knew where all the pieces fit -
But I am on my own to re-create
The pattern that is me.
 
 
2-12-92
Crystal
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Mon, 13 Apr 1992 15:44:08 GMT
Subject: Re: The Business of Poetry
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

In rec.arts.poems, n2412@cray.com (Joe Green) writes:

> In article <22529@alice.att.com> rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin) writes:
> >
> Another banality is the banality imposed by the commodification
> of everything (including language).  This banality is a consequence
> of capitalism.  Adorno.  Gramsci. Marx.  The metaphor of the commodity
> is of a piece with the metaphor of apocalypse which is of a piece
> with the process of the Hegelian dialectic, which is of a piece
> with metaphors and myths imposed by patriarchy.

So I would ask what the mature individual does with the philosophy
of Marx given that, in the hands of its acolytes, it has
proven quite quite capable of slaughtering plenty of bodies.
I am not stupid enough to suggest that the behavoir of
acolytes negates the value of discourse, but Marxism seems
to have resulted on a lot of bloodletting.

> 
> We have inherited the values of a priestly and aristocratic
> culture bent on conquest, this culture modified and made more
> powerful by capitalism.  Adults in this culture are dominated
> by the ideologies necessary to reproduce this culture.  If
> an adult is someone who struggles to be free, then an adult
> is not a person who accepts these dominations.  The struggle
> against these dominations is not a "romantic" struggle in
> which a pure and deathless world is imagined -- it is
> a struggle against the nostalgia that imagines a world like this
> and sacrifices other bodies to achieve it for itself.

I would have to say that this sounds eminently reasonable to me.
What do we do to be mature individuals?

> 
> I am not fantasizing inexpressiveness.  There are millions of
> people who are not permitted to speak.  Any language they might
> have has been taken from them by their masters.  Your grammar
> of pain stuff is what you can chat about in the cruise ship
> lounge.   Your dark-skinned waiter doesn't want to listen to these
> marvelous chats.   

So ante up.  How do we give them a language?  How 
do they acquire this language?  What will be the
end result of this acquisition?  Will it be empowerment,
peace, and harmony, or will all the voices shouting
to be heard merely result in more carnage?

Or, in fact, will the end result be no change other
than that there will be more people in the world
talking and talking but being heard by none?

> Seems like the cant of phenomenology to me.  Better not to think of the
> world in terms like saved and unsaved and avoid being dominated by
> the old theology.  This seems to me just a restatement of the old theology
> -- the same longings still there.

Fair enough.  But then I wonder why I should be motivated to
care that groups other than the one I am in have no language?

doug
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (Luiza z niebieskimi oczami)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: because I felt like sharing.
Date: 10 Apr 92 15:38:42 GMT
Reply-To: zola@u.washington.edu
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle

From the notebooks of Samuel Taylor Coleridge:
[December 1803]

	What a beautiful Thing Urine is, in a Pot, brown yellow,
	transpicuous, the Image, diamond shaped of the candle in it,
	especially, as it now appeard, I have emptied the Snuffers
	into it, & the Snuff floating about, & painting all-shaped
	Shadows on the bottom.


_________________________________________________________________________
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@msel.unh.edu (Marek W Lugowski)
Subject: baby / Marek (1990)
Originator: marek@mermaid.msel.unh.edu
Organization: UNH Marine Systems Engineering Laboratory
Date: Wed, 8 Apr 1992 05:42:49 GMT

(c) 1990 Marek Lugowski.  All Rights Reserved, except personal use copy.

		baby
		--------------------------------------------------
		
		marek...  hi...
		it's me.
		
		yeah, i know...
		they all say that...
		we all say that.
		
		but it's...
		me...   really...
		
		marek?....  i.. think i want
		a baby.  yes...  you remember.
		we talked about it...
		back... when we... were still...
		a couple.
		
		marek?...
		i'm serious...  i know, i have not
		called in years...
		but...
		i think it's time.
		and i would like to... have that baby
		
		please.


			Marek W. Lugowski
			18 May 1990, near midnight
			Saddle Creek water alley, Monroe Lake, Indiana

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems