HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: dah@cveng121.veheng.det (Dewane A. Hall)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: ETERNAL LOVE
Date: 27 Jan 93 14:32:14 GMT
Reply-To: dah@cveng121.veheng.det
Organization: Sun Microsystems, Inc.


	FROM YOUR ETERNAL LOVE

I remember when you were like an acorn.
	All your true thoughts and feelings were 
	surrounded by a protective shield.

But Look at you now, you're like an oak tree.
	You've grown tall and reached new
	heights-exposed for all the world to see.


I remember when you were like a lump of coal.
	All of your secrets and fantasies were
	left in the dark but your beautiful eyes
	showed a hint of glow.

But Look at you now, you're like a diamond.
	Your love is transparent and your 
	principles are without flaw.   This is 
	why you're valuable to me.


I remember when you were like a tadpole.
	Not yet fully developed internally but
	but externally everything seemed to be
	in place.

But Look at you now, you're like a frog or toad.
	Leaping at every opportunity to advance
	but doing it with such agility and style.


I remember when you were like an oyster.
	It was almost as if you were trying to
	ignore me.  No words, no body language,
	no communication at all.

But Look at you now, you're like a pearl.
	Some may say that your growth was
	abnormal but you are very precious to me.

I am glad that I was able to be a part of your life.
Thanks for letting me witness this metamorphosis.

	by DAHCASS  1/26/93

Please C&C. Thanks.

-----------------------------------------------
If you don't know, you better ask somebody.
From: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: freudian slip   /  z.
Date: 24 Jan 1993 13:55:23 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Reply-To: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
NNTP-Posting-Host: hela.ins.cwru.edu



         freudian slip
     ______________________


         do you know
         that everytime
         i log into usenet
         i type

         go sue?

         it's true,
         your honor,
         it's true!

             ***

zita maria evensen
c1993, jan 24th

;)  c/c


--
From: X67107@BARILVM.BITNET
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: high speed addiction (revised) / Natalie
Date: 27 Jan 93 11:50:14 GMT
Organization: Bar-Ilan University Computing Center, Israel


In article <1993Jan26.042303.28586@cerberus.ulaval.ca>,
                      NAT@drao.nrc.ca (Natalie Prowse)
                                         does not say:
                                              ===
High Speed Homocide

Pale water-color blue sky.
Thin, washed out, cloudless, crisp.
A White-hot blisterinng gun
Sets the air sparkling.
Crystals of icy cynide
Dance, float, glitter
In peppermiscent effervescence.

The gentle swing of the chair
Never fails the anticipation.
Fear and Adreneline fuse
To form a powerful maladdiction.

A scene is played out below:
Colorless flashes and sanguinary slashes.
Terminal "Eeeeehhhs" rebound...
Among the naked concrete walls.

Tormentous skills are prominantly displayed.
   Moans and derisive laughter
             Greet a tangle of arms and legs
        Amidst a white explosion.

Drink in the panorama one last time.
One last drink the Devil will pay
For insanity strikes the heart of the contendors.

       burning thighs
       consumed in the icy wind.
       all is fire and icy pain burning.
         melts in one
            and flows
               controlled, yet free
                 in natural nutation
                 arms that beat like wings,
                 ready to embrace another sky.

Speedy was the drug.
Barely on the edge. on the verge.
Wind screamed exhilatation.
  FEEL the fear.
  Let it wash you
  And let it overwhelm.
Not tense, breathe sofltly and absorb
  The surge that flows
  Water and blood
  Like flames onthe water.
  Pure viscosity
And a headlong brush.

Scalp and skin
Like a hand lightly running
Down the curves of a lover's body
Never touching bone.

Then it's over
     In a blast.
 A high speed homocide
     Complete withmutilation
  Keep the trophies hidden
      Deep beneath the dark.


(Natalie / Jan 17-25, 1992)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H
                       Oren THE Laughing Magican
        LAUGHING DOES TICKLE THE SOUL, THERE IS NO BETTER REASON
=========================================================================
Organization: Central Michigan University
Date: Monday, 25 Jan 1993 20:04:10 EST
From: <347NGLA@CMUVM.CSV.CMICH.EDU>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: I could use some advise/comments!

I'm sorry to take up everyone's time but I've not really ever
written a poem, successfully and I was wondering if you could
look over this poem and let me know what you think.  I have to
hand it in soon, but all comments are appreciated - they'll
probably be bad, but, so, umm, here it is:

THE DARKNESS

I used to wonder if I was a bad person.
Did I ask to be punished this way?
Was I really that terrible?
I remember the darkness well,
I tried to fight it off, but I couldn't.
It choked me.
Constrained, I couldn't move.
I closed my eyes,
     the darkness wouldn't go away.
It surrounded, became familiar with my body
     tried to enrapture me.
The darkness had it's way
     held me prisoner
           I couldn't escape.
How long would this punishment last?
I tried to move,
     tried to breath,
though I remained silent from fear,
hating how my own breath echoed,
     in the darkness.
I cried,
     always,
hoping that the darkness wouldn't last long.
Suffocating,
     struggling for gasps of fresh air
praying that if I remained silent
     if I just cooperated,
the darkness wouldn't last long.
You see,
     when I was young,
I was locked in the darkness,
often,
     for being bad.



That's it, I really wouldn't call it a masterpiece NOTHING CLOSE,
but if there are any good ideas to help, I'd appreciate anything!
Thanks!!  Jon
From: dah@cveng121.veheng.det (Dewane A. Hall)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: More Roses
Date: 22 Jan 93 15:23:49 GMT
Reply-To: dah@cveng121.veheng.det
Organization: Sun Microsystems, Inc.


Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
It's been probably said
But not from me to you
That these three words will never be dead
Faith, Hope, and Love too

By DAHCASS 1/22/93
Organization: The American University - University Computing Center
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 11:39:31 EST
From: Patrick Barton <PB5329A@auvm.american.edu>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: love (untitled) c+c welcome

A sharp emotion
biting
caring
hurting
loving

Love is to me what it is to me, and me alone....

What do others know of my love?
Who are you to judge whom I love?

Of course you think I'm bitter...
But really I'm a lighthearted sort...

The beginning of this poem if farcical, a piece of crap!

Ohhhhh pleeeeeease, do you really think that I'm that bad a writer?
Do you really think that I believe what I write?

Aren't we all just hippocrites??

Sorry don't know what got a hold of me....

Thanks, have a nice day, and don't let the pigeons bite...


Patrick S. Barton    1/26/93

And if you liked that.....you're really demented!

Just kidding....=)

I love you all...even you Hubert....
(who the hell is hubert?)



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ekankaan@kaira.hut.fi (Eero Kankaanp{{)
Subject: t i bet no coffee
Organization: no sugar or milk
Date: Sun, 24 Jan 1993 05:00:58 GMT

.
.     
 I bet, pedaling through tibet,
 that beta-testing alphabet like
 my bed pet, like my pet would,
 would result in some
 serious beeping, so now my mouth
 wide open i'm aping.
From: boese@magenta.crayola.cs.psu.edu (Elizabeth S Boese)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Depressed
Date: 26 Jan 93 00:42:00 GMT
Organization: Penn State Computer Science

'Alone Along the Shore'
i was walking along the sandy shore
Empty thoughts to cover depression
Searching for shells
Yielding to the salty foam
No where left to turn
All alone along the shore.
The shore, an everlasting loop
Mimicing my endless thought
My endless depression.
As i hide from the sand of society
No where else to turn
All alone along the shore.
Ever-wishing for new directions
i can no longer stand alone
i hunger
i thirst
No where else to turn
All alone along the shore
i will not follow the sandprints before me     
But i lost the footprints beside me
Oh God i feel so alone!
All alone along the shore.
-ESB107@psuvm.psu.edu
-boese@crayola.cs.psu.edu
==================================================
-E.S.Boese
-Da KeyMaster
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Out to the World is Easier
Date: 26 Jan 93 17:07:30 GMT
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago

Out to the World is Easier

Shouting at the rally
somewhere in the middle I wanted to say
"We're here, we're queer,
actually, I'm not, I'm just an average
normal
heterosexual being civic-minded and helping out
my fellow humans
get used to it!"
as I huddled in March cold in the midst
of about fifty screaming people
wondering if anyone would recognize me.

Walking into the bisexual meeting
20 appraising eyes focused
ranking attributes
some speculating
on the possibility of getting laid.
But I wasn't really there, you see,
I'd just come along to show political support
a token straight.
(ignore the flush of heat at the calm gaze of
the woman in green with honey-gold hair swaying softly)

Lying in her arms I protested
soundlessly
I'm normal, really.
This is just normal experimenting
right?

I can't really be
queer...

But what will I say tomorrow night?

*****

M.A. Mohanraj
-- 
We may affirm absolutely that nothing great in the world has ever been
accomplished without passion.

					 - George Hegel
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: webdw@cbnews.cb.att.com (bruce.d.woods)
Subject: Re: Innaugural Poem Request
Organization: AT&T
Distribution: usa
Date: Thu, 21 Jan 1993 16:50:36 GMT

In article <C16BI9.4zp@news2.cis.umn.edu> Theresa Jarosz Alberti <sapphire@wings.micro.umn.edu> writes:
>I missed hearing the innaugural poem by Maya Angelou during today's
>festivities.  If anybody sees a copy of it somewhere, I'd love to read
>it!  Please print it here or email a copy to me (or both).

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who is The Panderer over all,
the one who even conned Mz. "Hill"?
Mirror says, "It is you King Bill."

Mirror, mirror on the floor,
who's this monotonic bore,
he pretending to be my pal?
Mirror says, "It's Tipper's Al."
>
>Thanks a lot!
>

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: NAT@drao.nrc.ca (Natalie Prowse)
Subject: my tooth hurts... / Natalie
Organization: Dominion Radio Astrophysical Observatory
Date: Thu, 28 Jan 1993 01:06:14 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.11


	my tooth hurts now, but it won't hurt forever
	---------------------------------------------------------------------

	deep in the heart of dixie
	deep in the heart of my tooth
	there is no root
	just a torturous, throbbing ache.
	it hurt before,
	but not this bad.
	he took the root today
	made a canal
	that boats can't float on.
	but he didn't finish.
	he ran out of time, or patience
	or tolerance 
	(to my intolerance to anesthetics)
	or had more patients.
	filled with 4 syllable antiseptics
	and white stuff
	it waits.  

	the pain is already starting to diminish.
	in time i will likely forget
	that i had this procedure.
	i will bite hard into life 
	and chew with raw enthusiasm. 

	but someday, 
	when we both have time, 
	he'll want to see me again
	so he can complete the process
	because he knows, that left unfinished,
	it can flare up
	and start to hurt.
	(so bad i can think of nothing else)
	he'll want to see me again
	and take away the pain for good.
	it may hurt
	the next time i see him
	but i know it's for the best.
	i know it needs to be done.
	it's all part of the cure.
	i am not afraid.

	for the present
	he has said to call him
	(even at home)
	if it starts to bother me
	and he'll do his best 
	to fix me up and make it right.
	in those words he earned 
	my respect and admiration.
	he's only my dentist
	but he can't stand to see me hurting,
	and know that he had some hand in it.


		-Natalie / January 27, 1993
From: bg@stein.u.washington.edu (Bill Whitson)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: poem
Date: 26 Jan 1993 01:55:50 GMT
Organization: University of Washington
NNTP-Posting-Host: stein.u.washington.edu


ATHEIST KINDERGARTNERS

The man in black
stands at the altar-
fire and brimstone
are his practiced look.
His voice thunders-
wave after wave
upon the worshippers,
reveling in the glory
and wisdom
of their hallowed icon.

And a small boy-
tears on his face,
sits straight on
the wooden bench.
Red mark on his hand
from his father's slap.
His small toy-
broken on the floor.

He does not believe,
does not care.
Gods mean nothing
to those without guilt.
He will never believe.
But for now-
he sits,
prayer book in hand.

All comments welcome!

copywrite and whatever is mine or first publisher's

Bill Whitson
bill@booster.u.washington.edu
bill@carson.u.washington.edu
From: dah@cveng121.veheng.det (Dewane A. Hall)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Ode to AT&T, Sunday Night
Date: 26 Jan 93 14:03:40 GMT
Reply-To: dah@cveng121.veheng.det
Organization: Sun Microsystems, Inc.


I have never read Dr. Seuss story Green Eggs and Ham (i Guess it's a story)
Can you post some of famous text for me. Thanks.

-------------------------
I guess I missed out or was left out but I would like to be included.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: zaphod@ctrg.rri.uwo.ca (Lance R. Bailey)
Subject: I do not end on column 67 (was Re: On Forbidden Lusts / Marek)
Reply-To: zaphod@ctrg.rri.uwo.ca
Organization: University of Western Ontario
Distribution: na
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 12:09:53 GMT

In article <1993Jan25.183752.20149@news.acns.nwu.edu> marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu  
(Marek Lugowski) writes:
>
>For those of you who might not know, a poem is tabbed two tab stops to the
>right and features a title, underlined with a line of hyphens extending to
>the 67th column, then separated from the main body by a blank line.
>Lower case is easier on the eyes.  Feel free to use the word fuck in a
>friendly, earnest way.
>
>Thank you and many blessings to you and your yogurt.

my first, i was inspired...


i do not end on column 67
----------------------------------------------------
		I do not end on column 67
		I stop somewhere 'round 55
		oh god, oh lord thats too few dashes
		with marek's rules i'm afraid it clashes.

	and now i've goofed, my pinky's lazy,
		It smacked the <tab> key only once.
			but careful math and hitting it thrice
		will mean it all averages out nice.

		at least i've kept to lowercase,
		to be much easier on the EYES.
		oh fuck, i slipped. and i dismay,
		that wasn't a friendly, earnest way.

		my yogurt is blest. i thank you.


--
Lance R. Bailey  System/Network Manager         Robarts Research Institute
     NeXT/email: zaphod@ctrg.rri.uwo.ca    box: Clinical Trials Resources Group
            fax: +1 519 663 3789                P.O. Box 5015, 100 Perth Dr.
            vox: +1 519 663 3787 x4108          London, Canada N6A 5K8
From: fpl@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Fred LaMaster)
Date: Mon, 25 Jan 1993 18:39:52 GMT
Subject: Re: On The Pulse Of Morning (Angelou Inaugural Poem)
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Ft. Collins, Colorado
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

Jim McKee typed in Maya Angelou's poem including the following verses:
 
> ON THE PULSE OF MORNING
> by Maya Angelou

   .
   .
   .
 
> But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly,
>   forcefully,
> Come, you may stand upon my
> Back and face your distant destiny,
> But seek no haven in my shadow.
> I will give you no hiding place down here.
> 
> You, created only a little lower than
> The angels, have crouched too long in
> The bruising darkness,
> Have lain too long
> Face down in ignorance.
> Your mouths spilling words
> Armed for slaughter.
> The Rock cries out to us today,
>   you may stand upon me,
> But do not hide your face.

   .
   .
   .

I was reading this in the paper the day after the inauguration, when
I started wondering "where had I heard this before?"  Then it came
to me.  This was an old spiritual song my mother had taught me many
years ago.  Compare the above verses to the following lyrics from 
the chorus of an old spiritual:

There's no hidin' place down here.  (Hallejujah!)
There's no hidin' place down here.  (Praise the Lord!)
    I went to the rock
    to hide my face;
    the rock cried out
    "No hidin' place!"
There's no hidin' place down here.


Now I am left to wonder whether Ms. Angelou deliberately worded her
poem to remind us of the old spiritual?  Or maybe she had no idea
the wording was similar?  Or maybe she was just using the old idea
but reworded it and gave it a little different twist for her poem?

Interesting,

__
Fred LaMaster         fpl@icbdfcs3.fc.hp.com



Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: stalker@cat.de (Oliver Siebenhaar)
Subject: Last words
Organization: C.A.T. Kommunikations-System
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 93 23:18:35 GMT



 Last words
 ----------

 the clear blue sky above my head,
 the wind that embraces my hair.
 the sun that blinds my tortured eyes,
 the rain that hides my tears.
 these things I will miss for sure,
 but nothing, nothing more.

 C&C welcome.

---
  Oliver Siebenhaar (stalker@cat.de)                     
  C.A.T. Kommunikations-System, Frankfurt, Germany
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (   Wilde Dame)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: MLK revisited / Sheryl
Date: 21 Jan 1993 12:53:32 -0800
Organization: Seattle University
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: sumax.seattleu.edu


Normally this type of poem would implicitly require a need for NO
introduction, but because this is a working draft and because I would like
to discuss it I will make a few comments before presenting it.

First off, this is a work of irony.  As it says in the poem, this is also
indicative of bitterness.  There are varying theories as to what the MLK
holiday really means in the sociological context of the present day; one
of them (which I intuitively agree with) says that the King who is
presented as the pinnacle of Black selfhood is a very different King from
the real one, but a far more politically safe one, and more easily
attained.  This King is also largely a creation of white culture and
norms, and therefore incomplete and even misstated.

That in mind, comments and criticism (as well as earnest discussion)
are greatly appreciated and encouraged.

This also has not title at the moment.



The dream is simple; aptly so--
tired hands and hearts deserve a simple task
at the end of the proverbial day.
The inner peace, insulated
from circumstances ought to be enough
to fuel the chemical reaction--
black into Black, ambition into pride.
Having learned the thesis, having read
the first two volumes
it's so much to ask to have to study
what it all adds up to.  We have only
done you a favor; this is our synopsis.

(Irony, they say
is a sign of bitterness.)

The patriotic Black man
who survived the AP reports
of his own death
would of course never question
a war in Vietnam.  The patriotic Black man
reading that newspaper
has his own role to fulfill, his own
identity to cultivate, his own
taxes to pay (small tithe
for the climb from the ghetto
to the tenement) and because we trust
in God, we trust
the God-fearing senators to put our money
where our mouth is
ad the patriotic Black man never questions
the war in Vietnam
if he wants to be remembered 
heart, bone, and sinew.

-- 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
       Sheryl Stover    |    "The good ended happily, and the
  & Hemingway & Clio    |    bad unhappily.  That is what fiction means."
sstover@seattleu.edu    |    -Oscar Wilde, _The Importance of Being Earnest_
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Dying
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sat, 23 Jan 1993 18:01:53 GMT


"                               Dying

He said he didn't feel very well that day he said it
they operated
removing everything
which might obstruct that singular light
shining from his brow
so he left the hospital
light-headed
there being nothing left
to ballast him to the fleeing earth
and as he floated ever upward
the thought passed by
"How will I mow the lawn
with the lawn now gone?"




-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (John David Blake)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Batman <-- A New Poem C&C
Date: 23 Jan 1993 03:13:32 GMT
Organization: Computing Services Division, University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: 129.89.7.4
Originator: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu

Here's my most recent poem.  As usual, comments are savored, and a reply
it guaranteed to any serious response to this poem.  Please respond via
e-mail to jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu.
----
Preference  by Joe Wicentowski (C) 1993

Batman is
black, sleek, smooth,
strong, kind, the epitomy of perfect health.
Batman Tortilla Chips are
yellow, greasy, rough,
filled with air pockets, salty, and not very healthful.
I'd rather eat Batman Tortilla Chips, though,
than little Batmen.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: Re:  wind
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Date: Fri, 22 Jan 93 08:26:20 GMT

I'm not sure I can pick a winner from among the several stunning contest
entries that were submitted.  Here they are in bastardized form:


		town
		---------------------------------

		night is

		town biding
		trenchant hills

 		town breath pause 
 		hills in repose

		town waiting 
		hills devouring

		town waits
		under stiletto 

		stars


Thanks very much to:

	Marek Lugowski
	Stephanie Steele
	Tom Wachtel
	Zita Marie Evensen


Oh, and there's the other alternate version:

		tom
		-----------------------

		tom waits 
		diner growling
		bass

			-ml 93.1.22


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: shadow@sdf.lonestar.org (Kent Dorsey)
Subject: zen poems, jan 93
Followup-To: poster
Organization: sdf public access Unix, Dallas -- 214-436-3281
Date: Mon, 25 Jan 1993 02:05:35 GMT


zen poems
	jan 93
 
i.
	on a clear mountain pool
	twilight lies serene
	
	highlighting trees,
	and rock crag walls
 
	silver tracings, dark air
 
ii.
	moonlight sculptures
	dancing zen
 
	make shadows fall
	and melt in pools of words


...................................................................
Comments and/or Criticism always welcome... shadow@sdf.lonestar.org
...................................................................
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bhattach@quip.eecs.umich.edu (sayan bhattacharyya)
Subject: Re: light     /  z.
Organization: University of Michigan EECS Dept., Ann Arbor, MI
Date: Sun, 24 Jan 1993 03:36:26 GMT

In article <1jt1i6INNhle@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen) writes:
>
>
>            
>              light
>       ____________________
>
>
>she washes the dishes
>in the latest electronic dishwasher, 
>cooks gourmet microwave dinners ...
>dries clothes in a UV equipped electric dryer.
>
>( electricity ... statics ... electromagnetism )
>


Ah...the typical obsessive dependance of the Westerner
on technology and materialism :)

-Sayan Bhattacharyya.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,alt.romance,alt.romance.chat,alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo