HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: ktw@cbnewsb.cb.att.com (kenneth.t.wolman)
Subject: The Wounds
Organization: AT&T
Date: Tue, 29 Dec 1992 16:17:26 GMT

 
THE WOUNDS

In the heat of the battle, head to head,
_Responsibility_ is but a word,
and in the fierceness of the combat, in its passion, 
even the sound of beating hearts becomes one heart,
and blood marries blood in the smoke, in the tears and cries
of the fallen: blades flail, body counts are taken,
but it is hard to tell who has made the wound:
a friend, an enemy, even one's self.

By fortune, by will, one escapes, a warrior
drained almost to death by what has enthralled him:
lies face-upward in the mud,
peers face-upward at the stars,
shrives himself, palms upward in surrender,
and weeps,
hearing only the beating of his solitary heart,
separated in survival, torn from the hearts
of friends, of enemies, he can no longer tell:
knows only he will not die, but cannot fight again:

feels the bleeding stop, the wounds begin to bind.
And at the cold sunrise, stands shakily
on new colt-legs,
surveying the field where noncombatant hands,
now finally seen,
reach out toward him,
where their voices, heard at last
without the cries of the combatants,
call out his name, claiming him for theirs.
He kneels to place food in their hands,
kisses on their mouths, his back
turned from the salt-sown, bloody earth from which he rose.

There will be time enough to sit with warriors grown old,
but now is too soon, the wounds too fresh,
he needs his heart's blood.
They will tell tales of lessons learned,
show the scars of battle,
faded pale against the flesh.

Perhaps they will laugh.

			Kenneth Wolman, December 29, 1992
-- 
Kenneth Wolman          |       To die of fear of revealing yourself
AT&T Bell Laboratories  |       to the person who loves you is murder. 
(908)582-4815           |       
Kenneth.Wolman@att.com  |       	--Stan Rice, "Anne's Curls"
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Defiance
Date: 27 Dec 1992 12:15:21 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: jacobs.cs.orst.edu

Just a little poem expressing my thoughts this "Holiday Season".

     Defiance


presents wrapped under the tree
stockings filled
baking done
turkey thawing
cookies eaten
a full day of cooking ahead
and I exhausted
take a moment to pause
consider
what does it all mean

I have no religious convictions
I am not interested in the trappings of wealth
have not succumbed to yuppiedom
and yet
I decorate my house with lights
a tree stands in my livingroom
spent endless hours
list in hand
purchasing just the right gift
knowing I will hear squeals of delight
in the morning

why do I involve myself
in this capitalistic overindulgent display
I find I have enjoyed myself
instead of money spent on necessities
mundanities of survival
I have had a choice
bought items for fun not because I must
chosen items to bring pleasure
a break from the humdrum routine
my jubilant cry of defiance
at mere existence.


December 24, 1992
Kathleen O'Toole

-- 
*************************************************************************
"Insufficient facts always invites danger, Captain."- Spock in Space Seed
	Marg Petersen	petersm@jacobs.cs.orst.edu
*************************************************************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: 78witherspoo@cua.edu
Subject: The Ritual of Restaurants
Organization: The Catholic University of America
Date: Mon, 28 Dec 1992 18:48:27 GMT

	The Ritual of Restaurants
	-------------------------

	I notice people bumping into each
		other in the revolving door:

	"_Excuse_ me," a snarl.

	My wine chilling on the table,
		my legs needing room to breathe.

	My waiter's shirt is almost too white.

	"Gimme some of that good stuff..."

	Wounds are healing, slowly.

	I peoplewatch.
	
	I watch a couple ordering dinner:
		the man is fixated on the waitress' hair.

	My water glass has traces of my Carmex on it, 
		sorta like lipstick. (Maybe too close to call.)

	Carols sound alright again,
		no more piped-in hypocrisy.


	She really has lovely hair, that waitress.

12/24/92
	
C&C accepted at:

78witherspoo@cua.edu
	

Happy Holidays!

Tom W(itherspoon)
From: ag167@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Don Pavlish)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: untitled poem/a
Date: 27 Dec 1992 18:58:56 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Reply-To: ag167@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Don Pavlish)
NNTP-Posting-Host: slc4.ins.cwru.edu


[untitled poem/a,   C&C welcome]

----

my dreams she does not haunt;
rather it is the gap between eyes-closed and dream-time
in which she dwells

fleeting sensations:

the landscape varies;
sometimes broad-open road, sunbit and hot
sometimes moist aquamarine forest holding promise of oceans near
mostly, though, a cornmeal-brown field, grainy and marshmallow-hazed,
echoing the heavenly winds

none of this ever directly seen;
only felt,
a soft shadow twinking the back of one's neck
a midnight cloud blocking the sunlight on the other side of the world

a big planet is my mind
but she still manages to track me down,
changing forms
changing selfs
(insert butterfly analogy here)

one time she came to me as a plump seventeen year-old who used
        to baby-sit me, pre-kindergarten and in our
        old house with the damp, mildewed basement
one time she came to me as a girl I was in love with for a weekend,
        cheerio-shaded hair and full of stories of new jersey
        streams holding chilled bottles of birch beer
mostly, though, she comes to me as someone I've seen only in
        silent films or withered family photographs, her innocence
        alchemied into chemical being, silvery and fading, bleeding
        the grays into the time-streams...

jettisoned into cold consciousness one sudden night
I was left with the sensation of her hand having
just left mine; 
I could feel her blood warm in the patterns of
sweat on my palm
and
I sat up straight in the room all dark and winter-blue
and tried to hold on to the hot life-feeling
fading fast
lukewarm
forever

-- 
 Preserve liberty:    <<    D o n   P a v l i s h    >>   Cleveland, Ohio
 Vote Libertarian!    << ag167@cleveland.Freenet.Edu >>               USA
  |                    -------------------------------  
  |-> Want more info?  Libertarian Party National Hotline: 1-800-682-1776
From: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Baskets
Date: 1 Jan 1993 23:20:13 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




I wrote this for a young peoples' paper..Please e-mail crits and
comments. 
.........................................................................


             BASKETS

I wove two baskets for my life ...
One's for learning, the other knowing ...
And as I grew these baskets filled
With my sense of self --- becoming.

My learning basket was so miniscule
And pretty close to empty ...
'Til I learned of things great and small ...
Of some plain truths and some facts dirty.

I learned why rainbows needed rain ...
Of Chernobyl's nuclear horror ...
That we are all of starlight made ...
Learned cold fusion and its error.

I learned to use my hands and mind
To handle guns and paint pictures pretty
And that I will never never grow old
'Cuz of the speed of light and relativity.

My learning basket now overflows
With fact and figures plenty
Of science, math, art, and prose ...
Of some justice blind and some murky.

My knowing basket is always full
And never needs refilling ...
'Tis a bottomless well of life's design
Of dreams, realities, and feelings.

I know that I can give away
A heap o' smiles and loving
For the love I give just grows and grows
And has no fear of dying.

I know that sunsets make me cry
And sunrise finds me smiling.
I know that lost loves and broken dreams
Need time to do their healing.

I know the innocence in a baby's eyes ...
Know how to hide a pained heart's aching...
My heart knows when to touch a friend
Who dearly needs embracing.

I learned to mend a broken wing
With splints and tapes and science.
I know that heartbreakers have to pay
With care and love and penance.

I wove two baskets for my live
One's for learning, the other knowing
And as I grew the baskets filled
With my sense of self --- becoming.

          ...

zita maria evensen
c1992, sept 19th 

-- 
 ...  increase the number of variables,
      but the axioms, themselves, never change ... algebra 2
From: 00kavanhorn@leo.bsuvc.bsu.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: rmb
Date: 31 Dec 92 16:58:37 GMT
Organization: Ball State University, Muncie, In - Univ. Computing Svc's


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

                   "Sliding on Ice"

                   The cold winter wind bites.
                   running,
                   five year old free,
                   I jump and slide.
 
                   How far we fall when we get old.
 
                   --------------------------------
 
  
 Life should be lived passionately not seriously.
From: donz@uiunix.ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: A Christmas Gift - Carol Watson
Date: 23 Dec 92 15:54:52 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ  07054

It turns out that I will be able to see most if not all of the rap posts
by hook or by crook (or, if you prefer, "by any means necessary").  Carol
asked for poetic resolutions, so I provide them in the context of a gift
for her.  She also mentioned that she's new at this poetry stuff.  My
advice is that continuing to write will make you a better writer as long
as at least part of you is dissatisfied with what you're writing.  I found
that instead of a steady progression of improvement, I will write at a
certain level for quite a while until breaking through a wall of greater
understanding.  I will even go so far as to say that the poems themselves,
as individuals, may not be getting better, but I as a writer am getting
better and eventually my writing will show that.

Resolutions for 1993


I resolve to listen 
to the breath of strangers 
in darkness.

I resolve to love women
if they learn the allure
of Adonis.

I resolve to try 
the woman's side
of clothing stores.

I resolve to bite my lips
and other lips
and wet fingertips.

I resolve never to pretend
I love little girls
instead of young men.

I resolve to make it pleasing
to look at me, at least
esthetically.

I resolve to pick flowers
and weave hours 
into days.

I resolve to cry
and make someone cry
and make someone wet.

I resolve to love 
enough to leave me
some room to forget.


Posthumous O'Toole
12-23-92
for Thumper O'Toole, who has learned the allure of Adonis
-- 
Chucklehead awaits the return of his .sig

Aaron Radomski, where are you???
From: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (John David Blake)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Revolution (a poem)
Date: 27 Dec 1992 07:34:55 GMT
Organization: Computing Services Division, University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: 129.89.7.4
Originator: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu

I'd appreciate and comments you may have on this old poem of mine. Please
respond to jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu.
----
Revolution

Sitting at Dad's house
Wanting to talk to someone
Wondering what's wrong

Wondering what's wrong
Hoping that it isn't me
Patience, wait and see

Patience, wait and see
So controlled, yet so eager
Seek displeasure's source

Seek displeasure's source
Perhaps it begins with me
Sitting at Dad's house.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: vfr@netcom.com (Jack Wiggins)
Subject: cheerz--a new years toast
Keywords: jerkflip kneeback
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 
Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1992 21:59:23 GMT

happy new year bay
b.
qrstuwxyz b
celebrate the end of
m
e.
 
sorry for it all
no colour to remain this closing year
only the rain.
 
cele
cere
brate me
From: beh@kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu (various Howellses)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: in the middle
Date: 29 Dec 92 20:48:21
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu


In the middle
where there is neither light nor dark
there is gray
on gray
on gray.
In the middle,
sometimes not loving,
nor hating,
but feeling
nothing.
In the middle,
where there is not warm
nor cold
but nothingness,
into more numbness,
and wet is not wet,
nor dry, dry,
and dust has no meaning.
Should I eat?
There is not food enough to fill the emptiness.
Should I weep?
There are not tears enough to 
end the pain.
Should I ask?
There are questions to which there
should be no answers,
never be answers
and here we are,
in the middle.

--nalh
Somerville, Massachusetts
29 December, 1992
--
If it's me, it's not the other one.  If it's the other one, it's not me.
But then again, we're basically one and the same... oh bother, we're
--Various Howellses (Bruce and/or Nancy)
beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: need/ for Marek and his caffeine
Date: 21 Dec 92 09:37:39 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

78witherspoo@cua.edu writes:

> 		need
> 		----
> 
> 		I need warmth to hold,
> 		not possess, not caress,
> 		just a place to enter and exit
> 		so I can remind myself 
> 		I am still alive.



	seed
	----

	I not I just so I
	hold caress exit myself alive


just playing. :)



-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (John David Blake)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Love/Bliss (a poem)
Date: 27 Dec 1992 07:23:58 GMT
Organization: Computing Services Division, University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: 129.89.7.4
Originator: jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu

This poem was written by my good friend, Dave King.  He asked me to post
these poems, intending to receive endless comments and critiques.  Please
reply to me, Joe Wicentowski, at jdblake@csd4.csd.uwm.edu.  Thanks!
----

Love/Bliss

I have tried to cast her from my mind,
Because I know that there would be no hope for us ever.
Or is my anguish only despair, frustration?
I strive to freee myself from the chains of reality, to discover ME,
But she lovingly blocks my path.
THEY are overbearing;
Their evanescent, meaningless talk pours from their mouths,
And fill my ears, my head,
But do not better me.
But she, the sight of her, is what I strive for.
My last painful grasp of the Real, is she.
How could my stupidity, my ignorance
Allow me to be pulled from the omnipotent Way, my spiritual bliss,
By such hopeless, frantic attempts to meet her hardened eyes,
To spark recognition in her face?
But, instead, she walks on with hardly a break in her stride.
And I, left with no one, not even myself,
Fade into nothing.
From: mas4@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (MICHAEL ANTHONY STRAUSS)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: My Christmas Dreams   -Stimpee
Date: 22 Dec 92 00:34:42 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University

The day shall come when I leave,
To eat my snot when i sneeze.

Christmas day is almost here,
Tap the keg and drink the beer.

Do not wash, let thy rot,
Roll a joint and smoke some pot.

Run up the street totally nude,
Then piss on a house and be real rude.

Yell to yon neighboor, "Holiday Greetings,"
Now when you babysit his daughters, start the beatings.

Cook the dinner and break all the dishes,
Kill thy enemies, This is Stimpee's Christmas Time Wishes.

-Stimpee
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (riene des tournesols)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: hey Ingvar Re: a little something..
Date: 28 Dec 1992 22:42:34 GMT
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
NNTP-Posting-Host: hardy.u.washington.edu


What is the problem with your account?  I can't answer your mail
or answer you from r.a.p.

merry ho ho,
me
From: connorm@vax.sonoma.edu (Michelle Connor)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: triangle
Date: 22 Dec 92 04:08:00 GMT
Organization: Sonoma State University
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41

Triangles are sharp
poking into emotions
deflating feelings
making life 
unbearable.

each end cannot
touch the other
merely interact
on a singular level

I hate being a triangle.
I would rather be 
a square.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Natalie)
Subject: one too many / Natalie
Date: Mon, 21 Dec 1992 22:38:11 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24
Organization: University of Regina, Regina, Sask., Canada



		one too many
		------------------------------------------------------------

		cool white tiles 
		on my cheek. my cheek 
		pressed on cool white tiles.
		light streaming under the door.
		the gap like a lens. i swear 
		the light bends 
		from here on 
		the floor.
		it seems cooler 
		too.  in the dark.
		the lightswitch is just
		out of reach of my ability
		to make it look normal in here.
		the world looks so different
		from this lowly perspective.
		and it feels so much nicer
		to feel cool white tiles
		on my cheek.  and to 
		watch the feet.
		playing games at guessing 
		which toes belong to voices
		disembodied.  my body long 
		gone and numb.  all i 
		feel now is cool 
		white tiles on 
		my cheek.
		
			-Natalie / Dec 21, 1992

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 (only a guest at prowse@meena.cc.uregina.ca)   

 "It's good to have a healthy sense of sin.  It adds *spice* to one's 
   transgressions..."  - J.H. 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: hjb@netcom.com (H. J. Bae)
Subject: finito
Organization: Peaceful Star, Inc.
Date: Mon, 4 Jan 1993 01:45:19 GMT


		FINITO


Of the cost of living, dancing angels on these walls
covered with millions of business cards and pornographic
cutouts sweet as the smell of illegal Cuban cigar
kneel to provide a symbolic answer, in the form of an
arrow mounted on a bow shaped in the traditional heart,
missing the string, aimed for no particular target.
A shot of Jack is inverted, and the opaque layer of 
memories, one in the chest, another in the ass,
concatenates the elastic muscilage of concrete prices
paid for the days spent without satisfaction, wishes
interrupted, intertwined, enthralled, pain neither
localized nor ironic, neither allegory nor allergy.
There is no universal theorem that ties them together,
no bondage of souls, no circuit of electricity, no sad
justice to be repaired, just a vacant lot of promises
sure as the revulsion one must feel the morning after.
Of the year of change, of the time of maimed searchlights
nevertheless remarkable for the prolonging of my prevalence,
grey-haired bartender seeks the council of his illuminated
magnifying glass, on the pages of the New York Times
where it is officially declared, as a quarter drops in
the jukebox stirring the theme of the year -- The Wave
of Mutilation -- this year is finally over.
From: ekankaan@kaira.hut.fi (Eero Kankaanp{{)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: oath
Keywords: soothing breathing ether mother seething
Date: 4 Jan 93 03:27:59 GMT
Organization: operetta ophthalmic


     weather oath

     after eight
     chockolate path
     thunder light
     oaths tenfold

     thermos thinly there
     thighs lifted leather tight
 =========      
  thoroughly thine. methodically mouthing oaths.
  oh, ah had tons of those.
From: paladin@west.darkside.com (Paladin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: )) Vinnifer ((
Date: 24 Dec 92 08:39:28 GMT
Organization: The Dark Side of the Moon +1 408 245 SPAM


                * VINNIFER *

Dark ruby warm
Blood
Between my fingers
Runs down my throat
In velvet sheets:

I drink rose petals.

Legs
Against the glass
Long and supple
Smooth
Descend into eternity.

I swim in the opaque pool.

I taste her body.

I can smell
Her perfume
As she empties
Her body
Into mine.

I leave her to linger
On my lips
And balance her
On my tongue.

She is my love:
Filling my soul
As I swallow her life.

More than a passion -
An obsession;
She is
My virtuous sin.

(c) 1992 Eric N. Valor
From: ch526@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Les Jensen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: from Z.
Date: 29 Dec 92 04:10:32 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
NNTP-Posting-Host: hela.ins.cwru.edu


You once told me that your poems were written only for yourself,
and that I had no reason to even read them if I did not find
your poetry as good as you do.
Every comment and question I wrote to you was taken as a personal
insult aimed directly at your ego.
Do you really want your poems read, or just praised?
From: dsoconne@quads.uchicago.edu (Daniel S OConnell)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: 3 days / Dano
Date: 27 Dec 92 03:43:27 GMT
Reply-To: dsoconne@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations



Three Days Rain at the Beach House

It sounds like a fireplace when
a renegade splinter attempts an
escape

Chill Damp overtakes like Death
and sudden repentances blurt feebly
until all that is left 
is more rain

Cards & cigarettes spent, nature
is overdoing fecundity: tell her
she's had enough, okay?

Even whispers are drowned while
the sailors worry.

Tis not a fit night out and past
the point of lustily defying the elements
yet the roar continues
while we decide
a new attitude

There is no one else
to truly inform us and so
we bellow a moment
to be heard
and sleep near a window
to hear

Knowing we will wake with
grey eyes and the sunshine
will look hungover, but we
will love it anyway.

--
Dano (C&C apprec)
From: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: tattoo
Keywords: Blue
Date: 3 Jan 93 01:34:14 GMT
Reply-To: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us



Jo Jo and Beau

Blue's windfall from the derby 
didn't do him any good.
He could never get ahold of her
to tell her he was flush,
all his phone calls .. rang in vain.

Probably just as well
she wasn't into celibacy.
Besides, by then, 
his linen suits were wrinkled,
his topaz pinky ring too stained.


        Oh, did I mention her new tattoo?
        A tastefully done Bald Eagle,
        Stategically placed,
        High on the inside 
                   of her right thigh.
        She's so proud of it,
        she shows it off to everybody!



  "In the Electric Shadows"
     copyright (c) 1992 by JJWebb
-- 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems