HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems



          Morning coffee, bitter: no mockingbird
          will change its bite to sleepy smile today.
          No mockingbird with voices dark and gay
          will echo sounds of poetry I have heard
          sung in windy cities, or found aboard
          slow-crossing ferries pressed on salt spray.
          Bitter mornings, silent as snowfall, lay
          like old birds killed by sunrise, washed ashore,
          but a poet knows that spring will come!
          A hundred cliches will pull his eyes from
          shade to sun, and write tomorrows with bold strokes
          that fall from a monk's trained pen like footsteps
          marking well-worn paths through shade and sun,
          bittersweet as a mockingbird in the morning.


- Larry Whatley
  8/26/92

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
From: spg@Xenon.Stanford.EDU (Stephen P. Guthrie)
Subject: Re: Poetry Suggestion
Organization: Computer Science Department, Stanford University.
Date: Thu, 3 Sep 1992 18:05:30 GMT

In article <Bu0Jt0.4xI@dcs.glasgow.ac.uk> jack@dcs.glasgow.ac.uk (Jack Campin) writes:
>
>Not from a well known poet but still easy to find: the poem "Crown and deep
>of my sorrows...", by a Filipino revolutionary whose name I forget, quoted
>at the end of Tillie Olsen's short story "Hey Sailor, What Ship?" in her
>collection "Tell Me A Riddle".  Heck, read 'em the whole story.
>

Not sure, but the Filipino revolutionary would probably be Rizal (can't
remember his full name). He wrote a couple of interesting novels,
including Filibusterismo (Subversive).


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: More Than Just a Friend
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 20:03:25 GMT

	More Than Just a Friend

I want to take you by the hand,
And walk barefoot in the sand,
Sit on the dock of the bay,
Talking endless hours away,
And when the moon shines full and bright,
We'll be alone to carry out the night,
And hopefully at the night's end,
You'll be more than just a friend.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jondarr@macadam.mqcs.mq.oz.au (jondarr c g h 2 gibb)
Subject: Late Winter
Organization: Macquarie University, School of Mathematics, Physics, Computing and Electronics
Date: Tue, 1 Sep 1992 23:12:12 GMT

It's pretty dry on the land, desperate for rain. This may be
a depressing poem, but the ideas it's based on are pretty
depressing, too.

        Late Winter

The gentle breeze across late winter plains
Stirs in my mind old memories of spring :
The fields of grain, the gentle falling rains,
The sparrows in the gum-trees softly sing.

But in this cracked and hardened earth, the frost
Is cold against bare feet, the fields are dry
And lifeless, trails of hooves where sheep have crossed
Are dusty, though the sun pales in the sky.

The gravel on the wet-road's spread about,
The black-earth on the dry-road's worn and thin,
The rusty grass and fence-wire leave no doubt
The rain must come or we must all give in.

The creek runs dry and lifeless past the weir,
The sheep are grazing on the last remains
Of scrub-bush, there's no feed to give them here,
They'll baa themselves to sleep until it rains.

The sun sets on a pink horizon's fate :
If rain arrives, the flood will be too late.

			1st September, 1992



                    
              Anyway the wind blows ...
                                                //\         /\\
                             /                 || * \ . . / * ||
               .  _   _   _/  _   _  _          \\____\X/____//
              / /_/ / / /_/ /-/ /  /             / *  /O\  * \
          ._/                                    \__/  "  \__/

jondarr@macadam.mpce.mq.edu.au  (137.111.216.12)
jondarr@mpce.mq.edu.au
jondarr@macgraw.mpce.mq.edu.au

From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Tue, 25 Aug 1992 20:41:18 GMT
Subject: time
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

There comes a time.
The time has come.
Here it is.
Now it's gone.

Seems it might have been better,
but there comes a time...
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Nomen Dubium
Keywords: NnNnNnNnNn
Date: 3 Sep 92 21:05:41 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA



Feeling the urgent need to write, but lacking inspirations, 
I threw open my dictionary to page 800 and found...nonsense...




Nodding noddy, 
no nom de plume.
Nitty gritty nit-wit,
nomadic noble.
Noctambulist nomenclator of
nomographic nomenclature.
Nominal nominate,
non nocuous nog
of noetic noise.
Noli me tangere.
****************



Cecil 
  
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: laura@glia.biostr.washington.edu (Maori Suthil )
Subject: Princesses
Organization: University of Washington
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 23:12:59 GMT

Princesses


Precious porcelain dolls
Float effortlessly across campus.
Pastel parasols clutched precariously
In alabaster palms
Lest an offending snowflake
Shatter
The sleek veneer of polished cheeks.

They lend us grace.

Flocked together, 
The little lambs
Mewl tiny gasps
From pouty lips.
Their breath, feathery and soft,
Deigns selectively to fall
To earthen, pagan ears.
Their postures spin
A protective aura about them,
Shelter from the declasse'.

Little princesses, fear not!
I don't wish to enter the Illusion.

My complexious is less than flawless;
My coiffure not perfection.
My words my startle,
And lay assunder your foundation.
For I touch the Earth and all you avoid.
I'm ageless, tangible, shimmering with Power.

Real.

Truly, you DO humour me.
Those attempts to deny me my Due.
But one day you'll know me,
Yearn for my embrace and sanctuary,
Only to find yourself denied.

I'm Womanhood.

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

-- Laura Holmbeck, last winter...
From: jaguar@netcom.com (Crazy Poem Head)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: For the Bitter at Heart
Date: 2 Sep 92 16:25:31 GMT
Article-I.D.: netcom.2tkn7fd.jaguar
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest)

just saw this in one of my books and i thought it would be funny to post
for all the people who have lately been posting their despair here.

RESUME

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

	--Dorothy Parker


(that's resume as in job resume)


-- 

*jaguar woman*				near wild heaven,
[jaguar@netcom.com]			not near enough
[jaguar@ardath.slisp.cs.cmu.edu]
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Infatuation
Date: 23 Aug 92 21:56:26 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

In article <204@uiunix.ui.org> donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli) writes:
>In article <1992Aug21.014918.10613@leela.cs.orst.edu> petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen) writes:

>>Wrong again.  I am no longer Elvira, Mistress of Darkness, but am reborn
>>as Kathleen O'Toole, Bringer of Light.
>
>Egad!  Another O'Toole!  Saints preserve us!

I think the Saints are busy elsewhere so we will just have to do the best
job of it ourselves. :-)

>Welcome to the fold.  Your announcement almost compensates for the terrible
>rebuff you made to my posting, implying that I am not the dark stranger
>that haunts you.  

No harm was intended.  I merely wished to set things arright before any
misfortune befell.  (I, as the Bringer of Light, would not want to
unintentionally lead anyone astray.)

Regardless, as an O'Toole I must warn you that you can
>only wear outfits that include a total of 32 pockets.  I think it would
>warm many hearts if you were to post the contents of said pockets.

I don't know how many hearts will be warmed but I do subscribe to the
ritual of the "Naming of the contents of the pockets."  And yes I do 
have 32 pockets in my apparel.  I may have even more as I am a Gemini
and each of my *three* personalities (I am not your garden variety
twins) has 32 pockets.  I will name only the contents of Kathleen's
pockets at this time as the others are still sorting their possessions.

>O'Toolishly yours,
>
>The Posthumous O'Toole
>
>p.s. Kathleen is such a lovely name.  Reminds me of my fond Kate...

I have other names but Kathleen suits me for now.  

Contents of my 32 O'Toole Pockets.

1.  Wrapper from pack of Virginia Slim 120's.

2.  Small red velvet bound copy of poems of Emily Dickinson

3.  Red pen without any ink.

4.  Stopper from bottle of Cream Sherry.

5.  Black cat hairs.

6.  White hairs from my part mini American Eskimo/part Toy        
    Poodle.

7.  Service pin from Starfleet.

8.  Leftover crumbs from a croissant.

9.  Maple leaf pin.

10. Crushed petals from a red rose.

11. Wedding picture of my Mum at 67.

12. Crumpled train ticket from Los Angeles.

13. Picture of roomie from Chandler, Arizona.

14. $100 bill for emergencies.

15. To do list with nothing crossed out.

16. Addresses of people met on a train.

17. Phone number of First born who has moved out.

18. Leaf from a rhododendron.

19. Purple agate from the Oregon coast.

20. Bits of goldfish food.

21. Latest Star Trek Novel.

22. Card from Waldenbooks.

23. Scribbled poem on back of grocery list.

24. 24 inch hair from daughter's french braid.

25. One ruby.

26. A letter from my brother, a Reverend.

27. An answering letter, not so reverent.

28. A single perfect pearl earring.

29. Grains of sand from the coast.

30. Brochure on the Bahamas from a travel agent.

31. Gold dust from the horn of a Unicorn.

32. Shakespearean sonnets written by me.

Affectionately in Light

Kathleen O'Toole
From: mrxall01@uctvax.uct.ac.za
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: test
Date: 2 Sep 92 11:28:48 +0200
Organization: University of Cape Town

just testing
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: poem about ping -- inspired
Date: 27 Aug 92 17:04:13 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland


	I appreciate your poem, wizard. It shows sharp
	insight, but is ultimately critical of ping.
	The following poem is presented in defence. 

PING
----

take me to your garden
show me things which are not trees
which you call trees
which become trees
in the light of your instruction
with the love of your guidance
these are surely trees
which were not before
teach me your language
which has words, you say
where there are spaces
keen description where i say nonsense
rules which are not rules
and following your lips into the night
to learn the many names of the moon
and following your sounds
into the music to be changed
and following your mind
into these vast equations
found them to be true.

		-- Michael Norris
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: Encumbrances
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 20:14:17 GMT

	Encumbrances

Isolated in this world of pain and sorrow,
Looking forward to a better tomorrow,
Lost for words that I might say,
Only living day by day,
Taking things as they are,
Destiny seems to be really far,
Nothing I can do to change things,
I just sit and listen as a bird sings,
I find that he is also in despair,
With no one in the world to care,
We both wait for things to mend,
He's become my closest friend,
For no one in this world could possibly understand,
This unending sorrow that is at hand,
I don't care to live life this way,
Hand in hand with sorrow day by day,
And yet I sit afar and admire,
As another bird joins the one on the wire,
Lucky is he to have found his companion,
One whom will never leave him abandoned,
Together they take off in flight,
I wish I could experience that freedom for just one night,
Have my burdens released and soar into the sky,
For just one time gravity I'd love to defy,
However, at the moment my burdens are left to me,
And unlike the birds I am not so free,
So I sit and wait,
Hoping one day to meet my fate,
And have these burdens suddenly be gone,
Be left with only my life to carry on...
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (Maven o'Mirth)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: poem: EXCHANGE
Date: 2 Sep 92 03:15:25 GMT
Organization: Seattle University, Seattle WA

EXCHANGE
_for Phuong Tao_

You sit in the front row, silent
and respectful. Scrawled on the blackboard
five words
force you to remember _what Vietnam means to you_
due tomorrow.

As though riding a rowboat on the ocean is not
even a memory
you learn your American history
but the papers shuffling past still whisper
_Viet Cong_
to your dark ear.

--
Sheryl Stover				|  How passing fair is youth,
*>sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu<*		|  Forever fleeting away;
and Hemingway, feline philosopher	|  Who happy would be, let him be;
Watch this .sig for news of the		|  Of tomorrow, who can say?
upcoming album from Seattle's 		|	-Lorenzo de'Medici
premier band, the Medici!		|


Organization: Sophomore, Biology, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books,rec.arts.poetry
Date: Wed,  2 Sep 1992 12:59:42 -0400 
From: Julie Marie Goodliffe <jg4n+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: Re: Poetry Suggestion

Walt Whitman:  Song of Myself

Fairly long, but definately exalting the human condition.  It's
wonderfully complex about it too, but not obscure.

Julie

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ktw@cbnewsb.cb.att.com (kenneth.t.wolman)
Subject: PROGRESS REPORT
Organization: AT&T
Date: Sat, 29 Aug 1992 19:06:42 GMT


PROGRESS REPORT

In the morning mail, a notice for her:
Special Last-Chance Offer to renew
your AARP membership,
take advantage of the travel discount,
be your voice in Washington, D.C.
Whom do you seek? I may ask: and
how do I tell them 
that the tomb is open,
that, six months dead, she is fled
to her last resort,
that her travel plans
have long since been concluded:
and that her stilled voice needs
no voice but mine,
laughing now, standing by the mailbox,
laughing away from her shadow,
knowing I am right on time.

Kenneth Wolman, August 28, 1992
-- 
Ken Wolman   AT&T Bell Laboratories   (201)564-2866   ktw@hlwpk.att.com
	"Stare.  It is the way to educate your eye, and more.  
	Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop.  Die knowing something.  
	You are not here long." -- Walker Evans
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Tue, 1 Sep 1992 14:54:51 GMT
Subject: Re: a touch of green
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

In rec.arts.poems, donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli) writes:

> In article <7710546@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM> daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
> >In rec.arts.poems, zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (Queen of the Netherlands) writes:
> >> >Has Josef resurrected himself in me?
> >> 
> >> no.
> >
> >He cannot resurrect himself, because he was never
> >actually alive.  He never existed.  He was
> >nothing but a pernicious, hysterical, group
> >hallucination.  Tap your heels together, and
> >recite your favorite mantra.
> >
> >doug
> 
> What is this paltry discussion of EXISTENCE?  Existence is irrelevant!

Agreed, but it is an annoying triviality that must be paid some
attention.

> Next we will be discussing TRUTH!  
>

Liar!

>I implore that doug tap HIS heels
> together immediately. 

Dear, posthumous, my heels are TAPED together.  And sometimes my
arms bend back.


> This Messiah stuff is going to his head. 

Crucify me.

> He is
> trying to save the world from Josef, but such is a lost cause!  (as my
> further adventures will make apparent soon enough)

Not at all.  I am trying to save Josef from the world.  Different objectives
for different objects.


Oh, you know who....
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Re: women ooze and other important truths / Marie+Marek
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 92 09:21:39 GMT

In article <1992Aug31.000843.24059@ils.nwu.edu> lugowski@ils.nwu.edu (Marek Lug
owski) writes:
                  (poem deleted)

                        Soft clocks, hard clocks

Yet another bond with Nature shattered
they walk around braceleted with clicking numbers
they make themselves small with intervals compulsively measured
11:01:00  11:01:01  11:01:02...
they watch carefully
answer decisively
"It is 11:02:03"
gone for them the easy approximation
of "A little past eleven"
and "Around five past"
gone this carelessly-flavored ease
on which friendliness once rode
as if to allow
two
to acknowledge mere convention
gone now
replaced by maniacal commitment
exactitude's mate
crime and punishment if one is late
"You are off by thirty seconds!"
synchronize watches now
before committing oneself
such as
"When shall we marry?
At exactly 11:02."

For myself
I stay at Nature's breast
I wear only two watches
own no more
one caters to the modern touch
is an atomic clock
cesium blue lovely
as big as a house
which lives on my yacht
the other
her name is Marianne
and she ticks
monthly
in spatters and drabs
of age-old blood
and cycles of deep red longing
her hands tell the hour of the night
patterning unequal intervals of sweetness
on my body
her cycles entrain me to her heart
and when she functions best
I see time utterly destroyed.

Ralph Cherubini
Sometime near the end of the eighth moon of 1992
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: kammerer@cwis.unomaha.edu (Al Kammerer)
Subject: Re: Witches' brew (poem)
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Thu, 3 Sep 1992 19:05:47 GMT


A Pennsylvannia plantswoman uses a rifle
To shoot witch's brooms from the tops of conifers,
Out of reach of ladder or tree-climbers
Who she might hire to harvest these dwarfed
Crowns that appear as if by magic.
She takes the cones she pulls from the tangles
To her lab, to stratify, to sprout,
To propagate the genetic dwarves 
That used to be blamed on witches.
She has adopted with her rifle
Nearly thirty new nana forms,
And given them her name.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: GC.SUL@forsythe.stanford.edu (Sullivan)
Subject: Re: Journey
Organization: Stanford University, California, USA
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 10:12:05 GMT

In article <7710541@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM>,
daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
>In rec.arts.poems, guay@fraser.sfu.ca (Tim Guay) writes:
(burp)
>> Vanity, vanity, insecure vanity.
I wait to reply to a poet.

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.
men go and come but mediocrity abides.

>[more stuff deleted]
>
>>                         A NOTE FROM YOUR POET
hee hee
(burp)
>This is quite the most amusing post I have seen in r.a.p. for
>quite some time.  A copyright and some railings against the
>futility of vanity and worldly gain followed by the only
>request for money that I have ever seen in r.a.p.

Here's another:  send ME money instead for less reason.  Is that
more amusing?

Mike

Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:8650 rec.arts.books:15628
From: jzimm@ccwf.cc.utexas.edu (Joann Zimmerman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
Subject: Re: I give up...
Date: 4 Sep 92 19:35:59 GMT
Followup-To: rec.arts.poems
Distribution: usa
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin, Austin TX

In article <1992Sep2.224954.16876@u.washington.edu> twain@milton.u.washington.edu (Barbara Hlavin) writes:

>In article <1992Sep2.204622.19919@news.acns.nwu.edu> tilden@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Robert Tilden) writes:

>>I'm embarassed to have to turn to the experts, but here it is: who wrote it
>>and what's it from?

>The quote you have posted is from "Dover Beach," by Matthew Arnold. 

And shouldn't this be an FAQ? I'm quite sure this has been asked at
least twice this calendar year.

Evelyn?


-- 
"[Fiction's] function is not to detail the actual world, but to create
a parallel one. Image by image, phrase by phrase, through artifice and
evocation it must then make that world at once credible and meaningful."
-- Robert Stone               ...!cs.utexas.edu!ccwf.cc.utexas.edu!jzimm   
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
From: chucks@uars2.acd.ucar.edu (Chuck Smythe)
Subject: Re: I give up...
Organization: Ntl Center for Atmospheric Research, Atmospheric Chemistry
Distribution: usa
Date: Thu, 3 Sep 1992 13:59:57 GMT

In article <1992Sep2.204622.19919@news.acns.nwu.edu> tilden@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Robert Tilden) writes:
 OK, I asked around, and looked in a few books, but I couldn't find it...
 I'm embarassed to have to turn to the experts, but here it is: who wrote it
 and what's it from?
 		
 	Ah, love, let us be true
 	To one another! for the world, which seems
 	To lie before us like a land of dreams,
 	So various, so beautiful, so new,
 	Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
 	Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
 	And we are here as on a darkling plain
 	Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
 	Where ignorant armies clash by night.
 
......Matthew Arnold.

			Chuck Smythe
From: blosser_cy@lrc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: prose signifying nothing
Date: 26 Aug 92 20:50:10 EDT
Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC

every time i see you walk by i turn my head and refuse to look afraid that
you'll glance in my direction and catch me staring at you, knowing exactly
what i'm thinking--what could have happened, what we could have been, what
happened instead that made life a lot gloomier and set me on a bad trip in
to the dark void of despair where i don't want to go, and i can't help but
wonder why--why me? why this? why the fuck do things have to turn out this
way all the time again and again time after time after time with no end in
sight and sometimes when i lie in bed, staring at the blank white backdrop
of the ceiling wishing my mind were just as blank, i think of you and some
times i dream of someplace far away where flowers bloom, and the sun still
shines...and the fireflies dance on the blades of grass like they used to,
because that's where you are furthest from my mind, that's what i want, to
get you out of my mind, out of my brain--dammit, quit fucking with my head
--can't you see what you're doing to me? stop stop stop why does this only
happen to me? whatever happened to love? is it just a dead language? where
true intentions are masked by false smiles and cold eyes revealing nothing
of the cruelness beneath? then i pray for the listless sleep of the damned
to come over me like a blanket of darkness wash over me like a sea of numb
grief betraying no emotion hiding everything behind a wall of indifference
and finally when my feet slip and i dive into the emptiness within, i find
that i never really knew you & i tell myself i did the right thing leaving
you behind.........
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien)
Subject: Re: Outcast
Organization: The Land of Earthquakes (Southern Cal)
Distribution: na
Date: Sun, 23 Aug 92 17:50:09 GMT

In article <1992Aug20.194336.26994@hellgate.utah.edu> tolman%asylum.cs.utah.edu@cs.utah.edu (Kenneth Tolman) writes:

	      ^^^^^^^^^^^
Ah!  I see we need to welcome another Kenneth to the family,
especially one that looks so similar to Kenneth Wolman... ;)

So this one comes with a critique -- brace yourself here.

>Out by the tesselated steel

	I was wondering what tesselated was, and found out, but
also that it has 2 ll's.

>On top of a concrete shell

	What did these two lines above describe?  I couldn't tell.

>Hung out the gang bold and strong

	This line disappeared.  Somehow the gang didn't spring at me.
Perhaps it's the language inversion.

>Full of quick pride

	Common line.  I'm sure knowing the word 'tessellated', you
could work out a better descrip.

>Far away in the glacier melt
>A town of twenty three kicked on
>A man who won at gambling

	Now where does this come into play?  Where did these men
and glaciers come from, and what do they have to do with a gang
on top of a concrete shell?

>Here sloppy drinks spilled down

	Interesting line.

>Anger rising to exclude the homo

	But it's conclusion isn't sharp enough.

>The sea walrus hunts alone

	Pardon?


Just some (un)-helpful thoughts,
Jennifer
From: s913391@yallara.cs.rmit.OZ.AU (Walrus)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: famous quotes
Date: 26 Aug 92 08:13:24 GMT


k ok so this is the wrong newsgroup... but i was wondering whether anyone knows whether there is an ftp site or other place with famous quotes in it??

mail me please!!

Walrus
:=
  
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems