HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: jaguar@netcom.com (Elaine Pang)
Subject: A LOVE POEM, FOR THOSE SEARCHING
Date: Mon, 06 Apr 92 01:35:19 GMT
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 

I, the poet
===========

I, the poet
Have watched your skin turn golden at sunset
Watched your smile touch my hope
Watched your lips kissing me
I have smelled your open shirt like a supplicant at the altar
Smelled you in the room when you were not there
Smelled the scent you wore, on the page of a magazine
    until I could faint from not being with you
I have rubbed you skin to skin, while you said how smooth I was
Clasped your hand, marvelling at the strangeness of it all
Touched you here and there for the pleasure
    of hearing you
Held you close while we both cried for past wrongs
Laughed, laughing always with you
    and still watching you
And you, not the poet
Have said the greatest words of the two of us.
-- 

		  ...............................
			  *jaguar  woman*
			(jaguar@netcom.com)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Purrsuede, addvyes, and cokes...
Keywords: Kumar, Wine, Annoying Suggestions
Date: 7 Apr 92 18:42:59 GMT


Tom Wok tell,
Him talk well.



Jez'me
From: Ralph.Cherubini@f10.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org (Ralph Cherubini)
Sender: uucp@p0.f39.n382.z1.FidoNet.Org
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem--Grand Idea
Date:  8 Apr 92 08:42:18 EST

                                  Grand Idea

 

The idea of rocks overrun by water,

for millenia,

for Billions of Years,

is too much for me,

here a waterfall born each moment,

memory of nothing,

where was I,

the happiness of babies and my mother-in-law

can't remember more than the last minute,

her joy--everything new!

If you hold my hand in sweetness now,

consequence of elephantine memory

a billion years hence?

it is beyond me,

and I will not reach out my mind...

 


 * Origin: Connect America #4, Austin, Tx, 512-459-3351 (1:382/10.0)

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: chungkuo@ais.org (Shawn FitzGerald)
Subject: Renee/a fragment
Organization: UMCC
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 92 03:23:42 GMT

Spewed off in the wee hours...remembering things.

--

Well what to say?
Everything breaking only
empty around
I sang of the seasons
when the grass blew
clear against the glass
Your window dear
scattered silvered memories
in the shards

--

-- 
   Shawn FitzGerald           |   chungkuo@ais.org
   (Rational Romantic         |   University of Michigan
    Mystic Cynical Idealist)  |   Computing Club
"I love you so I keep dreaming . . ." -Bananas, _The House of Blue Leaves_
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cchen@jarthur.claremont.edu (Joseph C. Chen)
Subject: No. 1
Organization: Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA 91711
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 1992 03:50:33 GMT

	This is a poem inspired by someone that I became too close to.
I would appreciate any comments or criticism.  Also, a suggestion for a
title would be nice.

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

I await,
  in passionate agony,
  in painful desire,
  in hateful love,
our next rendezvous.

I await;
  to embrace you:
     that strong, supple body--
	a lithe, muscular python,
	adept and powerful,
	that entangles me
	in the dark jungle of secret taboos;
  to kiss you:
     those moist, tender lips--
	pink, feathery cotton candies,
	firm and sugary,
	that draw me
	into the web of blissful dreams;
  to taste you:
     that enticing sweet spot--
	a smooth, delicious piece of white chocolate,
	rich and intoxicating,
	that taunts me
	with its precious scarcity.

I await,
  in biting wind,
  in bitter snow,
  in burning flame,
our next rendezvous.



***************************************************************************
| Joseph C. Chen                | "The key to my survival		  |
| cchen@jarthur.claremont.edu   |  was never in much doubt		  |
| Harvey Mudd College           |  the question was how I could keep sane |
| Claremont, CA 91711           |  trying to find a way out" -- Genesis	  |
|-------------------------------------------------------------------------|
|	"They say a secret is something you tell one other person	  |
|	 So I'm telling you ...",  you know who you are			  |
***************************************************************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jtice@butterfly.UVic.CA (Jason W. Tice)
Subject: Snakebite
Originator: jtice@butterfly
Organization: University of Victoria, Victoria, BC, Canada
Date: Sun, 5 Apr 92 22:13:30 GMT


Well, its been a while since I've posted 
anything (a good two months) here... though 
I've enjoyed a lot of whats been posted.

Here's the latest.  Please, drop a line, 
let me know what you think, any and all 
criticism is appreciated.  Thanx!	Jason
		       

		       Snakebite
                       ----------

		       Clutching fangs 
                         have released venom 
                                         deep within

                       Now, Razors 
                         must score your flesh
                       making wounds
                                in hopes of   healing

                       I will taste your blood
                                    --spit out the poison

                       I can heal your wounds
                                but I too must puncture
                                   your flesh

                       Suture and stitch
                             Suture      and stitch

                          No anesthetic


-- 
I am not who you seem to think I'm claiming you think I am.

"It was a strange Position to see yellow"  --David Hume
							jtice@nero.uvic.ca
From: eep1cs@EE.Surrey.Ac.UK (Carl Sutton)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Swept
Date: 15 Apr 92 10:39:59 GMT
Organization: University of Surrey, Guildford, England


A poem/short story; I'd hardly class myself to be a word guru
and perhaps it's laughable, but still.. its not for want of trying

-------
 Swept 
-------

Icy winds that blow like these
set me ill at ease,
	for Icy things creep up on me;
	Icy things I cannot see.

The freezing wind blew like furious whispers
	and hissing reeds on the river bank
sang me a lullaby, like serpent sisters.
	With the falling half-light, how with it my heart sank.

Palatial ruins, a lofty tomb, topped the hill ahead,
past summer home to Lords and Ladies, long since dead.
	now Swept by foul winds, by bitter ice and burning snow
	all windows broken through by wicked winter blow.

Twigs snapped underfoot, like the crack of brittle bones
	and skeletal trees stood, crowding in on me.
Aground, the frozen corpses of Autumn fir-cones
	and a bird, given up the ghost, face down in debris.

With a snow-quilted sleeping gown,
the world about slowed down, right down..
	slowed to a bitter creep,
	for a restless dream filled deep-sleep.

Haunted by the gloom, for it was hard to see
	the freezing wind blew a rasping breath,
like a rampant creature stalking me,
	like the impending, fearful, touch of death.

Running from mother nature with furious pace,
catching Its icy touch; Its dampness upon my face,
	blind through a fearful, tearful, mist that wept.
	Running, furiously running away.  I'm Swept.

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

(I read too many horror stories..)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: comptec91072@camins.camosun.bc.ca
Subject: Imprisoned
Organization: Camosun College
Date: Wed, 15 Apr 1992 18:25:35 GMT

.pg
.nf
.c
^&Imprisoned\& (Mike Laur)
.s1
There must be someway out of here,
Somewhere to go where I'm free from fear.
But there's always something stopping me,
The door is open but I can't get free.
.s1
These chains of mine may not look real
But their iron grip I surely feel.
Thing's so hazy I just can't think.
Can't seem to find the weakest link.
.s2
I've been a prisoner for so long
Don't what it is that I've done wrong
Don't know if I'll ever be free someday.
Please take these darkened eyes away.
.s2
I'm loosing the war within my brain
Huddled alone I only feel pain.
My soul is slowly being ripped apart.
Why is that I can not hear my heart?
.s1
I feel so cold, an icy tomb
The air is foul, a poisoned womb.
I need someome to help me out,
No one hears me as I try to shout.
.s1
Now I feel the earth around,
And I realize that I'm underground.
Finally a light's ahead of me,
The door is closed but I am set free.
From: rhh@alice.att.com (r hardin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: The Business of Poetry
Date: 9 Apr 92 14:32:35 GMT
Article-I.D.: alice.22521
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories, Murray Hill NJ



>Better yet, ask me about the nature of poetic imagery (don't ask me about
>my grandkids).  I'll explain just what this kind of figurative
>language figures forth and why it is typical and vile. 

Why is it vile?  It seems like a great banality to me, that the human
will can be laid hold of by a blade of steel.  Not that it isn't astonishing.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: rizzojp@craft.camp.clarkson.edu (Jon Rizzo)
Subject: Red Fades in the Sun
Organization: Clarkson University
Date: Tue, 14 Apr 1992 02:58:02 GMT


			Red Fades in the Sun

There's a red haze over the world this morning
inside me there's an open flame
A fire is burning inside my mind
true love and tenderness robbing me blind

Lonely morning- cry alone
dream a dream of my old home
A crying child feeling scorned
the burning hatred keeps me warm

but the red
fades in the sun today
for the fighters and lovers
and the games that they play
for the worshipped, their followers
the song is the same
And I've had enough I want out of this game

Somber sunset- peaceful bliss
thinking of the things I miss
friendship that was good as gold
somebody that I could hold
near to me

There's a red haze over the world this evening
inside me there's an open plane
a fire is burning inside my mind
and the sky is a bloody stain

Jon Rizzo  4/92

Comments, suggestions, flames REQUESTED!
rizzojp@logic.camp.clarkson.edu

--

		                     __________________________________	
Jon Rizzo  			    |  rizzojp@logic.camp.clarkson.edu |
Clarkson University		    |             OR		       |
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Night Marauder
Date: 15 Apr 92 07:15:52 GMT
Organization: CS Dept. Oregon State University, Corvallis, Oregon.

Hi All!  I have refrained from getting into the current war on 
the *Business of Poetry* til now mostly because I have started a
new job and just haven't had much time to read the newsgroups.
However, I would just like to say that in all the years that I
have been writing poetry (30+) I have never sold any of it.  Not
that I thought it was bad, just that I never felt it was mine to
sell.  I give it away to friends and loves for birthdays, 
anniversaries and just because.  I freely give this poem to any
who want it and if you make money from it, all power to you.  I
don't own the words or the ideas, just the way I write them and
once I have written them, they are nothing until given away.
 

NIGHT MARAUDER

Behind the house
hidden
by weeping willows
and pear blossoms
white
against the sky
the rock rimmed 
pond
lies in shade

Water trickles 
down
the moss-covered
waterfall
and breaks the
silence
of the yard

Sitting on my
bench 
alone in shade
and silence
watching
ripples
as the goldfish
swim

A blue jay 
lands 
upon the stump
of pussywillow
and stares
but
does not leave

Perfection
seems to exist 
here 
in this place
now
or so 
one might 
think

But late at
night
creeping thru the
azaleas
comes the night
marauder

Rings around
his hungry
eyes
he fishes in 
my pool

Marg
a.k.a. Elvira
From: hwajin@iphasew.com (Hwa-Jin Bae)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: there is a friend in santa cruz
Date: 10 Apr 92 04:17:31 GMT
Organization: Interphase West, Santa Clara, CA


	there is a friend in santa cruz
	-------------------------------

	the shringe
	digging & rotating like a dirty
	finger inside a body
	i can almost enjoy the perverse shocks 
	the needle transmits
	all the sucking & draining
	going on between bones
	got me lost in pleasure pain
	in the end the swelling still remains
	one knee crushed
	one daihatsu destroyed
	when one visits an old friend in santa cruz
	first time in three years
	one risks such minor damage
	or even the highway 17
	on a rainy afternoon
	the friend is too kind for a friend
	his wife a bit older a bit tired a bit like me
	one thinks of a lost love
	high school thru college
	& what used to be a newborn
	criticizes hair on my face
	a good trip for a man who just lost his wife
	the willful life halts to yield
	in a mountain home buried in redwoods
	the sleep which cures
	with silence
	in the morning one wakes up in
	child's electric blanket
	smell the rain swallow it
	life is back to normal
	a strong breath of nicotine
	gitanes galoise camel
	the drive back home brings it all back
	all the failures the arguments
	the separation 
	loss of control
	a nightmare for an arthritic mind
	losing the ability to walk or feel
	losing one's mind
	the mountain dictates my voice
	as i'm befriended by an ex-punk rocker
	a tow truck driver in late twenties
	who smokes like a chimney
	the one truely disgusting habit
	that brings people together
	we share our cigarettes
	& our chaotic lives
	the stories of good women of places
	all the taxes we owe to the governments
	our dogs & cats & heatless rental spaces
	that chills us tough inside & out
	promise to get together sometime soon
	maybe in another three years
	maybe when i can move around in my head
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: krishna@csd4.csd.uwm.edu (Todd A Wardrope)
Subject: Re: very short essay? about cat?
Organization: Computing Services Division, University of Wisconsin - Milwaukee
Date: Sun, 12 Apr 1992 23:43:32 GMT

if htis works...


contractions

a woman
said to me birth
is like passing a 
bowling ball through your asshole
forgive me
if this obsedian orb
leaves a 
trail of bloody teeth
and saliva
across the page
and onto
your floor.

todd wardrope

p.s. There's a poetry group here in milwaukee that i am a functioning member
of, 'tis called die young and we hav emore than one publications at our
fingertips anyone interested, e-mail me.


-- 
"You know something has got to happen soon,
  when you wake up feeling lost in your own room..."
                        -Soul Asylum
From: CCPHIL@UMCVMB.MISSOURI.EDU (Phil Leith)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Reserving Rights on your poetry
Date: 14 Apr 92 16:21:20 GMT
Article-I.D.: ucbvax.9204141625.AA22420


Ok, suppose you write a poem, somebody takes it and makes it their own,
and maybe even publishes it.

Say one day, you want to publish a book, for WHATEVER reason (maybe
to give to your friends... after all, who else wants to read it, right?)
and somebody else has a copyright on something YOU wrote - now you can't
even call it your own.  To me, poetry is to be shared, but it is not a
gift, it is something very personal.  If you want to reserve your rights
to do with your poetry what you will in the future, *I* don't have a
problem with it.
                                              Phil Leith
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Wed, 8 Apr 1992 14:14:29 GMT
Subject: Screw This
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?



Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?



Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?



Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?



Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?



Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Oh god, will it never end?
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: messer@utkvx3.utk.edu (The Jagged of your Dreams!)
Subject: Quickly
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41    
Organization: University of Tennessee Computing Center
Date: Wed, 15 Apr 1992 20:17:00 GMT



Here, have a poem.
This is the poem of my blood, which will be offered up for you.    :)


-------


                             Quickly


My early memories may no longer be reliable
but Sheri sat with her right leg over the arm of the chair,
the yellow rose in her hands and between her legs,
and with her eyes closed;
Beth took Sheri's left foot in her lap
and Beth at first stroked the bottom of the foot gently
but then harder, and rubbing her toes;
but I watched Sheri and sometimes
she
quickly turned her head and pressed her face hard to the wall, and sometimes
she
quickly
licked her lips.


                                         -Damian K. Messer


(c) copyright 1992 Damian K. Messer



-------


Nobody responds to my poetry.  One could get insulted.

Well, if you don't start responding, I'll personally hunt down and kill your
first born son.


:)


lalala


*******************************************************************************
*                                            |Damian K. Messer                *
*     "For he on honey-dew hath fed,         |Internet:messer@utkvx.utk.edu   *
*      And drunk the milk of Paradise."      |Bitnet:messer@utkvk3            *
*                                            |5809 Haynes-Sterchi Rd.         *
*   -_Kubla Khan, or Vision from a Dream_    |Knoxville, TN 37912             *
*     Samuel Taylor Coleridge                |(615)689-5722                   *
*******************************************************************************
From: mikeb@tamri.com (Mike Bracanovic)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Testing on me.
Date: 9 Apr 92 23:45:06 GMT
Article-I.D.: igor.1992Apr9.234506.2664
Organization: TOSHIBA America MRI, San Francisco


				Testing me

			This test is for you, don't you know.
			We can test our minds, under the
			candle light, and two glasses of sweet
			tasting vine. So look at my eyes, and
			hypnotize my mind, touch me with your
			magic touch.
					Just another test.

  Mike M. Bracanovic 4-9-92
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mikeb@tamri.com (Mike Bracanovic)
Subject: I the planet
Keywords: 
				I the planet
Organization: TOSHIBA America MRI, San Francisco
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 92 23:58:44 GMT

			I am the planet, and you are the
			star, I can't be where you are.
			But, I have the wish to come
			close to you and be with the
			star that you are.

			Wishes, wishes, wishes and many
			kisses from me the planet over
			to you star! I hope your gravity
			will pool me whwre you are.

   Mike M. Bracanovic 4-9-92

PS. I am new at writing poems, about three weeks. Any comments, suggestions
    or flames accepted.
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: My replies to joe's replies to...
Date: 13 Apr 92 15:50:53 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

All right, now things are getting out of hand.  My name comes up on this
bizarre thread.  MY name, my sterling appellation, thought by my
brother-in-law to mean "Grandson of a whistler" in Italian.  

As you can see by comparing dates, I seem to be two weeks behind everyone
else.  PLUS, I did not see any of Doug spleenful messages, only the replies
thereto.  Because this is all so strange, I am going to severely cut most
of the post in question and respond only to the somewhat relevant portions.

In article <1992Mar30.161732.1107@hemlock.cray.com> n2412@cray.com (Joe Green) writes:
>
>Yeah -- I was thinking of Davy Crockett.  Never mind, I will come
>and get you -- gathering stout yeomen -- and yeowomen --
>we will throw gravel at yr window and you will slide down
>the drainpipe. Bring old Betsy. 

I hope Joe doesn't think I'm going to Texas, or Utah!  He should be glad I
plan to be in Minneapolis this summer.
>
>>Ordinarily I would spell it out.  But I would prefer the
>>scapegoat in this little atonement tableaux to find their
>>own way out of the desert to which I have imagined them.
>
>It must be Don Zirilli -- Mr All Vowels and Labials almost.
>A splendid fellow who will arrive driving a dune buggy --
>how? -- you tickle its feet.

I TOLD you, I'm only going to Minneapolis (by way of South Dakota).  I have
no intention of going anywhere near the desert-infested southwest.
Besides, it can't be me.  I don't have a passport into doug's imagination.
>
>>The atonement has been accomplished and all the sins are white 
>>as snow.  Once again the lion can lie down with the lambs,
>>and saturday morning proramming returns to an idyllic and
>>pristine state.
>>
who do I get to lie down with?

Excuse me, but did I do something wrong?  I really must go, I have sixty
more of these darn rap entries to read...

donzZZZ

-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Reserving Rights on your poetry
Date: 16 Apr 92 10:11:49 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=


	copy right and copy left
	copy pains and coffee stains
	and fangs of birth and girdled mirth
	oh boy, i want my money, mommy
	mommy, it's my money
	a stainless steal
	a seamless feel
	seem less, feel
	deal

-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems