HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: gdscott@matt.ksu.ksu.edu (Geoffrey D Scott)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Shadows
Date: 2 Sep 1992 19:50:14 -0500
Organization: Kansas State University
NNTP-Posting-Host: matt.ksu.ksu.edu

 Here is a small poem, I would like responses please send either privately 
or post either one is fine with me.

I know how you feel my child,
For when I was six, my imagination ran wild. 
When I was alone in the dark in my room,
I would scream "MOMMA" because of the gloom.
In the shadows I would see ghosts, goblins and more,
But then momma would slowly open the door,
She would save me from the things on the wall,
So you see my child, to be safe, you have but to call.
					Geoffrey Scott


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ktw@polaris.att.com (79243-wolman)
Subject: Going Gentle
Originator: news@cbnewsb.cb.att.com
Organization: AT&T
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1992 17:10:33 GMT

 
      GOING GENTLE
      (for Rebecca Lowell)

      She was shocked when I said I would burn the poem,
      the villanelle imploring of the father
      to repel the black, hold his arms stiff against
      the wall of darkness like a mime's school exercise,
      to walk against the wind.

      Surely it was cruel: but death uncages my Fascist,
      takes the muzzle off the beast, the bookburner
      who hides where there is no Art and love is curdled:
      for I saw slow dying, too much, always the same:
      the raging, the curse on the candle, not the darkness:

      the long embrace of the lover drawing my dead
      into his arms, leading them in a silken-tempoed tango,
      dining on the favors he has taken:
      severed tumored breasts, riddled memories,
      cataracted blinded eyes that still stare at me,

      in terror of an ended ancient music.

Kenneth Wolman, August 26, 1992
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: winter growth / Marie Coffin
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Fri, 28 Aug 1992 22:00:14 GMT


	winter growth
	------------------------------------------------

	she is nine years old,
	eyes of no particular color,
	a seriously unfinished face.
	no one has ever cut her hair.
	when she stands up,
	it tickles her shoulderblades.

	she curves into bed at night
	under the smooth sheet
	and smiles.
	she has discovered a secret,
	sending out shoots.

	when she lays her hand flat
	against her chest
	she can feel the gentle swelling underneath.
	she cups softness in each palm.
	maybe the warmth will make them grow faster.
	she goes to sleep thinking about babies.


Marie Coffin
August 28, 1992


From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Sat, 29 Aug 1992 05:31:03 GMT
Subject: Re: Scream quietly, please
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems

In rec.arts.poems, daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:

> No, the most difficult thing is to eat glass withoug cutting
> your toungue.

Yeah yeah, I spelled it wrong.
So kill me.
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Phone Call
Date: 27 Aug 92 19:26:46 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA



The phone rings and it's You
who left me last year. Then,
I begged you, pleaded with you 
not to go. I would have done 
anything at all to keep you, 
make you happy. But you left
anyway; took the kids, and moved 
in with Him. It's been a year 
and I'm still trying to learn 
how to hate you; Homewrecker!
Adulterous hypocritical
christian!

But now the phone rings, 
and it's you, babbling about 
what you're doing tonight,
and what time will I pick 
up the kids, and I don't 
know what else you said,
cause I don't hear your words.
Your voice, a sweet siren's sound, 
smoother than mother's milk, 
softer than baby's breath, 
silky and inviting, pours in my 
ear, and goes straight for my
heart. Once again the old 
feelings come back. I love you,
want you, need you.
And I miss you so. 
Without you I am nothing
but a cast away sailor,
clinging to a plank 
as the ocean slowly
digests my flesh
day after day.



Cecil Williams    8/27/92
*************************
From: paulc@cs.hw.ac.uk (Paul Connolly)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: tintinabulations tangents light
Date: 28 Aug 92 17:47:55 GMT
Organization: Dept of Computer Science, Heriot-Watt University, Scotland

First post - crit. welcome


Sunday : Woken by Bells 

tintinabulations
tanjents semi-remember
interrupted dreams 
slipping numb between fingers 
made of pillow
falling
my crown into the sea
ringing tangents of light
lost

Awake I curse the church that lost my kingdom
From: jjehl@lonestar.utsa.edu (Jeff D. Jehl)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Flatulence
Date: 29 Aug 92 22:01:10 GMT
Article-I.D.: ringer.1992Aug29.220110.5468
Distribution: na
Organization: University of Texas at San Antonio

FLATULENCE




Your words
Pierced my ears
As they left
A nauseating aftertaste
In my mouth while getting
Stuck in my throat
Scratching, pawing their
Way down nonchalantly
Collapsing my heart
Along their path to
The pit of my stomach
Preparing their way
To the end...
Of our relationship.

It couldn't smell any sweeter.



Jeffrey D. Jehl
06/12/92 12:36am
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:8591 rec.arts.fine:637 alt.artcom:225
From: barclay@RAIL9000.gatech.edu (Barclay Blanchard)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: mr. buchanan, you should have been born black
Date: 23 Aug 92 19:45:31 GMT
Organization: Georgia Tech Research Institute

Bing, 

For some reason I can't send you email.

I like the thoughts in this poem.

Barclay

-- 
Barclay Elizabeth Blanchard    barclay@rail9000@gatech.edu
"I've been laughed at by some of the funniest people."
--Lissie, Alice Walker's _The Temple of My Familiar_
From: connorm@vax.sonoma.edu (Michelle Connor)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: <none>
Date: 3 Sep 92 18:40:00 GMT
Article-I.D.: vax.3SEP199210403586
Distribution: world
Organization: Sonoma State University
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41

Does anyone have a copy of my poem "She Said"?
My damn drive crashed and I can't find a hardcopy ANYWHERE.

I can remember the first few lines:

She Said

She Said 
don't unplug me 
even if it says I'm brain dead

I'm just out for awhile
havin' fun


Please help; the poem was very sentimental and meaningful for me.
I posted it a while ago -(4-5 months?) 

My mother (for whom the poem was written) is in said state. I wanted her to
have it.

The header of poem would have been addressed Esaia@vax.sonoma.edu (I got
married) 

any help (even remembrances of other lines!) will be enormously appreciated.

Michelle 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poetry,rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
From: scottj@tahiti.dml.georgetown.edu (John L. Scott)
Subject: Poetry Suggestion
Organization: Columbia University Center for Telecommunications Research
Date: Tue, 1 Sep 1992 20:13:22 GMT
X-Posted-From: iamac-1.dml.georgetown.edu
X-Posted-Through: sol.ctr.columbia.edu

I will soon read a poem to my Toastmasters club (a club for people
interested in improving public speaking skills).   I am looking for a
particular sort of poem to read--I want an inspirational poem, a rousing
tribute to the power and spirit of the human race.  I want a poem that
brings a lump to your throat and makes you proud to be a human being.  I am
particularly interested in something that celebrates the the noble or
courageous individual.  I also need it to be from a reasonably well known
poet, one that I would be able to find in a public or college library.

So how about it?  Anybody out there have any favorites that fit the bill? 
Any suggestions you can give me would be of the greatest help and would be
sincerely appreciated.

Please respond by email or by posting.

John Scott
scottj@gumedlib.dml.georgetown.edu
From: bzahniser@hayes.com
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: the end of the world
Date: 1 Sep 92 15:39:49 EDT
Organization: Hayes Microcomputer Products, Norcross, GA

  
   the end of the world
   --------------------
 
   This quay is the end of the world.
   This small boat is the end of us,
   I in the boat
   you on the land.
 
   I am rowing
   rowing away
   the sound of the oars
   the lapping waves
   are louder than your screams
   from the shore.
 
   You are screaming
   "Come back"
   You are screaming
   "I want you"
   like you screamed
   at my ineptitude
   for so long.
 
   Our world has ended.
 
   I am now here
   surrounded by water
     adrift
   but for the force of my will.
 
   I do not know
   if I am rowing
   to the new world
   or off the edge of the old one
   but I know I will get there
   alone.


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ktw@cbnewsb.cb.att.com (kenneth.t.wolman)
Subject: A Photograph of My Father....
Organization: AT&T
Date: Thu, 3 Sep 1992 20:02:58 GMT


A PHOTOGRAPH OF MY FATHER, A MARINE, ON THE DECK OF THE MAURITANIA,
NOVEMBER 11, 1918, SAILING FOR FRANCE

It is the eyes I remember:
gray the eyes, killer eyes
that overlook the sea
that stares back,
an indifferent monster
with an indifferent curse
his gaze sees as Nature:
the shrug of the waves
that mock him with indifference,
moving beneath him like a woman
who does not love him,
like the Parisian whores
he will pay in the year of occupation:
it is Nature undemanding,
not caring for his resignation
or contempt,
uncaring that nothing awaits
but torpor, a war ended
too soon:
his manhood untried,
his escape into himself
undone.

Kenneth Wolman, September 3, 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
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--It's not so far as you think
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 92 01:12:15 GMT


                        It's not so far as you think

It's not so far as you think
the distance between one heart
and another
not far
indeed
non-existent
once love annihilates this mere convention
in favor of true intimacy
and brings two
face-to-face
in unity
there can be no distance
nor that other
time
either
to turn continuity into disturbing disjunction
no
and yes too
both disappear
when the light burns
and the moths
live
only
to throw themselves
in.
From: boutell@cshl.org (Tom Boutell)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: TB: Poem: Barometer
Date: 27 Aug 92 17:34:36 GMT
Organization: Cold Spring Harbor Labs

Barometer   (8/27/92)
---------

In electronics, we talk about holes
Moving. In Somalia we talk about famine
Spreading. In meteorology we talk about depressions

Moving. All this mobile emptiness,
More usefully real than the medium.
Like an artist drawing a specific chair
By drawing the gaps between the struts
To avoid drawing just any old chair,

We need negative space to see ourselves.
It is in our deepest depressions we are honest:
We see with the eye of the storm.

-- 
Tom Boutell, boutell@cshl.org

Clausthaler is the best non - alcoholic beer in the known universe.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: Not Only a Lover...
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 20:20:47 GMT

	Not Only a Lover...

We go for a midnight swim,
With only the moonlight rather dim,
Accentuated is every curve and angle of your frame,
It's something that could enlighten my darkest domain,
I'm so lost in temptation that there's no room for guilt,
With not much more passage of time in your arms I'd wilt,
Only to feel the caress of your hands on my back,
There is nothing my ol' heart would lack,
We could satisfy any longing desire,
As we allow our love to transpire,
Then you lead me to the couch where I lay and next to me
You're on your knees,
I hold myself back, begging you "please",
All over I tremble not in fear,
But in the love I feel for you dear,
I don't want this night to ever end,
For you're not only my lover,
But also my best friend...
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: john <jtrue@acpub.duke.edu>
Subject: half a planet / jtrue
X-Xxmessage-Id: <A6C6B94E04020D08@phil.zoo.duke.edu>
X-Xxdate: Sun, 30 Aug 92 22:43:42 GMT
Organization: .
X-Useragent: Nuntius v1.1.1d9
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1992 21:42:08 GMT

What it was and wasn't
there are two accounts
and whether there
is still
something.

My channel changer's broken
and the cable's down.
August electrical
storms.

Half a planet.
Half a
bed.

Connect the
dots

again.

-jtrue1992
c/c/f welcome
jtrue@acpub.duke.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Villanelles
From: jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu
Date: 31 Aug 92 14:18:15 EST

Here is an attempt 


			The Tatoo


	I have waited long to do this thing
	have her etched upon my skin.
	It is fitting she should sting.

	This insect goes where I have been
	my yellow jacket from dark plain.
	She is familiar with the pain.

	The man with needle I hear him sing.
	He prints her form upon my skin.
	It is fitting that she stings.

	I doubt I'll do this again
	sitting carful to hold still.
	I am familiar with the pain.

	He says this hurts too much  just say something.
	I'll stop if you need a break; I nod
	it is fitting that this stings.

	He's finished now; puts down his pen
	on reddened skin inspects his work.
	I am familiar with the pain.
	


Jean Ann Bolliger
31 August 1992
From: root@bing.UUCP (Administrator)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: the Black Unicorn on my soul
Date: 1 Sep 92 02:56:23 GMT
Organization: Bing's Rubber Chicken Factory -- "Our clucks are boneless."

he was the last one?
i'm so sorry...
he was so small
shades of "bambi meets godzilla"
is it ok if i scrape him off?

--
Bing H Bang                                  +---------------------------+
Senior Systems Analyst                       | This is my home computer. |
National Data Corporation, Atlanta, GA       | I do not speak for NDC.   |
uucp: gatech!warlord!bing!root               +---------------------------+
From: DEBliss@lbl.gov (David Bliss)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Alicia within
Date: 2 Sep 1992 20:48:46 GMT
Organization: Lauwrence Berkeley Laboratory
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: 131.243.160.62

       Alicia within
   -----------------------

Alicia at turquoise dot berkeley dot edu.
a semiprecious node isolated
amid the tangled essence of higher insanity.

Always available keyboard-companion are you.
my thoughts somehow by neuron created,
muscle translated to the electonic stage: view my vanity.

It is the subtle flicker of an ascii thought,
bending reality no less than strained sinew,
sending ideas and emotions detached, hurtling.

Like the metal steed, the electronic carrier has brought,
instead of physical, the spiritual renewal,
in messages, stories, intimate confidences quite startling.

A machine for muscle,
a machine for thought,
both coax us together,
yet leave us apart.

The vantage provided, from self of another,
the visage seductive, created within,
of external stimulus, contrasts, conflicts fed-in.

The toughie, the patsie, in leather and lace.
the nerd and seductress, horned glasses, made-face.
contradictions appealing, I can choose what I like.

The effortless giving but need for control,
autonomous strength combines a vulnerable need:
attention, approval, caressing to feed.

Obcessive attaining peak vim and vigor,
the workday mayhem a nadir of excessive rigor,
but in the eye of the storm she is found to be calm.

The woman who gives to her friends love and power,
handles critters and cooking with geat prowess.
a sensual caress.
alicia at turquoise dot berkeley dot edu.

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


Names have been changed to protect the innocent!

david
From: zx2j@vax5.cit.cornell.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: a few haiku
Date: 26 Aug 92 14:13:30 EDT
Distribution: rec
Organization: Cornell University

gulls track grainy sand
autumn's ocean wave pounding
water by hands cupped

grey raining august;
clearing desk: dead man's papers
the empty dustbin!

soft dirt road
two friends early spring night
the milky way

(C) 1992 Mike Rilee
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (Maven o'Mirth)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: the black soul of my unicorn
Keywords: The Black Unicorn of my soul
Date: 1 Sep 92 16:38:11 GMT
Organization: Seattle University, Seattle WA

Black soul of a unicorn

Feel! his muscles quiver
to be near you, impure
as you are, and his heart
is a hundred times larger, though the same
as the heart of the bird you once held
in your hand, pounding
with the desire to be rid of
your touch--
and this, this vision 
you would think to ride as if
you could really travel to the outer circles
his fear of you might cross
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: webdw@cbnews.cb.att.com (bruce.d.woods)
Subject: FIVE SEASONS
Organization: AT&T
Distribution: na
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 19:32:46 GMT

   
      FIVE SEASONS

The Spring season -
energy and joy of re-birth
cool rain and mudpuddles
warm sunshine
honeybees
hopes renewed
mostly good.

The Summer season -
green growth and flowers
thunderstorms
sunburns and thirsty afternoons
birds singing at 5 am
promises fulfilled
mostly good.

The Fall season -
colored leaves and ripe apples
cool winds at dawn
frosts and dry days
golden pumpkins
nature's bounty harvested
mostly good.

The Winter season -
brown grass and dry flowers
cold clear air
new morning snow blanket
brightest night sky stars
quiet rest time for nature
mostly good.

The Political season -
dull noises and ugly grays
cold chills midst the hot air
pervasive smells of decay and waste
the constant pollution of dishonesty
manipulation of the taxpayers
mostly bad.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: tilden@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Robert Tilden)
Subject: Re: I give up...
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Distribution: usa
Date: Fri, 4 Sep 1992 14:15:35 GMT

Hi,
	Thanks for the information. I'm glad I gave everyone a chance to
show off a bit of knowledge! Actually, I *did* look in Nortons, but my
search was complicated by the fact that the fragment of _Dover Beach_ did
not include the first line. It did not occur to me to check Bartlett's, but
I will do that if I run across a similar question in the future. 
	There is the further question of why I didn't recognize the
fragment in the first place. Besides having a memory like a sieve, I really
don't think I ran across it in high school- it was the late '60s and we
were doing in-depth analyses of popular song lyrics... College was for
engineering, not much literature... 

Better late than never!

-Bob	tilden@nuhepl.phys.nwu.edu
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Black Unicorn of My Soul
Date: 26 Aug 92 14:58:49 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

Calliope O'Toole has asked that I post the following opus.  Enjoy.

(for those of you who might wonder about such things:  Yes, Virginia, there
IS a Calliope O'Toole)


Unicorny

Deep in my darkest soul lies a black well
surrounded by unicorns and a gazelle
they contemplate deeply and seek to commune
with the Gryphon attracted by beams of the moon

But what do they contemplate coyly you ask
as there in the moonlight they frolic and bask
I'll tell you right now it is nothing chimeric
it's just how Poesie's become so generic

They philosophise daily on aspects of art
such as whether it comes from the mind or the heart
whether June was thus named just because it would rhyme
with moon, though the true answer's lost for all time

I must say that many would think them neurotic
for they always eschew an approach semiotic
and of course they're pre-modern which makes them all proud
though at parties it leaves them behind the fast crowd

Sometimes they engage in quite heated discussions
on whether the French are as bad as the Russians
and sparks often fly from their stamping of hooves
when the unicorns like what old Gryph disapproves

For of course there are differences deep and obscure
on what forms of the language are proper and pure
and the unicorns as a block vote for the classic
while the Gryphon has grumbled since early Jurassic

The gazelle I'll admit doesn't often say much
though his heart's in the right place he really is such
a dilettante in his defence of blank verse
(but his comments on Shelley are wonderfully terse)

So now you may wonder no longer it seems
at the depth of my soul and contents of my dreams
for the unicorns, Gryphon, gazelle all agree
there are few good new poets but one of them's me

And the unicorns requested last night when they met
some clue to a question they haven't solved yet
they asked me to ask all the poets I sight
why they're always portrayed in terms of black and white

For they pointed out meekly their natural hues
were more often bright oranges violets and blues
and the flashiest of their own kind that they'd seen
was the daintiest shade of a delicate green

And they asked that a few of you be less longwinded  
(or poetic licence might just be rescinded)
especially when you're describing romance
though they know that with humans they don't have much chance

So now I'll retire having finished my task
and I'll come back again if more questions they ask
but the moon in my soul is a-waning not full
and the unicorns went leaving only some bull


-Calliope O'Toole
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jondarr@macadam.mqcs.mq.oz.au (jondarr c g h 2 gibb)
Subject: Venus
Organization: Macquarie University, School of Mathematics, Physics, Computing and Electronics
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 23:55:20 GMT


        Venus

This morning I had breakfast with
  Venus de Milo's twin,
So lovely in the early light
  of harshly scrambled eggs;
She wouldn't talk, she didn't move,
  the lightness of her skin,
That porcelain face, such lovely grace
  down to her long white legs.

So languidly she sat across
  the table, far from me,
Within her own cool-carven world
  through cups of black-brewed tea
And toast, she stared into the blue,
  saw things I couldn't see
And sighed a lovely sigh, and all
  the while I let her be.

She rose when there was nothing left
  that either one could say
And gracefully she walked away
  out through the great glass door
Into the golden dawn to face
  another lifeless day
Before the tourists' prying eyes,
  a statue evermore.

Although I love this Venus for
  the woman that she is,
I know I'll never know her love,
  nor ever feel her kiss.

			2nd 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

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ac@cheshire.oxy.edu (Aileen Cho)
Subject: Morning, July 5, 1992
Organization: Occidental College, Los Angeles, CA.  USA
Distribution: usa
Date: Sun, 23 Aug 1992 20:34:22 GMT



It's only when you slept        
that I felt comfortable with you
No need to search for words
or hope you wouldn't see meee
staring at your face
No need to feel unease
Wondering if I looked okay
Or feeling out of place

It's only when you slept
that I felt I belonged there
To rest my head against your back
Not fearing your indifference
or waiting to be disillusioned
To see your face so sweetly still
Innocent of gamees
No excuses or confusion

It's only when you slept
that I felt a sense of hope
Like maybe this would turn out well
and maybe I could trust myself
to trust in you, and chase misgivings out
To dare believe that you did care
Forgetting my self consciousness
and discarding cynic doubt

It's only when you slept
that silence wasn't painful
or communication wasn't missed
It's then that I could see the beauty
of your being and existence
And I could coxist beside you
peacefully,
without resistance

And then you woke up.

--AC

CC's welcome...

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems