HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Twins
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Thu, 24 Dec 92 14:41:15 GMT


                               Twins

Mean on Christmas
which is the birth also of the child of hatred
who will crucify that other one
later
for rocking the golden boat
they are twins
the selflessness and the greed
one wanting power the other
neutralizing it
can't you see them siblings?
born together
every moment
since men's minds emerged from darkness
into multi-colored life.






-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: satan@wpi.WPI.EDU (Matthew James Meyer)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Poem--Mags
Date: 31 Dec 1992 21:23:53 GMT
Organization: Worcester Polytechnic Institute
Distribution: usa
NNTP-Posting-Host: wpi.wpi.edu

In article <1992Dec31.201538.24808@leland.Stanford.EDU> jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien) writes:
>ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini) writes:
>>                                Mags
>>
>>I knew I could win
>>the lottery sponsored by the giant magazine distributor
>>it was instant realization--
>>surely, if I bought all their magazines
>>I would be a certain winner
>>and the cost would be a merest pittance
>>taken from my ten million dollar prize
>>I bought all the magazines (seven hundred together)
>[....]
>
>	What?  You mean you made it to the finalist stage too?! ;)
>
>Jennifer

last year i got into the final stage TWICE (two different sets of numbers 
under two different versions of my name). I still din't win. Hell, i 
didn't even gewt any poetic inspiration out of it.


-satan


-- 
*******************************************************************************
* satan@wpi *
*           * my lips may promise, but my heart is a whore - nin
*******************************************************************************
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (   Wilde Dame)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: sonata... / Marek "love as a drug", "sex as need", Re: Need - A Poem
Date: 21 Dec 1992 08:24:12 -0800
Organization: Seattle University
NNTP-Posting-Host: sumax.seattleu.edu

With all this talk of fucking going on, I thought I would relate a bit of
trivia regarding the word fuck to you all.  It was indeed at one time an
acceptable (commonplace and therefore base, but acceptable) Anglo-Saxon
term for sexual intercourse--during the early medieval times, in fact. 
While perusing one of those enormous multi-volume dictionaries during a
summer session at Scripps College a few years ago, my friend Julian and I
discovered the word "wanderfuck" (ca. 13th century).  A wanderfuck, the
dictionary told us, was a hunter of kestrels (a European falcon which is
known for hovering in the air against the wind).  It also told us that, in
the time of wanderfucks, kestrels were commonly known as "windfuckers." 
This led us to look up "fuck" (something we all must do at one or another
point in our lives, I suppose :) ) and discover that its unacceptability
was largely the result of mid- and late-Medieval attitudes in England
toward sex becoming less and less tolerant.  Sex was dirty, so the word
for it became dirty too.  It is for this reason that you will find the
middle english equivalents for "cunt" in Chaucer but only vague allusions
to the French term for "cunt" in Shakespeare.

Mere trivia.  Designed to keep you thinking on topic. :)

Merry Christmas.
-- 
       Sheryl Stover  %  If you ask me what I have come to do in the world,
  & Hemingway & Clio  %  I who am an artist, I will reply: "I am here to
sstover@seattleu.edu  %  live aloud."                    -Emile Zola
From: vollrath@vax.oxford.ac.uk (Alun ap Rhisiart)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: One for the Vogons
Date: 28 Dec 92 19:04:46 GMT
Organization: Oxford University VAX 6620


Hi everybody,

I'm new to this newsgroup, and I wanted to ask some advice, and
submit something (since this seems to be a group for poets rather
than critics alone, thank God!). I really enjoy good poetry, and
I love to perform it (hate that word 'recite', it sounds so wooden
and stilted). I do that well, but, to my deep regret, I seem to have
no talent for writing it. However, I came across a book once that
explained things like masculine/feminine rhyme, metres, and so on.
I don't need to know this to read it, but it might help to write it,
or maybe not(?). Anyway, can anyone suggest good books about the 
technique of poetry? I've forgotten what that book was. Is there
a FAQ for this group? Where?

Okay, I have little to choose from, but early this year I was in India,
and while sitting on the rocks close to the sea I wrote something which
I like. This may be simply because it reminds me of that time, rather
than anything intrinsic in the poem. I would be interested in comments,
though. This is as originally written (I changed one word, don't know
how to go about polishing it further).

        Vagator (Goa)

On these rocks where I lay
Air and light and salted spray;
Colours mingled, shapes bizarre,
Thoughts and dreams from afar.

Shattered shells, gentle breeze,
Ruined fort and coconut trees;
Golden sun, purple sky,
No-one near to hear me cry.

Steadfast bars of my prison
Fall asunder to this vision;
Walking lightly, feeling free,
Home at last beside the sea.


-- 
***********************************
* Alun ap Rhisiart                *    | When I wrote this, only God | 
* Animal Behaviour Research Group *    |  and I knew what it meant.  |
* Oxford University               *    | Now, only God knows.        |
* vollrath@vax.ox.ac.uk           * 
***********************************
From: gorokho1@husc10.harvard.edu (Zhenya Gorokhovsky)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: STORM
Date: 25 Dec 92 12:26:22 GMT
Article-I.D.: husc10.GOROKHO1.92Dec25042622
Organization: Physicists for Poetry

Here's another poem. Whoever cares, please comment.
Happy holidays to all.



		STORM

		

		At whose oblique request,
		conclusive as it nears,
		avenging whose suppressed
		tart mutinies of tears,

		unstifling whose lament,
		assaulting whose terrain?
		A monstrous laundromat,
		abetted by the brain.

		On the soaked city plan
		some districts still persist,
		so pert and soi-disant,
		so distant through the mist.

		The grey dominion forms
		an atmospheric gap;
		vast chunks of Harvard dorms
		are swallowed from the map

		as lightnings from above
		perform the first sortie
		of self-inflicted love
		with vibrant cruelty.

		A welcome cleansing mess
		blasts from the baffled vault:
		surely a careless
		ill-shaven angel's fault.

		Teenagerly, revealed
		through shifting sheets of spray,
		resplendent to a field
		of hesitant dismay,

		he spells and celebrates
		a silver-melting glow.
		Through him reverberates
		the perfect vertigo.

		A chain of sparks ignites
		from an initial flame.
		Quintillions of lights.
		Abandonment of shame.



zhenya
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:13265 scruz.poetry:5
From: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,scruz.poetry
Subject: tools
Keywords: phoneme, book
Date: Wed, 30 Dec 92 06:36:20 GMT
Reply-To: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us



According to Skinner:

 5 front vowels
 3 mid vowels
 6 back vowels
 5 long diphthongs
 5 short diphthongs
 2 Triphthongs
16 voiced consonants
10 voiceless consonants
-----------------------
52 phonemes in American English


Important books for a poet to own:

Edith Skinner's -- 'Speak with Distinction'
Daniel Jones' -- 'English Pronouncing Dicionary'
Kenyon & Knott's -- 'Pronouncing Dictionary of American English'

    any questions?
-- 

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: dsoconne@quads.uchicago.edu (Daniel S OConnell)
Subject: The Public Square / Dano
Keywords: (c) 1992, all rights reserved
Reply-To: dsoconne@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: Dead Poets Society
Date: Sun, 27 Dec 1992 03:50:16 GMT

The Public Square


Blurry currents of cold & warm
from the lot through the door

More blur of redgreengold and
incestuous christmas music

Up the smoothly royal esclators
then half way round again
to purchase the next level

We wend our way up until
the thin cloud of semi-stillness
allows epiphany

Our whole family is here.
Our disguise must be working.

--
Dano (C&CA)
From: rainbow@qiclab.scn.rain.com (Donita Thompson)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: A poem about "Friends"
Date: 1 Jan 93 01:39:26 GMT
Article-I.D.: qiclab.1993Jan1.013926.15018
Organization: SCN Research/Qic Laboratories of Tigard, Oregon.

friends may come
and friends may go
friends can peter out, you know
but we'll be friends
through thick or thin
peter out or peter in


:)


--
From: dan@jonas.berkeley.edu (dan graves)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: repost by request / dan graves
Date: 29 Dec 1992 23:19:04 GMT
Organization: University of California, Berkeley
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: jonas.berkeley.edu


rebecca (zola@u.washington.edu) requested that 
i repost this.  i am deeply honored to do so.


Firey sunset,
 orange glow,
  this sad day
   ended at noon

Firey animal
 advanced down the hill,
  its black breath filled the sky,
   its laughter our ears.

Firey Death 
 for people with much,
  for people with little,
   it makes us equal.

dan graves
dan@barkley.berkeley.edu

note: This is about the fire in the hills
 of Berkeley and Oakland.  i have been 
 astounded at the morbid coverage of this
 horrifying event.  This poem trys to 
 convey my sadness and helplessness without
 the gruesome monetary evaluations of human
 life.

if you have any comments about this, please email them to me
or post them.
From: Andrew.W.J.Toler@dartmouth.edu (Andrew W.J. Toler)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: (read slowly)
Date: 1 Jan 93 01:33:27 GMT
Organization: Dartmouth College, Hanover, NH
X-Posted-From: InterNews1.0b1@newshost.dartmouth.edu

Who

Pithy ode pealing pale plastic pleading
Loss eggcrate prostrate lactate awareness
Plaintive ignoble chorus, plummet &redress
Wholeheartedly half-assed expressively missing
Who, garbled in, garbled out, mists of mess
Crunching greens like cows, mooing, more or less
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mbalak@staff.tc.umn.edu (Michael A. Balak)
Subject: The Merits of Mutual Masturbation
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1992 13:20:34 GMT


The Merits of Mutual Masturbation


No ducks
don't fuck
which is to say all do.

No ducks
don't say "fuck"
just listen to their grating grunts:
"fuck, fuck"
"fuuuuuuck, fuuuuuck, fuuuck, fuck!"

Why no ducks?
Ya missed 'em at the bagel shop-
I hear they prefer 'em cold.
(and the wet thing warm).

No squirrels 
don't fuck,
Except when "fluidly jumping" 'twixt and to trees.

No squirrels
don't say "fuck".
Their time crawls during their talk...
"FuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuck!"

Why no squirrels?
Rubbermaid bucket. 
(They're quite partial to poetry over prose
and warm bagels over "yum-yum" donuts.)

Make love, not war!
(this is Extreme-ly trite)
Perhaps our world could truly 
_fuck_ in peace!

Quite a language,
Lexiconically lame!
copulation
	intercourse
		wax the lance
					fuck
		stash the sausage
	do
sex

it's all the same,

be it
love
	hate
lust
or the merits of mutual masterbation.

---------
12/21/92

===========================================================================
Jason P. Cress			Preacher or poet who was it wrote
Professional layman		If you give a species too much rope
jase@pnet51.orb.mn.org		They'll f*ck it up.
						-Roger Waters
===========================================================================

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jww@evolving.com (John W. Woolley)
Subject: Re: Crtical Comments and a Bonfire Carol (was: Re: STORM)
Date: Thu, 31 Dec 1992 18:56:26 GMT
Organization: Evolving Systems, Inc.
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL4

nikolay@husc10.harvard.edu (Philip Nikolayev) writes
: 		BONFIRE CAROL

Utterly terrific!  Style covereth a multitude of sins.
-- 
Fr. John Woolley (jww@evolving.com); vastly enthusiastic about Augustine,
Austen, babies, Bach, backgammon, baseball, beer, the Bible, Botticelli, Burke,
Chesterton, Dante, Dixieland, hardboiled, Hitchcock, Dr Johnson, Latin, Mozart,
Shakespeare/de Vere, St Teresa, Tolkien, Trollope, Fats Waller, and Washington
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: dsoconne@quads.uchicago.edu (Daniel S OConnell)
Subject: Scram / Dano
Keywords: (c) 1992, all rights reserved
Reply-To: dsoconne@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: Dead Poets Society
Date: Sun, 27 Dec 1992 03:46:42 GMT

Scram


Smoldering black woods calling your name
next to the drowsy stream

The kids in for dinner, naming food and the
phone is ringing
down the stairs
past the early morning risers
Help.

Falling trees call your name: Help.

Long distance dreaming in a hard
sleep by the stream, a rock of
numen for a pillow in the
misty, burning, black woods

Snap! goes the salubrious 
lugubriousness in the dark
brown ferns under your shoes
in the black burning forest

As the heavy haze drowses deep
into its own pockets, the air
squeezes out its last call: help

And it is naming your name way back
there where something should be alert
as it is falling and calling: help
in the slowly burning black wood
underneath the dinner bell
calling you home past that steaming stream

Swallow. Breathe. Exhale.
Inhale: clean & cold & good.

The food is done,
Let's eat & wash 
the dishes.

Goodnight. Goodbye. Remember
to write a thank-you note,
Now scram.


--
Dano (C&CA)
From: dan@barkley.berkeley.edu (dan graves)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Dead heroes/ dan graves
Date: 27 Dec 1992 05:45:39 GMT
Organization: University of California, Berkeley
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: barkley.berkeley.edu

John Henry told us
as his great heart burst.
Paul Bunyan told us
as he walked off, bowed,
When machines come
our heroes die.

Faster than eagles
we can all fly.
Faster than cheetahs
we can all run.
How small a price
is dead heroes.

dan graves
dan@barkley.berkeley.edu

If you have any comments on this poem,
please mail me or post them or both.
i dearly love feedback.
From: bu016@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Zita Marie Evensen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: colors       / Z.
Date: 31 Dec 1992 09:19:07 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



            colors

       if you spin
       the colors
       of your life

       do you
       make
       white light ?

          *


zita maria evensen
c1992, dec 31st
-- 
 ...  increase the number of variables,
      but the axioms, themselves, never change ... algebra 2
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: smithm@columbia.dsu.edu (Matthew P. Smith)
Subject: an "re:" to all who need
Organization: Dakota State University
Date: Wed, 30 Dec 1992 04:12:03 GMT

"I need..." said I
"I need to walk
 through the forest
 on a sunny summer day..."

"I want..." I cried
"For every damned little thing to go my way"

"But I know..." I mused
"That I was born with this hand
 of cards"

"That I must take and give as
 Fate sees fit...
 drop or call: I can still do it"

And I know, yes,
I know
that it's not easy
to walk your path
I take the bad and the good
and I, understood
Fate deserves not your wrath
for we were born
and we exist
with all it is we need to live
the rest is up to us
oh, it's all in our minds
to learn to take and to give

We all need
it is a fact
but it ain't written
in any contract
we didn't ask to be born
and most don't ask to die
and those who do keep asking why

we can survive
there is always a way
it may be there
in tomorrow
or it may be written in today
but it is up to you
to look
for what it is
you REALLY need
it is that _one_
single goal
each one striving for your own
each one chasing their dream
each one following that star to the east
you have to know yourself
and your one, single goal
before your need can be released.
-M. Perry Seger
.- Change -mps                             ---------.
.--  things  change so  readily             --------.
.---  i could sit and let the world pass by  -------.
.----  but that   just would    not  help me  ------.
.-----  i have to change the when and the why  -----.
.------  depression's   nice to  suit my  mood  ----.
.-------  but  life  retreats in  context there  ---.
.--------  so i  must change my  mood to   match  --.
.---------  and  play  my part;   pretend  i care  -.
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Acrophobia    (c&c welcome, as always)
Date: 30 Dec 92 05:35:37 GMT
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations

Acrophobia

Heading down the runway,
	this mammoth bird turns gently
		before lifting wing.
Lift almost imperceptible
	accompanied by a rush
		of exhilaration as we climb.

But beside me, white-knuckled hand
	clenches the metal armrest
		until I pry it away, and take it in mine.
Minute dip, and surprisingly strong fingers
	crush my hand,
		as I murmur useless inanities.

The other hand threatens to decapitate
	teddy bear talisman,
		polished fingernails digging into its throat.

No remedy but safe landing,
	eight hours and an ocean away.

*****

M.A. Mohanraj
Connecticut
December 29, 1992

-- 
i thank you God for most this amazing
day:  for the leaping greenly spirits of the trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes		 - e.e.cummings
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ktw@cbnewsb.cb.att.com (kenneth.t.wolman)
Subject: Crossing the Ice Under the Moon
Organization: AT&T
Date: Mon, 4 Jan 1993 03:56:48 GMT


CROSSING THE ICE UNDER THE MOON

You step carefully,
for in the darkness, on the ice beneath the winter moon
the light plays tricks on the eye, on the mind:
and the fire that burns, that would warm you,
might plunge you into darkness unimagined
and a coldness beyond cure.

The temptation is great:
stand in one place, secure in the knowledge that here, at least,
where your feet are rooted, the ice is solid.
But in the vastness there is only you,
shivering against the cold, dreaming of warmth
and a fire that will fill your veins.

So you must go on,
in fear of the heart within you that counsels against fear,
in fear of the fire that would warm before it drowns you,
seeking four walls built against the wind
and the fire that is safety, that will take the cold
from your heart, not turn it to ice.

Do not wander too far
from where you have come to: do not hunt for the fissures,
nor cry over wood that is green, that may smoke,
that is not what you saw what you dreamed of this place:
only come out now and then, in care: walk on the shore, in safety:
look up at the glow of the moon.

Kenneth Wolman, January 3, 1993
-- 
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" 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jshaw@emr1.emr.ca (La Reine des Rats)
Subject: Drownded Rat
Organization: Energy, Mines, and Resources, Ottawa
Distribution: na
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1992 21:20:22 GMT

                Drownded Rat

     Adrift alone in the night
     Calm, only a wee bit cold
     A distant faint light
     Drew me to its gold

     Lured by words of shared joy
     I was tied bound and gagged
     E're I saw the master's ploy
     So frightening - to be bagged

     Silently, carefully, fearfully
     At the other end of the sack from him
     I gnawed, clawed my way free
     As light failed from faint to dim.

     I grow slower and even less bold.
     As around me it slowly revolves,
     The water's much more dark and cold
     And what's left of me it slowly disolves.






Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: hjb@netcom.com (H. J. Bae)
Subject: Dreams
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 
Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1992 05:14:05 GMT

Dreams


I will not fall asleep on this bed again
in this room cold as the winter rain 
seeping through the cracks made in time 
for her company who silently manage
to connect the two of one -- here and there.
The singular line, separating in definition
in each space, departing from each other,
in such perfect cruel precision.
I will not fall and sleep again on this dream
failing the music of continuity, the savior
of my sanity, the everyday's blessing in not
having to live one's own life in full awareness
in all its lacerating vivid projection,
breathing in what not so long ago has been exhaled
in defiance, in brilliantly self-aware escape.
I will not fall again to sleep in drunken haze
desperate in isolation, buried in the backrows of
matinee shows, the citizen kane, the casa blanca
fading in, fading out, like an unlike ending of
a beautiful friendship, unending resolution
dissipating in the clouds, in the air, among
the smokerings of the fire, cleansing our eyes,
tidying up the script neatly to our satisfaction.
I will not again fall prey to a such dream,
only to be haunted in the shiver of the morning after.
I will not fall asleep in this sleep.


	hwajin
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: The Weather made me do it.  Poem
From: conrad@kryton.UUCP (Konstatin Kalikanzaros)
Date: Sun, 03 Jan 93 07:55:23 PST
Organization: Paradox Alley F&SF BBS 805-492-8789

I think I posted this a while ago I'm not sure.


    a rainy day in the beechwood

		The resilient beechwood bends in the wind
		clouds like gauze cover the sky with fleece
		silent falls the misting rain and wonder fills my soul
		Clean smells the air in the grey misty light
		bright green assails the eyes from the wood
		and colors flare brightest of all
		in the grey misty light of a beechwood in the rain.

		silent like a feather, the rain gently falls
		like a soft film drawn across reality
		stark white peeling bark against misty black and grey
		everywhere wonder meets the eyes with delight
		and the leafy carpet darkens in the rain
		as I walk through the wood the musty smells 
		rise to meet my gladdened nose

		home with a mug of chocolate, warm and cozy by the window
		I stare with awe at the scene nature wrought, and 
		drift in the grey misty light of a rainy day
		in the beechwood.

C&C 
Conrad




____________________________________________________________________________
Reality is for people that can't handle Science fiction.

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gj156879@alfred.carleton.ca ( gj student 156879)
Subject: Like a big duck, only dead.
Organization: Carleton University
Date: Mon, 28 Dec 1992 00:08:02 GMT

DEAD DUCK
---------
 
It sat over there, officer,
Its beak firmly planted in its
Alcoholic beverage.

The party was going well,
people were laughing,
Talking,
Having a good time,
Enjoying themselves,
Until someone shot the duck.
 
The bullet came out of nowhere,
Officer,
And before we could breathe,
It was lying on the hardwood floor,
Dead,
Not moving,
His strawberry Daquari spilled,
His outstretched wing, 
motionless.

Someone said "Try C.P.R."
But no one could bring their lips
To meet that rapidly paling beak.
 
Officer,
One of my friends is a murderer,
Could you kindly take him or her away
So we can get on with the party?


                                        Nik
                                        C&C?  SHORE!
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: the day after christmas
From: jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu
Date: 31 Dec 92 20:16:55 EST

			Come Back

	After so much time in Ohio I forget
	exuberant, crazy, white sand Florida.

	Christams was a day ago
	and a few miles west of Punta Gorda
	Mother and I were walking.

	The sun was bright
	a warm breeze stroked our hair
	and from every citrus tree
	fruit hung pendulous, seductive.


Jean Ann
December 30, 1992