HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: jack@dcs.glasgow.ac.uk (Jack Campin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
Subject: Re: Poetry Suggestion
Date: 3 Sep 92 17:41:23 GMT
Reply-To: jack@dcs.glasgow.ac.uk (Jack Campin)
Organization: COMANDOS Project, Glesga Yoonie

scottj@tahiti.dml.georgetown.edu (John L. Scott) wrote:
> 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.

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.

For something *much* more challenging for the performer, you could try the
poem about Ignaz Semmelweis in Hans Magnus Enzensberger's "Mausoleum"
(Urizen Press, NY, some time in the late 70s).  You'd have to explain to
your audience who Semmelweis was, though - these poems only identify their
characters by initials, and are in the form of extended riddles.  The
specific difficulty is that the poem is an interior narrative by Semmelweis
at the end of his life after being driven insane by the reception he got
from the medical establishment - you have to portray a great man as a
tragic hallucinated wreck, giving equal weight to his greatness and his
delusions.

Both of these have the advantage, over the previous Tennyson suggestion, of
shocking unfamiliarity.  They make it difficult for your audience to just
sit back and wallow in something they've heard many times before.

If you don't want to try something quite that different, e.e. cummings's
poem on the death of his father, "my father moved through dooms of love"
might work, too.  It's in his Collected Poems and in the small Penguin
edition.

-- 
--  Jack Campin    room G092, Computing Science Department, Glasgow University,
17 Lilybank Gardens, Glasgow G12 8RZ, Scotland   TEL: 041 339 8855 x6854 (work)
INTERNET: jack@dcs.glasgow.ac.uk or via nsfnet-relay.ac.uk    FAX: 041 330 4913
BANG!net: via mcsun and uknet     BITNET: via UKACRL    UUCP: jack@glasgow.uucp
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: SLIP STREAM SUBCONSCIOUS
From: aakhan@wsuhub.uc.twsu.edu
Date: 25 Aug 92 11:35:14 CST
Organization: Wichita State University, Wichita, Ks

This is my second post to this group the first one was a poem named BLUDGEON
for which I had requested critiques but was incapacitated and unable
to access the net for a long time, If any one remembers it and has anything to
say about it please post/ repost it to the group

here is my second offering

WARNING! most of the contents of the following contribution ARE disturbing.


________________________________________________________________________________
SLIP STREAM SUBCONSCIOUS

did you know that you could scream in silence
bite your tongue
spit it into toilets and flush it spiral into the bowels of hell where it can
speak in a 105 languages in 49 voices and a 133 shades of lemon orange flames
smoke cooks the taste-buds
rare singing atonal in choir called the "melted stew" to the singed untuned
harps smuggled from the north by the wingless sexless holographic paradoxes
designed in the labs populated by clean shaven monkeys and blister collared
taxidermists 
gluing the rain forest wallpaper to the sandal wood floor boards
mounted over the geneticaly
fucked
pineaple trees with budding farting mutated 
ballerinas 
snorting powdered crystals through all of their 14 nostrils
screaming "Sarte" and dreaming "Blake" and dancing on the tips of all of their 
14 nipples.

did you know that that 
that they find 91 individuals daily
in office buildings
massage parlors 
hotels churches carwashes
Toilets
with their tongues bitten off
staring wild eyed into the toilet bowls laughing hysterically as they pick
"Bollero" on their pocket combs.

(c) Copyrighted to 
Boiled Swans Communictions 
and
Adnan Anwar Khan
08/24/92
______________________________________________________________________________
From: stedman@aludra.usc.edu (I. Stedman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: For Haleh, Happy Birthday...
Date: 28 Aug 1992 01:05:43 -0700
Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: aludra.usc.edu

Between the chapters of some philosophy
Espoused by a genius of antiquity 
I just had to slip this, written on a whim,
Where Primus and Secundus grow so grandly grim.
 
And the next scholar, who late some chillsome night
Seeks to untangle some Pythagorean fright
Will take this book from its shelf, lay it on a stand,
And lift the greying cover with a gentle hand.
 
But the candle gutters, and the soft hair prickles,
A curling icy draft freezes as it tickles
And draws the student unto the confounded door
With the rusty latches that will latch no more.
 
The wind and the flame are getting drunk again
And sending shadows over page and notes and pen.
Our refrigerated friend, lest she soon turn blue,
Finds this learned text makes a fine doorstop too.
 
				IS`92
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Her Wing
Date: 4 Sep 92 13:23:32 GMT
Distribution: usa
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

The White Arc of Feathers on Her Wing


If my poems fail it is because
I can't fit the things I want to do
in a poem.  It's not your fault.
Turn away a moment (Dance a while?
Care to?  Skip in silent fields
one after the other like a forgotten
melody that you're choking on--
and this while memory starves!).

I'm ready now, I think,
for the snappy ending, the pull and catch,
ready to hook you.  Lean back,
here it comes...and suddenly
you see swans on the ceiling!
But swans can't fly!


Don Zirilli
9-4-92


posthumous postscript:  Please don't send me mail telling me what swans can
and cannot do.  I read Yeats:  I know.
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: ees1in@ee.surrey.ac.uk (Ivailo Nedelchev)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: in the name of VB
Keywords: alibaba and forty bandits
Date: 4 Sep 92 19:28:51 GMT
Organization: University of Surrey, Guildford, England

he is the only one
the rest are muffy

one and only one
one by one
one after one

he is the muffy one
he rest are but once!

ivailo

-- 

 _   /|
 \`0.o'
 =(_|_)=-  i hate women's catwalk
    V   
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cahduns@atlas.cs.upei.ca (Henry Dunsmore)
Subject: Re: john cage
Organization: University of Prince Edward Island
Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1992 03:44:53 GMT

>In article <1992Aug13.152713.5369@u.washington.edu>, zola@hardy.u.washington.edu (jestem oczarowana) writes:
>> 
>> for those of you who were having that john cage discussion,
>> and don't watch tv or some such, i just heard that he died.
>> -r.

In article <1992Aug19.134320.1@vax1.umkc.edu> sturner@vax1.umkc.edu writes:
>
>wow.  Do you have any newspaper articles or such you can exerpt?
>sharon

Are you sure that that shouldn't be "ex-earped?"
From: haight@sun.ipl.rpi.edu (Liz Haight)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: not quite unrequited love
Date: 29 Aug 92 22:20:44 GMT
Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, NY

not quite unrequited love
--------------------------

almost immediately
she loved him 
for his naivety
he told her everything
of his broken nose, unkissed lips,
twisted legs, slender hips,
and she responded
with her heart
and felt desire
to place her mouth upon his face
and hold his trunk in warm embrace
too deep, this sea of love
he couldn't keep his head above
tried to walk on water
like One whom they both knew
and when he found he couldn't
he withdrew
safely 
to the shallow shore
as she wept for him 
like none before









-- 
------------------
Elizabeth           /	Don't pass me by like a stranger ...
haight@ipl.rpi.edu  \	    Don't leave me here all alone, so alone, 
		    /		I'm alone ... Talk to me.  [Chris Isaac]
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: psgoh@pieman.compserv.utas.edu.au (S.C.)
Subject: Where?Who?What?
Originator: psgoh@pieman
Organization: University of Tasmania at Launceston (formerly TSIT)
Date: Tue, 1 Sep 92 11:24:49 GMT


		    WHERE?WHO?WHAT?


			I come
  		 	  I go
                        I enter
                          I exit
                        BUT WHERE AM I ??


                        I love
                          I hate
                        I laugh
                          I cry
                        SO WHO AM I ??


                        I run
                          I fall
                        I leap
                          I crawl
                        AND WHAT AM I ??


                                       (S.C 1/9/92)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--So prolific
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sat, 29 Aug 92 02:16:08 GMT


                        So prolific

So prolific
a poet of my acquaintance
was once inspired
by the Manhattan white pages
to write a gloss
thereupon
which in two days' hard work
stood there
twice as thick
as the source of its inspiration.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien)
Subject: Dried
Organization: The Land of Earthquakes (Southern Cal)
Date: Thu, 3 Sep 92 02:55:11 GMT



	Dried.  Like a fountain
	(not) spraying in California.

	There's a drought, we need
	to conserve.
	
	Your sun, shined its dessicating
	happiness on my oasis.

	No nightmares remain to lance
	the pus from.

	Dried.
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: The Black Unicorn of My Soul
Date: 26 Aug 92 15:26:49 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

Due to a severe oversight on my part, poor Calliope's third verse has been
misrepresented:  the first line of said verse should say "nightly" not
"daily"


And now, I've finally remembered my journal and so follows my recreation of
the events of my meeting with Josef O'Toole:

(cont'd)

Kate, walking rather stiffly, and myself continued down the dry path
through the split water, and the wee blue light grew stronger as we
approached it.

Finally we heard music and singing, culminating in the hign note of four
Sineads, which cracked the water around us like glass so that it
disappeared and we were now in a world of mist.  It is here that I saw
Josef, as tall as myself and no longer gold.  He showed me his blue topaz
ring as though I required evidence of his O'Toolishness.  Unfortunately, I
forgot to bring mine, but the sallow look in my eyes must have convinced
him that I was Posthumous.  Plus, he had my description:  "the young Orson
Welles"  

"Why aren't you three inches tall?" I asked.
"I thought you might prefer me in this guise.  Besides, I wanted to be able
to properly acquit myself with your lovely mistress."  Kissing her hand
seemed to restore most of the life back to her.  She finally opened her
eyes.

Somehow in all that fog Josef was able to find a diner where he and I
ordered Sloppy Joes.  Kate just wanted Bloody Marys.  

From there we picnicked by a huge muddy river where Josef proved his
ethereality by making his cigarette butts disappear.  All the time, a
bright yellow spirit flashed around us.

"What is that?"  I asked.
"Visions of Johanna," he answered.
"But I thought you didn't like rock-n-roll?"
"Oh, you mean Bob Dylan?  That's merely a dreadful coincidence."

Then Joe presented me with a book:  "Poems from America" signed by the
Author.  I perused the chapter from Minnesota:


There's a fellow named Joe
From Minnie-So
Who knows just what to do
And if you sniff him long enough, you'll know, too.


And as I read an invisible Sinead sang along.  I thanked him profusely and
he disappeared, leaving us in this land-o-mist.  I, tired, and Kate, bored,
prostrated ourselves and fell to sleep.


tobecontinued


-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: john <jtrue@acpub.duke.edu>
Subject: your guests will / jtrue
X-Xxmessage-Id: <A6C6B8410A010D08@phil.zoo.duke.edu>
X-Xxdate: Sun, 30 Aug 92 22:39:13 GMT
Organization: .
X-Useragent: Nuntius v1.1.1d9
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1992 21:37:39 GMT

Lick this bludgeon of words.
It can dent your skull
leaving scars of
the purplest
gray.

But don't install these
pages as tiles
on your
dancefloor.

Your guests will
fall straight
through,

ending your
cool

party.

-jtrue1992

c/c/f welcome
jtrue@acpub.duke.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: The Essence of Music
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 03:35:22 GMT


		The Essence of Music

Your ears focus in on music,
It's coming from a distance,
You close your eyes,
And set your mind free,
You are carried by the beautiful melody,
Like the ocean,
It's end cannot be seen,
You feel as though you can reach out,
And touch it as it flows through your body,
So magnificent in quality,
Nothing could ever replace,
The feeling that radiates from within,
You open your heart,
As the music fills it with massive energy,
And takes you higher,
So high that you don't want it to end,
And, even though it does,
In your heart it goes on forever...
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: sakata@uhunix.uhcc.Hawaii.Edu (Henry Sakata)
Subject: Loneliness Stabs
Organization: University of Hawaii at Manoa
Date: Thu, 3 Sep 1992 22:57:35 GMT


Loneliness Stabs
================

Couples walking hand-in-hand
Everywhere in viewing distance
Loneliness stabs the wanting heart
And bleeds love dry

Mothers and fathers passing by
Carrying their little bundles of joy
Loneliness stabs the wanting heart
And bleeds love dry

Friends call and ask for help
This weekend they will all go out
Loneliness stabs the wanting heart
And bleeds love dry

Relatives all have moved away
Siblings go to visit their in-laws
Loneliness stabs the wanting heart
And bleeds love dry

Empty rooms make the house seem pale
The box is filled, but no new mail
Loneliness stabs the wanting heart
And bleeds love dry

Each day the earthen home is built
Closer comes the day to move in
Loneliness stabbed the heart wanting
And bled love dry


hns
september 3, 1992
(c) 1992
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: Black Angel  
Subject: **** DEAR HEART ****
Originator: psgoh@pieman
Organization: University of Tasmania at Launceston (formerly TSIT)
Date: Fri, 4 Sep 92 04:45:17 GMT

It will not mean a lot to anyone, except one out there....


A stab of pain
A twist of the heart
Yearning for you - Dear Heart;

A whisper of despair
A sorrow of distance
Reaching for you - Dear Heart;

A time of endless eternity
A desire of dreams that cannot be
Loving forever, you - Dear Heart.


			Black Angel(4/9/92)

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ross@traceback.gatech.edu (Rosario DSouza, J)
Subject: The World Of Poetry
Organization: College of Computing, Georgia Tech
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 19:08:04 GMT


Hi,

Is anyone familiar with the organization called "World Of Poetry"
based in Sacramento, California? I'm told that they have regular
poetry contests, and conventions, etc.

If you know these folks, or have interacted with them, could you
please share your info/experience etc. with me? 

Thanks,

..Rosario D'Souza.
ross@cc.gatech.edu

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: Wildflower
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 03:48:27 GMT


		Wildflower

As delicate as a rose in the sun,
Full of energy it's life has just begun,
Sways gently as the current of a stream,
Fills me with new hope and makes my dream,
The mystery unfolds as the pages I turn,
My mind thrives off of everything I learn,
It's as enormous as the open sky,
Nothing can match it as it continues to fly,
I am guided by the curiosity I hold within,
And with each day a new journey I begin...
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Spanish Guitar
Keywords: Comments? Criticisms?
Date: 27 Aug 92 03:16:56 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


SPANISH GUITAR

He played for me last night,
happy for the chance,
and sent me loving sips
beneath his eyes.

An intimate array of songs,
his repertroire,
and there his fingers flew -
he gave me heaven,

the magic and the mystery
of ancient Spain;
the twinkle in his smile, 
pure enchantment.

I thanked him for his kindness,
gave him pause,
and touched his aged hands
in sweet communion.


-Tracy D. Flynn-Marsh
From: melynda@titipu.meta.com (Melynda Reid)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: firing is all the rage, a new fad
Date: 2 Sep 92 21:40:52 GMT
Reply-To: melynda@titipu.meta.com (Melynda Reid)
Organization: Paleolithic Refugia
X-Mailer: uAccess - Macintosh Release: 1.6v0

i too am experiencing the o'toole ritual trial by firing. my husband, the
wage earner was fired today. hurray we are free to plumb the depths, to drink
the dregs of outrageous fortune although i prefer the modesty of generic chablis.
cocktails?
                     monica o'toole      

melynda reid   who wears hats but does not type caps
  eel:   melynda@titipu.meta.com  or  nosc.mil!titipu.meta.com!melynda
  snail: p o box 378 greensboro, florida 32330
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: I give up...
Keywords: cents scents sense
Date: 4 Sep 92 04:36:56 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA



 (Jennifer L. Beaufort) writes:
> ...
>This is from "Dover Beach," by Matthew Arnold.
>Just thought I'd get my two cents in.
                         ^^^^^^^^^
I think that's brings the total up to about $4.00 so far...


(-;
Cecil
From: gen5006@husky1.stmarys.ca (Bill McKinnon)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: poem: Stars
Date: 30 Aug 92 04:45:00 GMT
Article-I.D.: husky1.1992Aug30.004500.1
Organization: St. Mary's University, Halifax, N.S., Canada


                     Stars

How we have longed to reach the stars.
Little did we know,
The stars are lonely in their majesty.
Serene, beautiful, mysterious,
And distant.
Distant in an incomprehensible way,
From us and from each other.
Ocassionally, however, two paths cross.
A crossing which binds the two together.
Giving each a companion, a lover, a friend.
Basking in each other's warmth and light
They continue their journey.
But as with all journeys,
Theirs must come to an end.
In blazing light and fiery passion
To leave a mark forever upon the universe.
Perhaps we are the stars.
Journeying through our universe.
Hoping that we may find someone to bridge the distance.
Someone to bring warmth and light into our lives,
And to view the mark we leave when our journey is done.
-- 
I know I'm a romantic fool...... but what's a guy to do?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 Bill Mckinnon             |  Quoted from an interview with Hurling Footmig,
 Halifax, Nova Scotia      |  17th acting editor of the Guide:
 Canada. (902) 429-6927    |  'Why stop now, just when I'm hating it?'
 gen5006@husky1.stmarys.ca |   Marvin the Paraniod Andriod.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ross@cc.gatech.edu (Rosario DSouza, J)
Subject: A summer's day -- A Poem
Organization: College of Computing, Georgia Tech
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1992 01:07:28 GMT


		A Summer's Day
	

	What care I for pains and sighs?
	Before me now are cloudless skies,
	And squirrelled woods, and chirpy trees,
	Swaying gently in the breeze.

	How sweet the summer's air doth feel;
	It lures me with its strong appeal;
	It makes my soul from turmoil cease,
	And lets my mind enjoy its peace.

	My heart is filled with restful song,
	And has been so since early morn;
	And may it be thus thro' the day,
	Until upon my bed I lay.

	I thank Thee, God, for the blue sky,
	And for the children passing by;
	And for the simple things of life,
	My clothes, my bed, my job and wife.


..Rosario D'Souza

(C) Copyright, Rosario D'Souza, August 1992.
All rights reserved.
From: S.Courtenage@cs.ucl.ac.uk (Si Courtenage)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: (none)
Date: 29 Aug 92 17:28:14 GMT


Light circles, ghosts of jewels
Revealed. Manifest on
Plain surfaces.

Reflections through sound eyes
Fill up the bright body.
Shut, they keep a house dark.

Now closed and enclosing.

Like the nights when the power 
Failed and we lit candles
To push through the sudden
Shutting-in shadows.

Now shut in - shut in and
Lost in this dark stasis.
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Villanelles
Date: 28 Aug 92 13:28:49 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ


Dear rap,

A certain Kevbo wrote me recently wondering why I had not taken up the
gauntlet laid down by Fang O'Toole concerning the creation of villanelles.
Well, being the True Poet that I am, I have of course already written and
posted a villanelle.  But for Fang and Kevin's edification I herewith
re-post it:

(more perfect to the form, mind you, than any I have seen so far)


I'd Like to Sit on Sandy Dunes


I'd like to sit on sandy dunes,
watching women on the beach
among some soulful surfing tunes.

And as Mike Love so softly croons
beyond the sand that tides can reach,
I'd like to sit on sandy dunes.

I'll watch a bum with eyes like moons
who wanders in earnest, here to leech
among some soulful surfing tunes.

I'll get hassled by blonde baboons
but, instead of charging to the breech,
I'd like to sit on sandy dunes.

A girl will ask me to play the spoons
for the clapping steel surpassing speech
among some soulful surfing tunes,

but before we drink in boardwalk saloons
and I learn the secrets her body can teach,
I'd like to sit on sandy dunes
among some soulful surfing tunes.


Donald Zirilli
November 6, 1991
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: john <jtrue@acpub.duke.edu>
Subject: a little h / jtrue
X-Xxmessage-Id: <A6C04E7428020D08@phil.zoo.duke.edu>
X-Xxdate: Tue, 25 Aug 92 01:54:12 GMT
Organization: .
X-Useragent: Nuntius v1.1.1d9
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1992 00:52:47 GMT

As there's been some interest in the form
here lately.  Here's some h I've had
kicking around for a while.

(A)
An unknown sky waits
beneath clouds of gray and white
for Fate to paint it.

(B)
My soul flies in sleep,
glancing over ghost-lit towns,
laughing at the past.

(C)
Your picture on my
wall smiles down and warms me through,
shortening dark nights.

(D)
They smile as they pass.
Logos of losing ballteams
I am adorned in.

(E)
Nature is two dice
rolled on Spacetime's sleek table.
God's palm is sweating.

c/c/f welcome
jtrue@acpub.duke.edu