HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Willing Deception (comments welcome)
Date: 13 Oct 92 21:43:59 GMT
Article-I.D.: IASTATE.1992Oct13.164359
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University

In article <1992Oct13.111728.21261W@baron.edb.tih.no>,
thomasfh@edb.tih.no (Thomas Fjaestad Hagelien,o92b) writes:
> 
> >The autumn leaves are falling like rain.
> >Although my neighbors are all barbarians,
> >And you, you are a thousand miles away,
> >There are always two cups at my table.		 - A T'ang Dynasty poem
> 
> Hey, that's me. Yes I know I have been writing two real
> depressing poems. ...Yeah like someone really read them.
> But my girlfriend is so many miles from me right now, and
> the cold claws of the winter is sneaking closer.
> It's not strange that a young guy like me freaks out sometimes.
> My mind gets real fu..ed up with weird ideas and thoughts.
> So I write poems.
> Now.. I have a big bunch of poems I've written on sad days.
> If anybody out there like to read them, I'll be glad to
> show 'em too to.
> 
> It's cold and dark.
> Doesn't that make you
> feel restless too?
> __
> /homas Hagelien


Well, since you said comments are welcome, I'd suggest you stop writing
"fu..ed up" and say what you mean.  

Marie Coffin
From: sstover@sumax.seattleu.edu (Maven o'Mirth)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Letter/Sheryl
Date: 14 Oct 92 07:49:44 GMT
Organization: Seattle University, Seattle WA

Thankyou's: to the person whose .sig contained this lovely poem,
and to Mark, who called me tonight after all these years. :)


Letter
------------------

"The autumn leaves are falling like rain.
Although my neighbors are all barbarians,
And you, you are a thousand miles away,
There are always two cups at my table."
		-T'ang Dynasty poem

I had only just forgotten
the smell of winter, and then
tonight I took long, deep breaths
of the crackling of leaves.

I saw Pat in the Cafe Paradiso
last night
after almost a year, and how strange
to see him in this other city
where I had built another world
without him
without you.

Now, though I am able to transpose
you onto the view from my window,
you remain distant,
and once again I smell 
winter, and your plaid wool scarf.

	13 October 1992

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

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: Trying To Be Round
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1992 15:09:06 GMT

baldwin@cogsci.ucsd.EDU (Ken Baldwin) writes:


>Trying To Be Round
>_____________________________________________

>The little bursts of her words,
>set against the echo of the escaping air,
>implied that it was my fault,
>but I couldn't have forseen the flat,
>anymore than the tire could have known
>that its easy rolling life was about to expire 
>here, on this lonely stretch of road,
>short of any meaningful destination.

>Of course all tires, on some road,
>suffer such a passing, though if confronted, 
>they turn away from this truth, 
>knowing no other response to
>the powers which threaten them.
>Perhaps they hope, somewhere in their hearts,
>for a heroic, high-speed blowout
>of burning rubber and screaming chrome.

>At least they know enough to be round.
>They are not fooled 
>by their thin, white-walled selves
>into fighting the road
>and resenting the weather for their wear.
>They simply roll on, knowing that 
>nothing can live well
>which does not make a circle.
>_____________________________________________
ken,

i like this piece and feel that the first stanza is the strongest...
in some sense this first stanza sort of set me up for wanting
to hear more about the relationship that the voice in the poem
and the 'round tire' shares, but the following stanzas seem to
leave off from that interesting connection and focus just on
the tire...if the intent is to show some correlation of this
argument (?) between the two people in the car and the tire in
its roundness, is there any way of coming up with more imagery,
shared imagery, in order to bring the people and their relationship
forward in the later stanzas?

nice work...

you must email me at my CORRECT address (posted below) if you're
interested in getting in touch with me (my address on the net
is screwed
sls
>by Kenneth Baldwin		[02 OCT 92]

>Comments and criticism welcome...
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alberti@ux.acs.umn.edu (Theresa J Alberti)
Subject: another jello poem
Originator: alberti@staff.tc.umn.edu
Organization: Authors With Twins
Date: Wed, 14 Oct 1992 19:15:23 GMT

you made it
grandma
every holiday:
orange jello
still-life
with carrots
pineapples & nuts

we hated it
"you must take some"

we hated it
"at least a spoonful"

tongue-clucking
indignant hurt
to see the bowl
half full

it took you     
20 years
to learn to buy
our love
with 
brownies

--Theresa Jarosz Alberti



-- 
--                                                                          --
Theresa Jarosz Alberti                      Writer/Mother of Twins=Overworked!
     "You have to let writing eat your life and follow it where it takes  you.
You fit into it;  it doesn't fit neatly  into your life.   It makes  you wild.  
Kate said... to the outside world she looked normal...  how could she work all 
day, have a baby and write?  She wanted it bad; that's what finally moves you,
not how it will conveniently fit in with the rest of your life." (N. Goldberg)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mstringh@ent1.ent.ncsu.edu (Mike Stringham)
Subject: Lib. Theol. -- work in progress
Originator: mstringh@ent1.ent.ncsu.edu
Organization: Dept. of Entomology - NCSU, Raleigh, NC
Distribution: usa
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 1992 14:33:53 GMT

My reply keeps getting bounced, so guess I'll go public.

Thanks for the comments.  I agree (mostly) with what you say.
The poem is something of a struggle.  I have had a hard time staying
focused with it and will probably just let it sit for a while.  Every
daughter or son probably knows at least one thing profound about one or
both parents...its just not always obvious until later.  I'm trying to
figure out if I know what it is with this poem.  It may be that I don't,
but thought I'd talk to myself about it.  The effort may invariably
"fail"... but there's always the journey.
Bottoms is just vernacular for bottom lands or a valley.

--Mike


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: westphal@iscnvx.lmsc.lockheed.com (Dorothy Westphal)
Subject: fancy free
Organization: Lockheed Missiles and Space Co.
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 7 Oct 92 21:16:06 GMT

For my third and probably final posting to this group,
something airy!

		Fancy Free


	Tethers to Earth
		Fallen away;
	My upward flight
		Pierces the skies.

	Look down on clouds
		Shrinking to dots.
	Earth slips away;
		Stars brush my cheeks.

	Grateful at last
		I had known bounds;
	Else I could not
		Feel now so free.

-- 
Dorothy Westphal, Sunnyvale, Calif. % Just when things are going your way...%
westphal@iscnvx.lmsc.lockheed.com   %               they get even better!   %
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lichter@oahu.cs.ucla.edu (Michael I. Lichter)
Subject: Serifos in October
Organization: UCLA, Computer Science Department
Distribution: na
Date: Fri, 9 Oct 92 10:10:48 GMT


		Serifos in October
		--------------------------------------------------------

		Bearded Kostas laughed and
		tangled us in his plan of impossible
		romance and youthful adventure
		that wavebounced Aegean afternoon

		Wandering me, I abandoned my 
		hunt for Sifnos that those women
		on the Austrian train praised to me,
		instead to act in Kostas' dream

		Lustful Jim's thin arms prodded
		the limits of our common island
		prison, where Kostas and Martine
		frolicked, Anna and I watched

		Deserted Serifos, vacationers
		gone back to Athens, offered us
		its stingy autumn hospitality
		of rocky hills, solitary lighthouse

		Horrid Greek Coffee brewed in the
		cafe where we played backgammon under
		the bored eyes of wrinkled men
		and ate those perfect simple salads

		The lifeline ferry, days between,
		left us stranded, lunching on non-cheese 
		and fresh bread, and sleeping 
		in the unfinished brick frame on the beach

		Thin-faced Anna refused me and the
		time out of time of this foreign
		isolated world, all lifted outside of
		itself by our strangeness

		Unthinking me, stung by Anna,
		offended Jim, disappointed Kostas,
		barely waited until we ferried back
		to Pireaus, all in silence

			
				Michael Lichter
				October 8, 1992
				Home
Organization: Robotics Institute, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Date: Sat, 10 Oct 1992 11:02:31 -0400 
From: Jason Andrew Barshay <jb6o+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: Re: Criticism


Stephanie,

My e-mail address is jb6o@andrew.cmu.edu.  The mail system we have at my
university if kinda goofy so it's difficult to retrieve your old messages.
I had tried replying directly to your e-mail address as listed at the header
of your messages but they got returned as undeliverable.  I would be glad to
send you the few poems I have (see, I love to read poetry but have very rarely
had the inclination to try my hand at it) but I would feel uncomfortable
posting them on rap.  If there's a way for me to send them directly to you,
that would be great.  Do you have an e-mail address.  Maybe I got it wrong
when I tried before.  I could try again.  Anyway, I'm glad to hear you don't
let others change who you are or the way you feel.  I'm looking forward
to finding some time to read some of your poetry.

Fond wishes,
Jason
From: tilley@kodak.com (Dave Tilley)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: haiku
Date: 13 Oct 92 14:57:36 GMT
Reply-To: tilley@kodak.com (Dave Tilley)
Organization: Image Processing Algorithms Laboratory, Eastman Kodak Co.

In article <1992Oct11.220858.1959@gacvx2.gac.edu>, emiddlec@mora.gac.edu (Eric Middlecamp) writes:
|> 
|> 
|> 
|> 		star-filled sky
|> 	        cold hard ground
|> 		I exist!

soft black velvet sky
blanketing the dark canal
mosquito buzzing

dave
From: tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors )
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Random Thoughts
Date: 11 Oct 92 22:20:17 GMT
Organization: Memorial University of Newfoundland


           "Smattering"

          Red Roses.
          Blue Violets.
          Dead Monkeys.
          Thunderclouds.


           "Pastrami Dreams"

        Baker, Baker, Baker man. 
        There is something, that you can,
        do for me, here's my request.
        I'll put your cooking to the test. 
          
        Bake a mix, I beg of you,
        A mix of things named people stew.
        Michaels glove, Ameldas shoes,
        Perots big ears, and Rodneys bruise.

        This elixir has the power,
        to make my own blood boil.
        I know dear baker,
        You are soil.
         
        Now Shut up and dance!

  comments? tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca
                  Tim Connors
               Poetic Wheelbarrow: Ponders the lonely dung beetle: "Why
                                   do I wallow in shit?"
 
        kx
        
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele)
Subject: Re: Calliope O'Toole
Organization: University of Minnesota
Distribution: na
Date: Fri, 16 Oct 1992 15:37:49 GMT

and all this time i thought i was dealing with multiple personalities!

i sit corrected ;)

sls
--

=======================================================================
			   Stephanie Steele
			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu
From: jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (john)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: thing 3 / jtrue
Date: 7 Oct 92 17:22:43 GMT

"this thing all things devours..."
this thing takes
the way the green sunset
across a spent
stripmine
can suck tears from
behind your shades
like there was no atmosphere at all
this thing is spread
across boundaries
like thick, off-white
interior latex in a maximum
security cell, the same
coat on the floor and walls,
repainted over chips every
third year when the 
state doesn't run a deficit
this thing has lips
glistening blue
in the new cold
as capillary beds collapse
like a baggie
in a 7-11 microwave
this thing
will make your hands
candelabras,
their wicks burning
perpetually,
flesh melting
back like wax,
its
vapor rising up in
little gray tufts,
reeking as the bones
burn away.

c/c/f welcome
"He's got a butane flicker..." - Ric O
jtrue@acpub.duke.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: westphal@iscnvx.lmsc.lockheed.com (Dorothy Westphal)
Subject: Thank You, Sir Walter Raleigh
Organization: Lockheed Missiles and Space Co.
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 7 Oct 92 21:03:25 GMT

Here for my very first posting to the group,
something depressing!


                       Thank You, Sir Walter Raleigh
		
     
     New colors for old!
     	My grey for your gold.
     For just a few coins
     	My pleasures are sold.
     
     
     Benign amber flame
     	Once more taking hold
     As smoke-drifts unfold:
     	Soft grey for your gold.
     
     
     White, delicate sac
     	Grows grey, ripens 
                  black.
     No need to grow old!
     	Grey dreams for your gold.
     
     
     To terminal ash
     	the embers cool down
     To ashes to ashes
     	And color is gone.
     
-- 
Dorothy Westphal, Sunnyvale, Calif. % Just when things are going your way...%
westphal@iscnvx.lmsc.lockheed.com   %               they get even better!   %
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Christian Dylan Losinger)
Subject: wreck.arse.po'ms
Reply-To: cdl0915@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 1992 13:54:08 GMT

	the civet is a mangy creature
	a ronyon to be sure
	draggled through evil posset
	a flatus, a gowk pure

	no posse comitatus
	will skirr not from the fight
	no sprue infested felching citternist
	dare meet it in the light 

	avoid the termagant and the uretic bittern
	and the civet most of all 
	so tightten up your buccinators
	and limn the message global 
        --------------------------------------------------------------
        	c  h  r  i  s   l  o  s  i  n  g  e  r   r  i  t 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: anonymous
Subject: poem - fuck
Organization: DSO, Stanford University
Date: Mon, 12 Oct 92 02:54:44 GMT




F U C K !





someone had to do it
peace.
From: tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca (Tim Connors )
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Rice on a hot tin hoof
Date: 13 Oct 92 17:52:37 GMT
Article-I.D.: morgan.1992Oct13.175237.18181
Organization: Memorial University of Newfoundland

When all was well in my hometown, back in younger days,
There was a young man,name escapes me, who was sure to amaze.
He used to be loyal, he used to be friendly
Fetch a stick if you asked him too.
That was until the day that those men showed up
to escort him to his rubber room
No longer would he run with the pack
and bay at the moon
Now, there he sits in silence,
Jojo, the dog-faced loon.
Milk gone awry, horribly,horribly.....
.
tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca
Tim Connors
Poetic Wheelbarrow: Beware the strangled toad that calls your name in
the night.
Organization: Freshman, H&SS general, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Date: Wed,  7 Oct 1992 16:56:43 -0400 
From: "Daniel L. Zabell" <dz22+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: Asbestos

                                   Asbestos

An ancient door is opened
burnt bridges rise from ash
sentiments I thought were dead
against my present self do clash

a blight descends upon me
night crashes in my mind
cages of the past enwrap;
the world I know I leave behind

a window opens in the cage
it pours in a blast of light
figures of what I once was
give way to waves of fright

I squirm with pain - I cringe in fear
attacked by what was once most dear
yet even as I try to hide
I'm struck by something deep inside-

I've missed for so long what I was
So long I've wished to have returned
the simpler ways I used to live...
the bridges back have long since burned


time will pass and time will roll
op'ning windows in the soul
present time despises past
yet inside what we were will last  

the doors I've passed through are still there
I'm now but past times' bridges heir
yet backwards through the doors is night
ever forwards is the light

marching through new doors we grow
someday to true wisdom know
open doors will set us free
upon the road to destiny.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

dan zabell
From: ajohnson@algodones.unm.edu (Alan Johnson)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: emerson poem?
Date: 15 Oct 92 19:20:55 GMT
Reply-To: ajohnson@algodones.unm.edu
Organization: "University of New Mexico, Albuquerque"

Kyle Cassidy writes:
|> 
|> i don't want to throw off anybodies momentum here, but i'm looking for an 
|> emerson poem...it contains the line "natures red of tooth and claw" i think 
|> the first line is something like "the slayer in red..."
|> 

This line appears in Tennyson's "In Memoriam", section LVI.  The stanza
in which it appears goes as follows:

Who trusted God was love indeed
    And love Creation's final law--
    Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--


--- Alan
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gschlesi@scott.skidmore.edu (gabriel schlesinger)
Subject: Does it matter?
Organization: Skidmore College, Saratoga Springs NY
Date: Sun, 11 Oct 1992 06:51:22 GMT

One night  I discovered
I was free.
I could say anything
or do anything.
But I had nothing to say
so I brushed my teeth
and went to sleep.

One night I discovered
there were too many writers,
and not enough words.
So I made some of my own
and I won't show anyone
because I don't want people
to give them meaning.

-Gabriel Schlesinger Oct. 1992  "All of my quotes have been taken by
others so I have nothing left to give".
From: colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope)
Subject: e-Dada haiku #6
Keywords: e-Dada haiku
Organization: AT&T
Date: Wed, 14 Oct 1992 19:59:57 GMT



                      e-Dada haiku #6
                      ---------------


                      hummingbird perched, look!
                      White, clouded, chunky, vital.
                      The archaic device
 
 
 
 
collaborative poets:
--------------------
line 1: Sheila Herndon <sheilah@wam.umd.edu>
line 2: Tim Connors  <tconnors@morgan.ucs.mun.ca>
line 3: bpaul@maths.tcd.ie  (Barry Paul)

---
please submit any e-Dada 5 or 7 syllable haiku lines to the address below
---

c         _     m         
 o        \\     i        
  l      ((\\     c      
   o      (\___    r      
    s      ||       o                     -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
     s  ========     s                      -=-=-   jack thomas weres   -=-=-
      a               c                       -=-=- jtw@acpfs.att.com -=-=-
       l               o                        -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
                        p                                  |||
                         e                                 |||
Organization: Freshman, H&SS general, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Date: Wed,  7 Oct 1992 12:25:12 -0400 
From: "Daniel L. Zabell" <dz22+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: Asbestos

                                   Asbestos

An ancient door is opened
burnt bridges rise from ash
sentiments I thought were dead
against my present self do clash

a blight descends upon me
night crashes in my mind
cages of the past enwrap;
the world I know I leave behind

a window opens in the cage
it pours in a blast of light
figures of what I once was
give way to waves of fright

I squirm with pain - I cringe in fear
attacked by what was once most dear
yet even as I try to hide
I'm struck by something deep inside-

I've missed for so long what I was
So long I've wished to have returned
the simpler ways I used to live...
the bridges back have long since burned


time will pass and time will roll
op'ning windows in the soul
present time despises past
yet inside what we were will last  

the doors I've passed through are still there
I'm now but past times' bridges heir
yet backwards through the doors is night
ever forwards is the light

marching through new doors we grow
someday to true wisdom know
open doors will set us free
upon the road to destiny.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: depressed cows
From: the sad girl
Date: 12 Oct 92 14:57:09 -0600
Followup-To: rec.arts.poems
Distribution: world

COWS can't moo when standing on Mountain tops
And torrential rains are beating down
On their soft noses.

They can only CRY
And wish they had an umbrella.
Organization: Robotics Institute, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Date: Sat, 10 Oct 1992 00:14:34 -0400 
From: Jason Andrew Barshay <jb6o+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Subject: Re: Criticism


Stephanie,

You are right about the fact that we are engaging in exactly what we were
discussing.  The thought went through my mind also as I wrote you that last
note.  I am glad that the criticism and views of others helps you and seems
to allow you to improve yourself and get a better understanding of who you
are.  I just hope that you never let those around you dictate who you are
and how you  write.  Never fall into the trap of changing to please others.
If however, through criticism, you can gain a greater insight into who you
really feel you are then I wish you all the more power.  Please don't
ever forget that you are the one who knows yourself best and as such, you
are the best (and probably harshest) critic of your own work.

I very much enjoyed hearing from you again.  I would love to read some
of your work.  I have a hard time keeping up with rap since it gets such
heavy traffic.  Perhaps you could send me directly some of your work?
I can not promise to give you any useful criticism of it but I would be
honored to have the chance to read some of it.

Best of wishes,
Jason
From: bunny@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Marsh)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem - Quiet
Date: 9 Oct 92 03:17:57 GMT
Organization: CS Dept, Ball St U, Muncie, Indiana


QUIET

He's quiet today...

I miss him even though he's here, always here -
  I'm afraid I don't think of him as human.
His pale eyes wander, still embrace the old things
  no one else seems to notice anymore;
I wonder if he still believes in his ideals?

A frail man empty of dreams, of hope - what can he think?
  I don't believe he understands what happens to him.
He's more innocent now than before, when his desires
  and base humanity still got in the way;
He has no use for physical things anymore.

His body is nothing more than ruptured bits of former self -
  it's hard to remember him as he was back then.
He seems to stir when he hears his name, his eyes
  grow wide and his mouth twitches, opens;
and he retreats from his shell to the world outside.

I love him and he doesn't remember -
  he sinks farther and farther each day.
His face is so familiar and dear it hurts me to watch,
  day after day, year after year his pain;
I wonder what it's like to die in silence?

-Tracy Flynn-Marsh
Organization: Arizona State University
Date: Monday, 12 Oct 1992 15:18:27 MST
From: <IDJMW@ASUACAD.BITNET>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Life, Love and the Third World

He ran off screaming into the hills,
the echoes of his maniacal laughter
blending with the rustling leaves of the forest;
she watched for his return, waiting,
keeping a candle in the window and
his slippers beside the bed.
They say he was spotted, Elvis-like,
skulking in fast-food check-out lines
somewhere in Cincinatti.

Blowing out the candle, she's convinced herself
he's left her to work with refugees
somewhere in war-torn Eastern Europe.



j. namio