HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: 2ftolonger@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Lost Again
Date: 19 Nov 92 14:13:03 CST
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Services

	Lost Again

Silent
I screamed, I begged, I pleaded,
And now I have my silence
but even it speaks to me
whispering, mumblin, telling of the past.
Shut up!
The barren tree limbs mock me
reaching for the sky with their unadorned bones.
Shut up!
The wind gigles behind my back
stirring up the dust with its searing breath.
Shut up!
Even this page sneers up at me,
its blank lines haughty with their emptiness.
When the silence is no longer my friend
where can I go?

--aka

C&C always welcome and desired

-- 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Angela Kathleen Ayers          |  "A mathematician who is not also
2ftolonger                     |   something of a poet, is not a complete
@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu (Internet) |   mathematician"
@UKANVAX  (BITNET)             |                   --Karl Weierstrass
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alk4@ellis.uchicago.edu (Alex L. Karan)
Subject: Re: Hey Marek....
Reply-To: alk4@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 05:21:58 GMT

Oh Marek, did you miss the :)?
I was joking, you know...these new guys have you quite in a 
tempest.

Hey Phil, where you going with that gun in your hand?


Alex
Organization: University of Maine System
Date: Thursday, 19 Nov 1992 21:56:11 EST
From: <SALIMM@MAINE.MAINE.EDU>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Lost Again

I am not certain if this is the right way to post a poem...but here
we go anyway...

untitled.

why do we torture so
our minds, so delicate
last ounce of creativity
just left that open door

brains on the brink
eyes closing sychronized
with giant yawns
dreams waiting impatiently

perhaps it is all
an effort
to bring these dreams
into reality.

(c and c welcome....I am new at this, so help me out if you can!!)

G. Salim A. Mohammed (11/19/92)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: Stephanie's drink poem / Marek (Re: the Realm's Defender, absent)
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1992 21:22:42 GMT

Stephanie, 

There is no excuse here for mixing "thine" and "runeth" with "has passed"
and "has slid".  We are talking lime green lycra and black velvet together.

Your poem would be much more natural and intimate if the cliche "runeth
over" and the affected "thine"" were flushed and replaced with cleanly
flowing langaue of today.  Alternatively, you could have affected the mood
of hath and doth and done a decent job of it.

Other than that, yours is a sunny, gurgling little poem. :)

				-- Marek

P.s.  Note that Don stuck to a consistent style, with a questionable
      "shall" at the end.  A more precise poet would have written "will",
      in American English.  "Shall" connotes English Majorism in advanced
      stages -- esp. if you just found out you have nothing cold to
      drink...  The correct exclamation is "fuck, what will I drink?",
      followed by, "damn, I shall walk over to the Seven Eleven".


-------

In article <steele.722024434@chip.aem.umn.edu> steele@aem.umn.edu (Stephanie Steele) writes:
>jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (jtrue) writes:
>
>(that dz's 'double phallic persona' is away for a week)
>
>and p.o't. leaves us with this poem:
>
>
>
>>Realm in the form of the following poem:
>
>>A Moron in Springtime
>
>
>>I crossed a bridge and found upriver
>>another bridge.  I crossed the bridge
>>and continued upriver.
>
>>Across many bridges I found the head
>>of this great river in the mountains
>>fed by mountain snow.
>
>>I could not really trust my memory.
>>Spring could be the first spring ever
>>here inside the mountains.
>
>>I brought lunch in a paper baggy
>>and on the banks of this great river
>>I ate my lunch.
>
>>I had fish inside my sandwich
>>chopped up finely for a texture
>>pleasing to my mouth.
>
>>I had water in a thermos,
>>but it's warm now from the sunlight.
>>What shall I drink?
>
>
>>Posthumous O'Toole
>>11/16/92
>
>drink the warm sunlight
>from the water
>from the cup
>from your thermos
>and after the last bit
>of sun    
>the last lingering bit
>of light has passed
>your lips, tilt 
>your cup to the sky
>and drink the glint
>of blue and white
>out of the water
>out of the cup
>from your thermos
>and after the last bit  
>of cloud has slid
>down your throat
>tilt your cup
>to the river
>until it runneth
>over and then drink
>with thine eyes.
>
>sls.
>--
>
>=======================================================================
>			   Stephanie Steele
>			steele@chip.aem.umn.edu


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jlitchfi@napier.uwaterloo.ca (Jon Litchfield)
Subject: Re: on Canada in Jon's .sig / Marek (Re: next)
Organization: University of Waterloo
Date: Fri, 20 Nov 1992 02:19:44 GMT

In article <1992Nov19.075045.11830@news.acns.nwu.edu> marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
>In article <BxxnFv.3s0@undergrad.math.waterloo.edu>
>jlitchfi@undergrad.math.waterloo.edu (Jon Litchfield) .sigs:
>
>>-- 
>>Welcome to Canada, asshole. The land of gripe and loonie...
>>
>>jon litchfield
>>jlitchfi@undergrad.math.uwaterloo.ca
>
>This reminds me of my first visit to Toronto.  At that time our family were
>not U.S. Citizens and after seeking and getting a visa in Buffalo, we
>finally made it to Niagra Falls, The Pretty Side, and later on to lakefront
>Toronto.  While we were having a picnic at one of the tables in a lakefront
>park, a car passed by and a guy stuck his head out, yelling, "go home, you
>Yankee dogs!".  Our car had NY plates.  We could not tell him that we
>weren't terribly Yankee yet, or that my sister was the distinguished one
>amongst us, as we discovered on the border visa-less the first time, who
>was free to come and go into Canada on account of being born in India,
>which like Canada is a British Commonwealth nation.  We could not tell them
>any of these complex things because they didn't hang around.  I guess he
>could have been protesting the unbridled influx of tourists to deserted
>lakefront parks on cloudy days...

actually, i forgot about that .sig. sorry if anyone was offended, i normaly
use it for rec.music.industrial only. The meaning is pretty cryptic unless
you are canadian and an industrial fan, but offhand, i'd say your yankee-dog
yeller was just plain stupid. you're giving him too much credit, even if you 
are making fun of him. i, myself, have no real problem with america or americans; my comment was intended to poke fun of the canadian habit of constantly 
complaining about every little thing, when the reality is that we have
a pretty damn fine country as it is.

>To this day, "go home you Yankee dog!" is one of my fonder initial memories
>of Toronto and whenever I feel lyrical, and Marie is around, I say that to
>her, like, on the computer, for farewell, my lovely, kissy, kissy.  So, if
>you hear "go home, you Yankee dog" from me, be sure to feel warm all
>over... and go home.... you Yankee dog.
>
>				-- Marek

you're weird. but hey. who isn't?
From: klaw@ecst.csuchico.edu (Almighty Nodens the Master of the Elder Sign)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Untitled Poem by Jason Livingston of 11-17-92
Date: 17 Nov 92 10:28:33 GMT
Organization: California State University, Chico
NNTP-Posting-Host: cscihp.ecst.csuchico.edu

We die everyday as we go to sleep 
and born in the morning 
with a dream of who and what we are
I look apon this dying rose
knowing that water will no longer save
just as my dying soul
too late for love, has found it's grave

...Jason Livingston 11-17-92

Jason Livingston is klaw@ecst.csuchico.edu ***
------------------------------------------ ***
----------------------------------------------
From: sp15@quads.uchicago.edu (steven  paul)
Subject: test letter of sorts
Reply-To: sp15@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Fri, 20 Nov 1992 06:34:54 GMT


This is a test of something... If the post is read by your or your creative spirit... Do me a favor and let me know!  sp15@midway.uchicago.edu

-- 
All things mellow in the mind, a sleight of hand, a trick of time.  And even our great love will fade, soon we'll be strangers in the grave... That's why this moment is so dear.  I kiss your lips, and we are here, so let's hold tight, and touch and feel, 
for this quick instant, WE ARE REAL... <Anon.>
From: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Mr. Nikolayev
Summary: lazy
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 92 12:39:54 PST
Reply-To: jjwebb@cruzio.santa-cruz.ca.us



And we have our answer now Philip ... thanks. To quote my wife, "only a fool
would mistake this for a cesspool."

              JJWebb

--
From: mrn3@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (MATTHEW R. NARBY)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: A Bend in the Road
Date: 16 Nov 92 06:30:07 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University




      Like everything else, I was content
      to let life slide by at a measly pace,
      waiting for opportunity to come my way.
      I sat at the bench where the roads bent
      and looked back, and looked forward, in a daze.

      The time had come, my time to pay
      But bare is my wallet, the money spent.
      And so here I sit, stuck in this place
      My mind goes blank, a trance, far away.
      Alas I decide; I turn to repent
      And the light, blinding, breaks through the haze.
      The sun yawns, streches, and begins a new day.

          Oh yes, the time has come,
          And I must decide to stay, or to go on some.
-- 
Later On. . . Matt.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: TimeKeeper (C&C Welcome)
From: marshall@brandonu.ca (Edward S. Marshall)
Date: 19 Nov 92 15:03:43 CST
Organization: Brandon University, Brandon, Manitoba, Canada

TimeKeeper

The time
passes so quickly:
quickquickquick,
hurryhurryhurry,
no time for
rest.

I but wish to find
an hourglass
to trap the
golden moments
within.

Edward S. Marshall                                         marshall@brandonu.ca
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
   "I never allow my schooling to interfere with my education." - Mark Twain
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: dmcheste@quads.uchicago.edu (dennis michael chester)
Subject: new poem, _Race_
Reply-To: dmcheste@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 1992 19:12:59 GMT

This is the closest thing to a love poem I will ever post.
God save me from sappiness.


	_Race_

	The three of them lined
	against the wall.
	He, with long legs and
	Gold tooth,
	His Date
	and Her Child.
	They ran toward the far side of the field,
	he came in
	just behind them


enjoy,
	D. Chester
From: beh@kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu (various Howellses)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: moments
Date: 15 Nov 92 21:42:47
Organization: Internet access via the Free Software Foundation
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: kropotkin.gnu.ai.mit.edu


perhaps it is too personal a thing
to discuss the moments that fall
in candlelit shadows

perhaps, but those are the moments
when I best feel, remember,
know

stretched on my side,
golden glow flickering from the candles strewn
throughout the room,
your hair is sweaty to my fingertips,
your eyes filled with emotion,
softness, longing,
as you touch my side, stroking long
and short, and insistently

your skin feels like satin,
your chest textured with its hair,
the curve between your belly and your hip bones
invites my palm to linger

we have made love

I taste your sweat, 
your fingertips which taste of me
in perfect moments poised on tip-toe,
set to wander out the door
in search of the next tomorrow,
the next word

in moments like these,
I remember harsh words,
spewed from my lips in times of darkness,
frustration drawing ugliness deeper between us
and then I remember
the first time ever
we made love

with candles in lilac scented
wax, flowing over the dresser

I snuggle closer,
tasting the moments, 
caressing the moments,
holding you closer,
praying with each of your breaths
that forever will be forever and ever
and then again tomorrow
as it was yesterday,
today, and
just this past moment

-Nancy Howells
(beh@gnu.ai.mit.edu)
Organization: University of Maine System
Date: Monday, 23 Nov 1992 00:25:49 EST
From: <SALIMM@MAINE.MAINE.EDU>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: My first Posting...

Why do we torture so
our minds, so delicate
last ounce of creativity
just left that open door

brains on the brink
eyes closing, sychronized
with giant yawns
fighting dreams waiting

perhaps it is all
an effort
to turn dreams into
reality


Salim Mohammed--November 23, 1992 (C & C most welcome!)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: zola@hardy.u.washington.edu ()
Subject: well, that is how the wind tells it
Summary: view from the sculpture garden 
Keywords: tournesol, riene du  
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
Date: Fri, 20 Nov 1992 19:46:28 GMT

 



months ago void man phoned, said "guess what", told me that
he was stepping into the dangerous, a meeting with that one 
o'toole, the dead one.  oh, you must mean posthumous, who,
it seems, used to think that he was my departed husband, I 
believe it was due to a hadean mixup of souls, someone i loved
was trapped in the being of mrzirilli.  but he didn't know 
that he was possessed at the time.  mortal mayhem.  so voidman 
says to me, i am going to meet them, except maybe not spiderman,
mrtaranto, aka mrtarantula, aka Ms. Toronto 1984.  he is going
to meet them in manhattan.  then, THEN, the dead one says to 
me in some vague reference that he is going to manhattan this
weekend, and i remember that they are all meeting, oh, but
before that mrtaranto phones and says "guess what", told me 
that he was stepping into the dangerous and meeting a certain dead 
o'toole.  and then i got some other mail from this crazy woman, who,
it seems, craves stars near the seine, but i this is only rumor,
who i have now heard described by several, and asked her how it went,
she didn't know i knew, or cared.  oh, they have all told me,
told me their unforgivable sins, told me their bank account numbers,
told me what to do if posthumous should drag them to the other side,
i know just what to do.  independently, moins un, they have told me,
of times together.  but i, candlestick, am of fire.  no matter 
that I occasionally ride the wind, through paintings, to the top,
to the sculpture garden, it is a lovely view after all, ride through
their thoughts, keep their secrets, and manifest in sacred ways.

met well,
Candlestick  defender of the flame   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                          
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--This happens
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 92 18:44:21 GMT

                                This happens

                The little one saddened
                the castle broken before him
                looking onto it
                the little creatures swarm
                seek to rebuild
                he wonders if their sorrow knows expression other than
                frantic to-and-fro
                he knows that eventually
                this happens to all creatures in their striving.






-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Mon, 16 Nov 1992 06:24:01 GMT
Subject: Re: A letter to a young critic
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
From: pts2@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (PAUL THOMAS STROBL)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem: Sunsets
Date: 23 Nov 92 20:13:14 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University


             "Sunsets"

A Texas sunset begins
After the afternoon heat is done;
The sky becomes an open canvas
For the sunny colors to run.

A baby is born into the world;
Happily, he plays with his toys,
But this is something he will soon outgrow,
For he will soon become a boy.

A Texas sunset is as gorgeous a sight
As any in the world;
The colors are splashed across the sky
Like a pink, orange, and purple mural.

As a boy grows into a man
And handles dilemmas thrown his way,
He learns to choose and make decisions
Through the teachings of yesterday.

A sunset is a sight to sit and reflect--
A sight that will let you rest;
One that will help you continue on
When one's life is put to the test.

A grown man grows older,
Paying no attention to the past;
He wants to accomplish so much more,
But he will soon be at rest at last.

We must all stop to watch a sunset
Because the beauty will not last long;
For we are all sunsets in a busy world,
And like a sunset, we will be gone.

                     --- Paul T. Strobl
                         "Tex"
-- 



"La belle dame sans merci, hath thee enthrall!"

                                 --John Keats
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Advice:  A Love Sonnet
From: nihil@oread.cc.ukans.edu
Date: 16 Nov 92 05:14:42 CST
Organization: University of Kansas Academic Computing Serces

In article <1992Nov13.124452.24031@leela.cs.orst.edu>, petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen) writes:
> In article <1992Nov12.160018.8086@midway.uchicago.edu> moh2@midway.uchicago.edu writes:
> When I saw your request, I just couldn't resist!  And just because of my
> sitting down and immediately composing the following, my poor family got
> dinner *very* late.  :-)

   any more spur of the moment sonnets?
 
> ...since Shakespearean Sonnets are my particular hobby...

   i've always found sonnets to be fun: 

	By throwing random words upon the page
	I make a rhythmic nonsense--meaningless.
	This stanza's but the introduct'ry stage;
	The purpose of this poem can't be guessed.
	The second stanza sets a deeper tone;
	It gives a clearer insight to my theme.
	The images and symbols stand alone,
	But still they have more meaning than they seem.
	By now my purpose should be clear as day.
	The final stanza finishes the plot
	That's been developing along the way,
	But don't believe it's finished, since it's not.
	   A couplet must be at my sonnet's end
	   To tie it all together and append.

chris.j.
nihil@oread.cc.ukans.edu
(forgive the reposting; this is very old)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Subject: cleanliness is next to goddessness / Marie+Marek
Reply-To: mcoffin@IASTATE.EDU (Marie Coffin)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1992 03:22:04 GMT


		cleanliness is next to goddessness
		------------------------------------------------------------
		
		what can she be doing,
		what do she be going,
		don't she know,
		her fingers must be turning
		her skin must be burning
		what can she do in the shower
		so long?
		
		yeah, she's only half as big
		as you or me, 
		and it takes her twice as long to clean,
		she's got to be having lots of fun
		in there.
		
		the girl who couldn't stop washing her hair.
		
		it's beautiful hair, at that.
		runs all the way down to her ass
		(of course, that's not as far
		as it would be on you.  or me.)
		
		let's not start a war about this.
		but i've waited an hour 
		to shower this morning,
		to scour my hide.
		she can't help it.
		
		she's the girl who couldn't stop washing her hair.
		
		god, if i could fuck a girl like that,
		i'd give her a bathtub of her own
		at my house.


			Marie Coffin / Marek Lugowski
			16 November 1992
			Ames, Iowa / Chicago, Illinois

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: moh2@quads.uchicago.edu (Kateri/Mary Anne)
Subject: What Do Roses...
Reply-To: moh2@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 1992 19:53:49 GMT

What Do Roses Have to Do With It?

John, I'm leaving you.			(blank incomprehension)
To move in with Catherine.		(anger) (confusion)
She understands me, my needs.		(despair) (love...)
A man can never really understand me.	(frustration)
	...
She brings me roses.			(blank incomprehension)

*****

(for Michael)
M.A. Mohanraj
November 17, 1992
-- 
More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads.  One
path leads to despair and utter hopelessness.  The other to total
extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.
						 - Woody Allen
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: cdl0915@ultb.isc.rit.edu (Chris Losinger)
Subject: Re: Poetry Readings - are they worth it?
Originator: cdl0915@ultb
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 17:42:22 GMT

In article <1992Nov19.163000.18440@news.acns.nwu.edu> marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
>In article <1992Nov19.140112.16703@eng.cam.ac.uk> tpl@eng.cam.ac.uk
>(Tim Love) writes:
>
>>We have quite a few Poetry Readings in Cambridge. Last year Holub
>>read but I didn't go. I've come to avoid lesser poets too -- I'd 
>>rather buy the book. ...
>
>You know, Marie told me that the same sentiment can be heard in Ames, Iowa,
>but regarding classical music concerts (or popular, I suppose).  The
>sentiment goes like this:  Why would any fool go to hear the Chicago
>Symphony when it comes to Ames if one can easily buy a Compact Disc?
>
	This reminds me of something Robert Fripp (guitar player extraordinaire)
likes to say. He maintains that music is meant to be heard live because there 
are feelings and attitudes as well as performer/audience relations which are 
lost when music is forced onto tape. Some people take this as his excuse for
lousy albums.

	A beautiful thing about live performance is the ability of the 
performers to change the performance to suit their own moods or the setting or
the social climate or whatever. When live performance is canned, all of the
immediacy is lost and you are left with a snapshot. I would much rather see
music performed live. And I find performances which do not attempt to
re-interpret the material disappointing. 

	I don't know where this leaves music which is built in studios piece
by piece, or novels, which can't be performed live (except as plays)....

-- 
        --------------------------------------------------------------
        	c  h  r  i  s   l  o  s  i  n  g  e  r   r  i  t 

  America : where the people who stifle others are merely the loudest minority.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: marek@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: in my tribe / Marek (1990)
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 1992 05:14:36 GMT

Copyright 1990 Marek Lugowski.  All Rights Reserved, except personal use
copy.  Contact me for other rights.  (312) 784-3844.



		in my tribe
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		in my tribe
		our tribesmen rape our women.
		
		in my tribe
		we cover our dead with our most sacred logic/magic
		so we don't see 'em for who they have become.
		
		we're ashamed of having dead.
		we're ashamed of having raped women.
		
		some of us are even ashamed of being
		in my tribe.
		
		we are american.
		
		we are jovial.
		sometimes we puke in the right places
		at greek parties
		sometimes we tell funny jokes
		in parking lots
		we rip off each others' 
		radios
		or tax each others' wallets
		or daughters.
		
		in my tribe
		we are proud
		to be
		or not to be
		-- it's not a question
		in my tribe.
		
		in my tribe
		you are a nobody
		but there's always an equal
		or not so equal
		opportunity
		to become an elder
		nobody
		
		you can be a church nobody elders
		you can be a politicians
		you can be a law enforcement officials
		or you can be the few, the proud, the marines
		you can be a crips
		you can be a bloods
		you can be an independents
		or a republicans
		or a democrats
		
		in my tribe
		we rape and loot and worship and watch t.v.
		all at the same time
		
		we are good at doing this well
		and we are good at doing this a lot
		because we are industrious
		always have been!

		in my tribe.
		

			Marek Lugowski
			20 June 1990
			Lake Monroe, Indiana