HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: argent@iastate.edu (The Great Grendel-Khan)
Subject: Ankh (c&c wanted and will be acknowledged)
Organization: Iowa State University, Ames, IA
Date: Mon, 14 Dec 1992 22:55:39 GMT

		Ankh



Dressed in death with the symbol of life hanging
	about your neck.
	I can hardly make myself speak.
Have you ever felt the urge to kiss a stranger?
Pushing back, and loving hard and fast?
I imagine tearing your clothes from you
	---stripping the death from your body---
	and touching soft pale flesh,
but instead, I sit here and try to say deep things.
It doesn't happen.
Thoughts of kissing and fucking fly through my mind,
and I awkwardly reply to anything you say.

I write poetry.
Yes I do.
I don't know if I'm any good.
You can read some sometime.

Why am I talking about this?
There are so many other things I'd rather do with you;
hide us with a sheet, like a funeral shroud, do those
	things that wouldn't make your mother proud
	(she need never know),
or run my fingers through your hair as I stand there with
	you on your knees before me,
or bind your wrists, and let my lust have you as it will.
My palms sweat, my vision dims, my stomach turns, my heartbeat drums in my
ears, the room uncomfortably closes in, and I wish my passion could prove
my private thoughts.
I touch your hand, and pretend like I'm not flirting,
	but I am---oh I am.
My fingers burn, but you don't seem to notice the heat.
Your lips move.
I listen only to your voice, not what you say.
---if only to silence your lips with a kiss, to hold you tenderly in my arms.
My whole life's a fantasy,
but my fantasy is far better than reality.
Can you tell my thoughts?
Have you ever felt this way?
I touch your ankh for no reason other than to have my hand
	close to your breasts.
Golden life hanging from a golden chain, in my mind it's all
	you wear.
I want to touch you.
(Would you bleed for me?)
I'd be gentle---really I would,
unless you want it hard.
Then I'll make it as rape,
stopping only when I've had enough---
and I could never have enough.
I would possess you until you begged for me to stop.
Perhaps I would then, or perhaps I would take your wetness
	one last time,
and collapse exhausted when I was through.

What?
Oh yes, it was nice meeting you too.
Maybe we can talk again sometime.
I'd like that.

I'd like that.




	I wrote this on this night I'd meet my present girlfriend.  It was
just recently that I finally showed it to her.  She liked it.  We're weird
that way.  My friend says i should title it, "What guys really think," so
I know I'm not the only one that can relate to such emotions.


-- 
The Great Grendel-Khan,  | They called me the fool, they called me the child
Earth Rim Roamer.        | I found an angel of the night;
                         | The voice was low, the look was bright.
argent@iastate.edu       | She looked upon my crown and smiled. -Tennyson-
From: fmayhar@altair.mpd.tandem.com (Frank Mayhar)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: My first r.a.p post.
Date: 16 Dec 92 00:10:26 GMT
Reply-To: fmayhar@mpd.tandem.com
Organization: Tandem Computers (MPD) Austin, TX

I just discovered this newsgroup (well, I knew it was there, I just hadn't read
it before), and, well, reading the stuff posted here has prompted me to post
one of my own.

Gentle criticism accepted and responded to, flames and derision cheerfully
ignored.  This is one that I had to work hard on, and some parts of it are
still a little unsatisfactory.  It is, however, the least intimately personal,
so I'll start with it.



				Sunset


		White sand glows, blinding in the solar glare.
		Waves roll
			Crash!
			break.
			Day-bright sparkles dance on sea-spray.


		The sky,
			A pale, watermarked canvas
			Is stretched across the heavens.
		The actinic light of day
			Dims.
		Daytime colors fade,
		Hard outlines soften,
		Frenzied activity
			Slows
			To stillness.
		Faintly buzzing,
			Flickering sparks of blue-white glare
			Outline streets.
		Warm pastels tint the cityscape.


		White sand burns pink, orange.
		Waves roll
			Crash!
			break
			Slide up the shore.


		A palm, in stark silhouette.
		Buildings, boldly etched against the sky.
		A million windows, a million sunsets.
			A million echoes.
		Westward-looking faces,
			Each a tiny sun,
			Glow as from within.
		Sol slides down the heavens,
			Touches . . .
		Sets the sky aflame!
			Igniting ocean,
			Spreading to the shore!
		Buildings burn with sunset fire.
		Burnt ocher, incarnadine,
			Fiery red, gold and orange,
			Flames of world-fire fill the western sky.


		White sand burns red, incarnadine!
		Waves roll
			Crash!
			break
			Shatter reflected light.


		The Western sky aflame,
			Sol relinquishes the day,
			Burns smoky red,
			Is consumed!
		The sea, molten iron
			Echoes the dying world-fire.
		Darkness overtakes the land,
			Consuming buildings
			Eclipsing cityscapes
			Hiding faces.
		Man-made day, tiny sparks of light,
			Like diamonds, strewn across the ground,
			Resist the night.
		A sail crosses Sol's swollen disk.
		Puffs of night-cloud appear from clear air.


		White sand glows in late sunset tones.
		Waves roll
			Crash!
			break
			Dimly in the fading light.


		A chatter of conversation from a beach-house
			Cut off.  Doors slam.

		Silence.

		In the west
			the world-fire cools,
			a fading glow.
		Sol hides behind the Earth,
			A tiny, red-burning sliver,
			Smaller,
			Smaller,
			Burns emerald!
				and vanishes.

		Night swallows the ocean,
			Extinguishing the echo of the sunset.


		White sand glows in the night.
		Waves roll
			Crash!
			break.

-- 
Frank Mayhar  fmayhar@mpd.tandem.com
              Tandem Computers, Inc.  Micro Products Division
              14231 Tandem Blvd., Austin, TX  78728    Phone:  (512) 244-8969
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Pictures
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 20 Dec 92 03:46:09 GMT


                        Pictures


Morbid
pictures in their minds
words turning to pictures
of killings and rapine
then they muse about violence
and its causes
and whether children bringing guns to junior high
should be expelled or simply sent on to high school
where it is accepted behavior
automatic weapons in each living room
drawing pictures in their minds...





-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: wachtel@canon.co.uk (Tom Wachtel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: go see
Date: 15 Dec 92 20:13:54 GMT
Reply-To: wachtel@canon.co.uk
Organization: Canon Research Centre Europe Ltd

=


	go see him
	he will respect you
	you're authority
	he's so stupid
	he's so...so go see him
	so he will respect you
	and your authority
	he's so so-so
	stupid


Tom Wachtel & Sara Gordon
London & South Bend







-- 

Tom Wachtel (wachtel@canon.co.uk)
From: bmcginnis@OAVAX.CSUCHICO.EDU (BILL MCGINNIS)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: IRISH NURSERY RYHME
Date: 12 Dec 92 00:14:35 GMT
Reply-To: bmcginnis@OAVAX.CSUCHICO.EDU
Organization: California State University, Chico
NNTP-Posting-Host: oavax.csuchico.edu

A little something to read to your children at night to help them 
go to sleep. 

	Up a long ladder and down a short rope,
	To hell with King Billy and God bless the pope.

	If that doesn't do - we'll tear him in two,
	and then send him to hell with his red, white and blue.

						Good night - Bill
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: colossal@cbnewsg.cb.att.com (colossal Microscope)
Subject: origami bird (a cinquain)
Keywords: cinquain
Organization: AT&T
Date: Thu, 17 Dec 1992 16:03:05 GMT



okay stephanie, here's a cinquain...

	origami bird
	------------

	paper
	begins as square;
	manipulating hands
	align, fold, crease, open, flatten

	blue crane
	


                        Copyright 1992  Jack Thomas Weres                       
                        All Rights Reserved.  Personal use copies okay.         



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                                 |||
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gj156879@alfred.carleton.ca ( gj student 156879)
Subject: DUCKS are DUCKS, Fish are NOT.
Organization: Carleton University
Date: Thu, 17 Dec 1992 23:17:31 GMT

Ducks
-----
 
When I bike in the summer,
through greeny places,
there's often a lake,
(or some big wet thing)
and on this lake
(or big wet thing)
there are often ducks.
 
When I see the ducks, 
I grin like a madman
and I yell, 
at the top of my lungs:

"DUCKS!"
 
The Ducks, 
sitting in the lake
(or wet thing)
usually do not react well
to this loud labelling
of their day.
 

                                                  Nik
                                                  C&C should be mailed
                                                  directly to the
                                                  POPE.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: bkv2673@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Miester aLster)
Subject: why do you write?
Reply-To: bkv2673@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1992 01:09:36 GMT


	"why do you write?"
	-------------------

	not
	when some urge rages
	to fill these pages,
	or for the ephemeral charms 
	of proscenia's glittering stages.
	not
	for the fire that warms
	when passion sublimes
	and lovers lie in each others' arms.
	not
	because moods shift
	to echo on dead-wood,
	some myth or reality
	with the inks that wift.
	not 	
	for the intense flight with wings 
	in search of tomorrow's bread
	or the money that rings
	but 
	for the life i tread,
	the lines on the forehead, 	
	the voices of the soul,
	the wages of the heart...
	...definitely not
	a practiced art!!
                        
                - aL
		  12/14/92 at 0310 hrs
		
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: alk4@ellis.uchicago.edu (Alex L. Karan)
Subject: Rain Dance
Reply-To: alk4@midway.uchicago.edu
Organization: University of Chicago Computing Organizations
Date: Sun, 13 Dec 1992 06:40:16 GMT

Rain Dance
----------


Open your eyes 
and gather 
thoughts of rain.

Now you are outside,
dancing
to a song full of drops,
dancing 
in coils of cloudy image,
dancing
in circles of almost rain.

How many before you
have petitioned the sky?

Thirsty voices and cadences
of clapping hands and stomping feet
echo across parched bounds of past.

The wind,
passing through a cemetery
makes dry bones groan.

Don't mistake what you hear
for falling rain.

Drenched in shadow 
dry fabrics appear wet;
you have to move
to find out.

When you move
nothing stays still.

Downfall falls
in wet circles on your tongue,
you taste moving blood.

In how many lucid drops
have you fallen from above?

Write your steps;
you are dancing
on your own umbrella.

The song is
a wet applause.



Alex L. Karan
From: gt7244c@prism.gatech.EDU (John G'alt)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Obscurity Knocks / ts
Summary: song lyrics warning
Keywords: trashcan sinatras
Date: 18 Dec 92 05:56:23 GMT
Organization: Georgia Tech

contents: 1) attempted transcription of trashcan sinatra song lyrics
          2) hand for help  


   "Obscurity Knocks"   (from the album _Cake_)

   Always at the foot of the photographs
   That's me there -
   Snug as a bug in a mugshot pose
   [I've found my throes]
   Owner of this corner and not much more
   Still, these days I'm better placed
   To get my just reward
   I'm burned out of June and very soon
   I'll have too much to say of that stupid name.

   (Chorus) And oh I [long to be running]
            And I feel like [I'm fettered]
            Oh I like your poetry
            But I hate your poems
            Calendars crumble
            I'm knee-deep in numbers
            I've turned twenty-one
            [I feel twisted, blast! I'm wrong again!]

   Rubbing shoulders with the [sheets still dewed]
   Looking at my watch and I'm half-past caring
   And the lap of luxury it comes to make
   Is this [head-poor heart]
   Am I a lot behind?
   But to face doom
   In a sock-stenched room, all by myself,
   Is the kind of fate
   I never contemplate
   Lots of people in black [gonna] spring to mind

   (Chorus)

   I know what it's like
   To sigh at the sight
   Of the first quarter of life
   And I stopped to think
   And found that
   Nothing was there...
   They laugh to see such fun -
   I'm playing Blind Man's Bluff
   All by myself
   [And there's certainly no rhymes] 
   With the nursery rhymes with
   "Bah, bah, bleary eyes, have you any idea?"

   (Chorus)

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

   As best as I could transcribe it, there are still questions...
   The first chorus lines could also be "And oh I long to be young
                                         And I feel like a veteran"
   Any opinions or help with the exact lyrics will be much appreciated,
but for what I can understand of this group, I appreciate them immensely
already, and I am somewhat glad that they've doomed themselves to "Obscurity."
   
   I really really recommend this album to anyone enchanted by lyrics (not that
the music is bad, either - it's halfway decent) and a break from the norm.  I
am told I should try Neil Young, so... ?  We shall see.

   First-time posters, keep 'em coming.

John Savinien G'alt
-- 
John Greenawalt, gt7244c@prism.gatech.edu (whooptydoo yes I'm a number)
  "...but to put these thoughts in songs like this,
      for the honest truth there'd be no dress... just lying aloud."
                                    - Trashcan Sinatras
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: mbalak@staff.tc.umn.edu (Michael A. Balak)
Subject: Blind Love?
Organization: University of Minnesota
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 1992 16:46:06 GMT



Blind Love?


Yer ma's a hag,
Yer dad's a bum,
Ya make me gag,
And yer really dumb.

Yer hair is dyed,
Ya have no tits,
Yer butt is wide,
And covered with zits.

Yer voice is hoarse,
Yer nose is big.
Yer complexion's worse!
Yer a big fat pig!

Ugh! I love you.
I don't know why.
Perhaps it's due
To yer really bad eyes.

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

Please send any C|C|Q to jase@pnet51.orb.mn.org (unless bounce) as I'm borrowing
this account. Thanks.

===========================================================================
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
===========================================================================
From: pts2@ns1.cc.lehigh.edu (PAUL THOMAS STROBL)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Short one by Tex
Date: 13 Dec 92 22:44:26 GMT
Organization: Lehigh University


        (No title yet)

I let the autumn gust thrust me through air, not
 knowing next where I'll be;
Wise were the others who I once thought were fools,
 who fell beneath the tree.

 
-- 
                   --Tex

*********************************************
* "Women.  You can't live with 'em . . .    *
*  Pass the beer nuts."                     *
*                  --Norm Peterson (Cheers) *
*********************************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: gdnikoli@undergrad.math.waterloo.edu (Greg Nikolic)
Subject: Re: Thank You
Organization: University of Waterloo
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 1992 19:29:02 GMT

In article <1992Dec12.033251.7826@sol.UVic.CA> dwall@active.UVic.CA (Dan  Wall) writes:
>Grape, Thank You
>Cow, Thank You
>Potato, Thank You     
>Apple, Thank You

Peach, Thank You
Alien from Aliens2, Thank you
Corn, Thank You
Clearly Canadian soft drink, Thank you

>
>Thank You.

No, Thank YOU.
From: jbartran@sciences.sdsu.edu (Jonathan Bartran)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: testing 123
Date: 11 Dec 1992 20:19:47 GMT
Organization: San Diego State University, College of Sciences
NNTP-Posting-Host: sciences.sdsu.edu
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL7]


Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--Unnatural
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Sun, 20 Dec 92 03:39:28 GMT


                             Unnatural


Clear indications that shortly they will be realized
her fears of a long lost brother returning
having forgotten to kiss her
on her cheek
everywhere else
before he left so long ago
they were not simple brothers and sisters
their complexity carried for each by the other
so that apart they lived life piecemeal and missing
struck acquaintances as chipped dishes
kept all at the distance which separated themselves
from one another.

He visits her now in bed
each night and morning
it was the fear only which was unnatural...


-- 
ralph@wixer.cactus.org
cactus.org!wixer!ralph
From: mcsdc1al@dct.ac.uk
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem: Time
Date: 10 Dec 92 12:52:59 GMT
Organization: Dundee Institute of Technology




            Time
            ----


            A nameless flower for you, my dear
            It's soft petal is for you
            It's shiny leaf is your touch
            It's life is yours
            Soon to wilt into nothingness
            As adulthood drags you down.

            I sit and think about you
            Even though you're right there
            Sitting down beside my arm
            With your hair against my cheek
            I wonder will you ever be like me
            Will you ever really see beyond us?

            Time knows no kindness
            Could it break us, destroy us?
            I know it will, must.
            That is the cruel message in your eyes
            Reflecting in mine
            And in the nameless flower you hold.           




 


***Lucas***            
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: itzenhui@cs.uwp.edu (Steve Itzenhuiser)
Subject: Re: Kittens - C&C Welcome
Organization: University of Wisconsin - Parkside
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL8]
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1992 03:23:21 GMT

X67107@BARILVM.BITNET wrote:

:       Dead Kittens

:       Two kittens
:       Huddled near a bin
:       Smelling so bad

:       Two bodies
:       Molding into one
:       Rotting and quiet dead

:       Filthy leper cats
:       Frozen in the snow
:       And Never was there

:       A more heart breaking
:       sight except
:       The starving children watching......

: -------------------------------------------------------------------------
: H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H
:                        Oren THE Laughing Magican
:         LAUGHING DOES TICKLE THE SOUL, THERE IS NO BETTER REASON
: =========================================================================


There are some really weird people out there, and I like that, it means
you're thinking.

This is my friend in Minnesota - 8^) - and his name is Marty, everyone say
hi to Marty.  Marty likes to wax cats.

===================================                =======================
8^) - Here kitty, kitty, kitty... |                | Why be normal,      |
...meow!-pscht.                   |                | When no one else is?|
===================================                =======================
From: burtt@dancer.nscl.msu.edu (BRIAN BURTT)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Poem: The Ocean
Date: 19 Dec 1992 10:58 EDT
Organization: NSCL Michigan State University
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: dancer.nscl.msu.edu
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41    

The Ocean
---------

At morning
The ocean
Lays a soft azure blanket
Peacefully across the land
Gentle ripples
Lulling me, comforting me

At evening
The ocean
Throws a stormy cobalt tempest
Wildly to the sky
Angry cyclones
Thrashing me, destroying me

At midnight
The ocean
Plays a dark, mysterious game
Beguiling through the long silent night
Unknown waters
Daring me, intriguing me

The ocean
The eyes of my love

--Brian Burtt
(C&C?)

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: PROWSE@Meena.CC.URegina.CA (Natalie)
Subject: addition to the language (was Re: fuck / jtrue)
Date: Sat, 19 Dec 1992 02:01:25 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.24
Organization: University of Regina, Regina, Sask., Canada


With all this discussion of the meaning of the word fuck and the obvious
lack of concensus on whether it is vulgar or violent, or simply another
word, and what with Marek's mission to change the word, I propose a new
word - after all Marek makes them up all the time... ("glitterest?" ;-)

How about "marek" as an adjective, a verb, a noun?   instead of "fucked girls"
we can have "mareked girls". "fucking" can be "mareking"....(this is to imply
sex without love? - sex, simply for the fun of sex.  sex without violence. ;-)  
(should that have 2 "k"s? marekking?  nah.) "marekism" can be a kind of sexual 
indulgence akin to hedonism...  gosh!   think of the implications to the
english language!  "go marek yourself" would have a whole new connotation!
(since we all know how much he appreciates his  hands! ;-)  "boy! I'd really
like to marek her!" would no longer imply something negative, but more
straightforwardly sexual... (though some of you  still might interpret it as
vulgar) In fact, the word would be more useful than fuck for it could encompass
the whole scope of sexual avariciousness (is that a word?)... sort of a 
combination of lust, sex, fucking, masturbation, desire... without any of the
violent connotations.  what fun!  Hell. I figure if you can't change the 
meaning of an old word, institute a new one in its place.  What a mission!  
What a calling!

poems anyone? ;-)

-Natalie (who has been reading too much sheilah... ;-)

(besides, Nicaraguan boys are too short for me...)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 (only a guest at prowse@meena.cc.uregina.ca)   

 "It's good to have a healthy sense of sin.  It adds *spice* to one's 
   transgressions..."  - J.H. 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems