[net.poems] WHERE DID THEY GO??

taw@drutx.UUCP (WrightTA) (09/24/86)

For a long, long time I've been subscribing to net.poems and
even posted a couple that I've written.  Now for the last
couple of weeks my news system must have gotten all screwed
up, cuz there ain't no poems!  All I see are discussions
(that I don't seem to understand how they pertain to this
newsgroup [if in fact I'm still in the right newgroup]) and
now books to order at 10% discounts.  Am I the only one that 
subscribes to this group that still enjoys reading the poetry
and prose that represents what people are and the way they think?
WHERE DID THAT NEWSGROUP GO TO?  I want to subscribe to that one.

shers@mit-caf.ARPA (Alex Sherstinsky) (09/27/86)

I am very glad that someone has finally spoken about the poverty of
the volume and content, which I have been witnessing for a few months in 
net.poems.  I have been sending a posting regularly on a monthly or bimonthly
basis.  The replies had been many up to July.  After that, the number of
postings dropped to less than one per day, and I have not gotten a reflection
on any of three or four of my poems sent in the succeeding months.

The three possible explanations are:
	1.  A bug in the software prevents all messages pertaining to the
	    news group from being collected at major gateways and distributed
	    to local machines.  This is quite likely, because several 
	    subscribers have noticed a big decrease in the number of postings.
	2.  The interest in participation has declined because the majority
	    of postings are dull, meaningless, and show little feeling and 
	    effort.
	3.  The drop in the quantity of daily postings can be attributed to
	    the possibility that the more active participants have posted all
	    of their work and are currently in the process of writing new 
	    poems.

Hence, if the malfunction of a program is the reason, the organization in 
charge of the news group should fix it sometime soon.  On the other hand,
if the loss of interest is to blame, the news group should be removed so
as to save the subscribers the disappointment and frustration of not finding
the activity to their expectation.

Since the unavailability of material has not yet been ruled out, I suggest
watching the status of this news group for one month and then acting to 
either remedy the malfunction or to close net.poems.

Sincerely,

Alex Sherstinsky

{
	shers@mit-caf.mit.edu
	shers@oz.berkeley.edu
	horus!shers@isl.stanford.edu
}

norm@mtgzy.UUCP (n.e.andrews) (10/01/86)

	To Emilia, Intimately, Publicly.


	Naked you shall see me
	(With but transient imperfections)
	As I stretch myself, luxuriously,
	Relishing a strongly sensual pleasure.

	(The fools' indifference counts for nothing.
	And those who admire me 
	May smile, affirm me as their own,
	Yet still be strangers.)

	You see, radiant beauty and naked strength are values,
	While faults and flaws, or imperfections,
	Non-values unworthy of purposeful display,
	Are minor afflictions -- to be ignored.

	Of course it would be corrupt of me 
	To brandish a blemish,
	As though it were really a torch,
	And do so as a part of my style.

	But I don't.  i hold a torch,
	A lamp which dispels darkness, 
	Effortlessly, since the existence of darkness
	Depends on the absence of light.

	So, I'll trade my poems for yours,
	And if you're good at it, more.
	Smile for smile, stretch for stretch,
	Nakedness for nakedness.



					Norman Andrews 1970?






-Norm Andrews, allegra!mtuxo!mtgzy!norm

dianeh@ism780c.UUCP (Diane Holt) (10/03/86)

[Do poems need line-eater lines?]


		    There's_You,_There's Me

	Driftwood...
	that's all it amounts to --
	bits and pieces,
	washing up on the sand.
	Memories...
	that's all that is left you --
	that,
	and the time on your hands...

	   There's you,
	      looking 'round for a lady;
	   there's me,
	      looking 'round for a glove;
	   there's you,
	      with the hand that you gave me;
	   there's me,
	      with my hands full of love.

	   There's you,
	      with that wicked, that passionate grin;
	   there's me,
	      feeling awkward and shy;
	   there's you,
	      with your arms full of heavenly sin;
	   there's me,
	      giving in with a sigh.

	   There's you,
	      with the songs that you gave me;
	   there's me,
	      dancing under the moon;
	   then there's you,
	      trying hard just to save me;
	   'coz there's me,
	      out of step with your tune.

	   And there's you,
	      with some stranger looking out from your eyes;
	   there's me,
	      wondering what I should do;
	   there's you,
	      getting dressed in your latest disguise;
	   there's me...
		 ...and there's her...
		    ...and there's you...

	   Then there's you and that phone call --
	   there's me in the rain...
	   there's you --
	   and then that's all.

	The tide's out again.

	Now here's you,
	   looking warm, in that sweater I gave you;
	here's me,
	   standing naked and cold,
	just sifting
	through driftwood
	that keeps floating in
	on the tide...
	   ...of the memories...
	      ...you left me...
				 ***
	Why can't I remember
	what it was you said
	about why,
	when we argued,
	we never made up
	in bed?

				  -dlh-



(Constructive criticism/comments:
	   {seismo,decvax,cbosgd}!hplabs!sdcrdcf!ism780c!dianeh)