reid (11/11/82)
I sit and I gaze at small things, and I wonder idly about why and how and what's for breakfast. A morning unfolds before me in a hazy elegance little understood by friends of the afternoon. The urgency of the aimless monsters below my window and the hope instilled by this solar renaissance cause me to smile, when a crumb from the scene lands in my hair, and I turn to embrace the details of How and When. A melancholy of lists and lacks and longings sits beside my quieter optimism and asks to be heard. My bowl and my books and my closet suggest that I take a starboard tack today, and my feet creak the stairs with the purposefulness of truancy. There are businesses everywhere to-day, which will undoubtedly require my rapt attention. Glenn Reid ...seismo!uwisc!reid
autilio@hogpc.UUCP (05/02/83)
Relay-Version:version B 2.10 delta 4/26/83; site burl.UUCP
Path:burl!spanky!ihnp4!houxm!hogpc!autilio
Message-ID:<146@hogpc.UUCP>
Date:Mon, 2-May-83 16:26:07 EDT
I would relish opinions on this one (e.g. Is it poetry?). I honestly
don't know who wrote it beyond that it was a friend of a friend.
Enjoy.
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Dear Shmuck,
Goober peas on the links,
No stranger to shame with an oyster nurse.
My son, the emperor, spent Christmas on Mars.
I had atomic pinworms
And met some angels in garter belts.
The black in the back of the bus
Tried experiments with soup germs!!
Giggling in the pigweeds,
I met the wackiest crackpot in the booby hatch.
Ever since you held me there,
I've noticed children with misshapen heads.
Die, you stinking bum!!
But I don't go in there,
That's the chamber of the cockeye people.
Quest for the Rawhide smoked meat ranch.
I came to clean up Zosso's summer camp.
Pretend you're attractive
'Cause Satan gets off at ten.
The most common story was about
The violin fights of 1930.
What happened to those wild girls
>From the reformatory?
Let them eat twinkies -
Kiss all you want everybody
'Cause you're all gonna guess whose wife you are.
Oompah Pa and Oompah Ma.
Man the think tanks,
It's the mayor of Wig City!!
Come, enjoy, visit the house of Rhumba.
Remember Junkyard Otto
And the juvenile spit fights?
Well fancy pants, for a handful of fingers
I'd eat off honeymoon sheets!!!
Anonymous
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Pat Autilio
...!houxm!hogpc!autilioryl@ihlts.UUCP (05/03/83)
Relay-Version:version B 2.10 delta 4/26/83; site burl.UUCP Posting-Version:version B 2.10 gamma 4/7/83; site ihlts.UUCP Path:burl!spanky!ihnp4!ihlts!ryl Message-ID:<131@ihlts.UUCP> Date:Mon, 2-May-83 18:35:51 EDT Organization:BTL Naperville, Il. Is it poetry? No. Part of poetry is structure and form, not necessarily rhyme and meter, but at least coherence. This particular poem doesn't even come close. I'd guess that the poem was either machine-generated by picking nouns and verbs at random, or written by someone describing a drug experience (I once wrote something very much like this about the first time I got high on marijuana). In the latter case, the poem may make sense and contain a message for some people in some special circumstances, but it remains inaccessible to the rest of the population. If poetry is a method of communication, then rambling random collections of words do not qualify. Just my opinion, Bob "Laconic pentameter" Lied ...ihnp4!ihlts!ryl BTL-Indian Hill
mike@uniq.UUCP (05/03/83)
Relay-Version:version B 2.10 delta 4/26/83; site burl.UUCP Path:burl!spanky!hocda!houxz!houxm!ihnp4!we13!uniq!mike Message-ID:<130@uniq.UUCP> Date:Mon, 2-May-83 20:36:26 EDT Well, gee, this "thing" sure flows like poety; at least no worse than excellent prose. Has anyone out there tried to read Joyce's "Finneagin's Wake"? Believe me, this sample here is much, MUCH more coherent, but the same elements are in it. Umm, 'handfull of fingers', I'd use a 'handfill' but what the heck. I really, rally, ehnjoin the grate yoose of vild imagery and had come up with similar 'things' (again), in my more poemey-creative daze. In my mind a "poem" has a point to make, it has to succeed in making that point, and if it does it in a unique way, then all the better. If it's to let off steam for the author, then perhaps it's a more private-type "poem"; if it trys to offer a different view of the world, OK. Poets/musicians/artists are plugged into the world a little tighter than the standard populus (eh?), and so, I feel, they *really* respond to weirdness/changes/dangers better (and quicker) than most. I said 'screw the world' a long time ago, in order to keep what self-esteem I might have had at the time, and so, now, I just can't write anymore - it's like 'who cares', 'so what'... This 'poem' that I'm *supposed* to be discussing is OK, a yes vote from me... not a great piece of craziness, but typical of 'good' bizarre writings that I have seen. I admit that a bit more continuity would have helped (I *love* variations on a theme!), but a few more re-readings will probably bring that out. Any votes for net.joyce ?!?!?!? Take care - Mike Hall ...we13!uniq!mike
ccf@cbosgd.UUCP (Chuck F.) (03/05/84)
What is intestinal gas, to me? Does the moon waver? Do the stars coalesce? Those who care, rocks of society, May weep, or shed a tear. Not I! I stand tall, and proud, Father of the vaporous spirit, Master of the ship, Captain of the unplumbed depths. Noble thought! I think! I am! I pass another existence, experimentally. *<--- chuck --->* cbosgd!ccf BTL Columbus
rajeev@sftri.UUCP (S.Rajeev) (12/08/84)
Pale shafts of soot-filtered light Grey snow melts in foul puddles Unborn chemical spills lurk Winter. New Jersey. -- ...ihnp4!btlunix!rajeev -- usenet ihnp4!btlunix!rajeev@BERKELEY -- arpanet Sri Rajeev, SF 1-342, Bell Labs, Summit, NJ 07901. (201)-522-6330.
emneufeld@water.UUCP (emneufeld) (04/12/85)
NO TITLE YET Don't trip on the beer bottles they're full of cigarette butts and be sure to jiggle the lever a little bit otherwise water will be running all night this place is such a dive Just once I'd like to spend the whole night in bed, not get up even once except then I couldn't drink as much why don't you use an ashtray, you can empty them, they don't stink so much I'm going to quit smoking in June, I'm sick of the smell too start jogging maybe play some sports again Speaking of smell, when was the last time you washed your sheets You know I like to stay the night but when the sun comes in the window in the morning I could die and besides the odour makes me think of a morgue I like it when you stay the night hey while you're up would you mind seeing if there's anything left to drink I'm starting to feel wide awake again and I need some sleep I've got to be up early for work If you have any more liquor you'll still be drunk when you wake up There's a bit of white rum half an ounce at most and a little bit of red wine Sometimes I'd love to have the money you spend on booze Mix em up that'll make me sleepy anyway that's how I started drinking when I was a kid taking a little bit from each one of the bottles in Dad's liquor cabinet Well it wasn't really a liquor cabinet, he just kept the bottles under the sink in the kitchen I mixed up some pretty powerful cocktails before I knew what I was doing Oh so now you know what you're doing that sure as hell is news to me I don't like watching you get stewed every night I'm here because I know you drink yourself to sleep every night I'm working out of town if I hadn't seen with my own eyes how happy you are working around the house I never would have said yes Here's your drink, what do you call it? I'd have to name this hybrid after Mendel Grape Mendel doesn't taste too bad but I just want to get high wasn't it warm today and no wind too I think it'll be safe to put in the bedding plants this weekend you going to be around? sometimes I just think of all the tomatoes we're going to eat this fall but I get the first one! no, no you have to share the first one with me you can have the second one all to yourself piggy then we'll be giving them away all those tomatoes tomatoes and green onions you dozing off you asleep? I'll set the alarm for seven-thirty ------------------------------------- Comments welcome.
don@hcrvx1.UUCP (Don McKillican) (07/17/85)
The pilot
looks down at the clouds,
and laughs.
Donald McKillican
{allegra,ihnp4,linus,decvax}!utzoo!hcr!hcrvx1!dondon@hcrvx1.UUCP (Don McKillican) (11/11/85)
Her face etched in clean lines
of cold fury, she spake
the Word,
and leaves me looking
dumbly,
at this stump
of my life.
Don McKillican
Human Computing Resources Corp.
{ihnp4,decvax,utzoo,watmath}!hcr!hcrvx1!dondon@hcrvax.UUCP (Don McKillican) (12/31/85)
to my fellow apartment dwellers... There dwells a monster in my kitchen, an awful, heartless, greedy monster. In the dark of the early morning I arm myself (quietly!), furtively creep to the kitchen (shaking-knees), pause at the doorway, sweaty-hands, swallowing dry-tongued, heart fills my throat - NOW! throbbing, pounding, TURN ON THE LIGHT!! ? ...empty? the monster not here, my kitchen is safe for breakfast, Hooray! Yet still through suddenly sagging knees and heavy arms, I know I've won no lasting peace of mind; indeed tomorrow I needs must arm myself again. Oh gods! Spare me from the fury of the dreaded C O C K R O A C H !
mhb@mtx5a.UUCP (q) (06/18/86)
From across the concrete highway
where the city people
await death in air-cooled cubicles
comes a lone figure on horseback
determined
to ride off into the sunset
which appears to him occasionally
through the smog.
- mhb/explorer, philosopher and software developer at largemhb@mtx5a.UUCP (q) (06/18/86)
At the last frozen moment of my life
within the embrace of death itself
those that I had known
will be but memories
and I shall mourn for them all ...
A final farewell
to all those who were
and never shall be again ...
For once lost
in the eternal silence of non-existence
I shall not even remember my own name.
-mhb/explorer, philosopher and software developer at largemhb@mtx5a.UUCP (q) (06/18/86)
Like the material stoic who denies himself the expectation of pleasure
and sustenance to save himself from the disappointment of anguish and
hunger, I deny myself the expectation of salvation to save myself from
the disappointment of a realization - the realization that I am
inevitably approaching the termination of my very existence.
A realization need not be fully comprehended in all its subtle entirety
to strike paralyzing fear into the deep-core of a man ... a mere reminder
to his subconscious jolts him awake to the horror he has really known
all the while.
- mhb/explorer, philosopher and software developer at largemckillic@genat.UUCP (Don Mckillican) (08/04/86)
See the serried ranks!
standing proud in the strong sunlight,
straight lines resplendent in red and white, cutting
across the green fields like a flashing sword.
I stand with them.
I thrill to the trumpets and the light.
I am invincible.
See the serried ranks!
striding strong across the green fields, cutting
like a flashing sword in the strong sunlight.
See the serried ranks,
straight lines resplendent in blue and white, striding
strong across the green fields to meet them.
See the rifles lower.
I stride with them.
I look into the waiting mouths of death.
I am afraid.
See the serried ranks
disintegrate in the rolling hail of lead,
gaping bodies scattered, cruelly bent,
no colour to be seen in the gutting smoke,
but clotting blood.
See the serried
I
--------
Don McKillican
{allegra,ihnp4,decvax,pyramid}!utzoo!mnetor!genat!mckillic
seismo!mnetor!genat!mckillic
Disclaimer: my opinions are my own, not those of Genamation, Inc.
Laus diis immortalibus.mwm@dartvax.UUCP (M. W. Modrall) (09/10/86)
Untitled
--------
I've tried to be profound
But I just can't
I've tried to reach beyond my years
And fell short
Oh, I've fooled people with platitudes,
Visions of vogue
But the fact remains that I'm too young
Call me back in 600 years or so.
-3/13/83- m.