WHERE DID THEY GO??
Alex Sherstinsky
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
{
sh...@mit-caf.mit.edu
sh...@oz.berkeley.edu
horus!sh...@isl.stanford.edu
}
n.e.andrews
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
Diane Holt
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)