So, It's come to this.

[PClem]

Love Tasty and am fascinated by how your mind works/ takes ordinary subjects and turns them into something extraordinary.

[Dave Wiseman]

January-poet, Laurie, and Donner

Thanks so much for dropping by and laying some good words on me.The universe has been working against my writing this past week. Urgent home construction projects, and the loss of my thumb drive that contained EVERYTHING have left me in a awful state.
I do have a back-up copy of sorts that goes back to late March, but I've lost a few things fo'eva'.

Anyway


Look for the telltale phrase, 'Forward this to everyone you know!': a found poem

Captain Abraham Sands of the Jacksonville, Florida Police Department. writes
in order to get the word out to car drivers
of a dangerous prank occurring in numerous states.
Some person or persons have been affixing
hypodermic needles infected with HIV
to the underside of gas pump handles.

It is imperative to carefully check the handle.
Look at every surface your hand may touch.

If you know that you will be capable of helping us actualize this transaction, you should send to me immediately the details of your bank particulars or open a new bank account where we can transfer the money

E-mails that claim to show pictures of disaster areas may contain viruses.
Only open attachments from known senders.

Your account may have been compromised, please send us your information.
My Friend Jerry is stuck on a Facebook in England and needs 1000 Euros to get home.
A year-and-a-half later, Gillette really does unveil a five-blade razor with two lubricating strips.


They both have a delayed virus that will be activated on Christmas day

[Dave Wiseman]

New Yorker Deli Veterans Day 2009

They don’t take credit
cards here, cash only.

Eat a hot pastrami sandwich,
iridescent streaks on the meat
catch your eye like oil slicks
from sunken ships, mustard drips
and crumbs of rye survive on a salty plate.

Outside the day
is as cold and rough
as a bushel of oysters.
But, in here a parade of men
with nothing in common
except the small slice of the one big
the one to end all, the latest one
the one in Asia, the good one
the one that got The Wall
or the other one.

Two old men in satin jackets covered with patches hold
court at the deuce across the aisle, nursing light
beer from an improbably small pitcher
One signals , folds his tattered menu.
“Hey Trixie, when you get a minute.”

[Andrea345]

Yeah, what is it with that pastrami "glare"? I never knew someone else noticed besides myself. What is that? Love love love the "bushel of oysters" analogy. Tres kewl. When you go back to this, those opening line breaks are gonna need some work. -a

[Emily Bronte]

David,

Your "Found Poem" based on spam emails gave me a chuckle. "Trailways Madonna" is also very strong. We are nearly 2/3 there!

Cheers,

Mari.

[January Poet]

LOLOL for Found Poem and hey I love my reubens(with pastrami not cornbeef) so I don't want to know what the streaks are. And I think I know those old men, they used to eat at my parents' diner. I really enjoyed the sense of place in this one- reminded me of when I used to help in the diner when I was a teenager.

[Dave Wiseman]

Andrea, Mari, and January,

Thanks again for dropping by. The streaks on the pastrami are caused by the curing process.

This is a crappy sestina, but I wrote it in 18 hours, so that's got to count for something, right?

Fast Food Sestina

On cold days Rochelle has to stand
out behind the back door just to smoke
a cigarette and worry about money.
She works doubles because she needs the hours
she and the manager have had a little talk
and she gets what she wants now, baby.

She flips her phone open to see a picture of her baby;
looks for the little envelope symbol to tell her where things stand.
Nothing there. She drifts back to when Corey would call to talk
and laugh and call her “honey”. He rolled away like smoke
from a chimney. Now she fills her hours
with French fry grease, paper hats and never enough money.

She is going back to school when she saves enough money,
get her GED, a real job and some brand-new toys for her baby.
Or at least get some sleep, she’s running on about five hours
or less these days. It’s getting to where she can’t stand
the thought of even one more shift meal, or the smell of smoke
when the grill gets too hot, or the way the part-time high-schoolers talk.

Once in time, she could talk that talk
about who liked who, and “I’m gonna get me a...and a … and one of those with my paycheck money”
Now, these kids know better than to ask her for a smoke.
Back in the kitchen, the manager tells her she’s going to have to baby
that machine along, or it’ll fall right off its stand
and he’s not paying for a service call after-hours.

She punches her card into the ker-chunking time clock and adds up her hours
in her head, how long to buy gas, how long for more formula, and how long to have a talk
with Mama about how short she’s going to be this week. She watches the customers stand
in line, looking up at the menu like it’s some sort of spaceship they have to give their money.
She smiles a thin smile as she thinks about her own little alien baby
sees her dropping from a space ship flashing its lights and spewing green smoke.

The onions in the machine burn her eyes like smoke,
but still she smiles for her little girl who giggles for hours
and grins like a post-card lake in the mountains, a cool blue-water baby.
some day, when that cool little girl learns how to talk,
some day, when she can afford the money
they’ll find that lake, walk its shore, stare at their reflections in the water, and they will just stand.

Mama told her “You’ll stand what you have to stand, put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
So she deep-fries for money, sweats in an ugly shirt for hours and listens to the
code-talk from the line, “Double-double, heavy everything, and drop me some fries, chop-chop, baby”

[PClem]

Love you spam e-mail poem. I need to check my spam for inspiration! Your Deli poem was very good, some great images there, although I prefer to not look too closely when I eat processed meat! The fact that you can even DO a sestina this late in the game is impressive! Way to go!

[Mimic_Octopus]

Hey Dave!

Just dropping firstly to say thanks and secondly to compliment you on the sestina. Often the envoi feels squished, as the writer tries to get all the endwords crammed in, but here, using them to represent the fast hammered-out ordering was a stroke of genius.

So she deep-fries for money, sweats in an ugly shirt for hours and listens to the
code-talk from the line, “Double-double, heavy everything, and drop me some fries, chop-chop, baby”

Awesome.

[Hydro]

Dave, Sestinas scare the crap out of me, so as far as I'm concerned you're a genius for just attempting one.

Really enjoyed the imagery of 'New Yorker Deli' as well. Good, ambitious stuff here.

[poetic gypsy]

HI Dave,

Finally making it over here. I have tried to catch up on your thread.

Tasty is probably my favorite. I really like the sensory-feel of all those words.

In Fast Food..., this line He rolled away like smoke
from a chimney. caught my eye. Very good image.

In your e-mail poem...

If you know that you will be capable of helping us actualize this transaction, you should send to me immediately the details of your bank particulars or open a new bank account where we can transfer the money

Where do I send the money?

Hope to be back soon,

Danielle

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

New Yorker Deli Veterans Day 2009

They don’t take credit
cards here, cash only.

Eat a hot pastrami sandwich,
iridescent streaks on the meat
catch your eye like oil slicks
from sunken ships, mustard drips
and crumbs of rye survive on a salty plate.

Outside the day
is as cold and rough
as a bushel of oysters.
But, in here a parade of men
with nothing in common
except the small slice of the one big
the one to end all, the latest one
the one in Asia, the good one
the one that got The Wall
or the other one.

Two old men in satin jackets covered with patches hold
court at the deuce across the aisle, nursing light
beer from an improbably small pitcher
One signals , folds his tattered menu.
“Hey Trixie, when you get a minute.”

I got a real sense of place from this. The "bushel of oysters" but was great, as was no "credit", which is not uncommon for such places. The ending is good.

How many "Trixies" are there left? What will happen when the last "Trixie" is gone?

The middle section is essential, but needs the most work as it stands.

BrianIs AtYou

[Dave Wiseman]

Thanks everybody,
I really appreciate y'all dropping by. The New Yorker is a great place, the shiny stuff on the pastrami comes from the curing process.

This one is, I'm afraid, pretty weak.

Things that float
Embryos in their own wet world,
or a condom in the toilet.

Balloons, the shiny metallic one
I found snagged in a fallen pine
It said “Congratulations”.
Specific gravity, generally speaking.
Kids in water wings, or vinegar in oil.
the few bad pinto beans in the pot.

Beer cans, at least for a while
cigarette lighters, the kind you throw away,
Flip-flops, coconuts, buoys and gulls.
Witches, at least those in life jackets.

Ocean liners and ice bergs,
but not the king of the world
the gold crown weighs heavy
in the submarineburbs.


Candles in paper boats
Dead bodies (eventually).

Those red maple leaves
on a New England postcard stream.

[Andrea345]

Fast Food Sestina - wow for a start. Just wow. I didn't check it all the way through, but the bottom line is that you've got great characterization. You've done extremely well with the concrete nouns & verbs required to place your setting. Tres Kewl
-a

[billdozer]

Hi Dave, I wish I had made it here sooner. I read People Who Ask for Cigarettes tonight and am pretty impressed. The standout for me was Something wrong with every detail. The sound of the leaves put me in the scene. Great storytelling.
I also loved the word play in New York Deli. The middle section does break down a little, but it finishes strong. I will be back to catch up on the other sections.