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Nat Lipstadt Feb 2015
this is a very important poem to me,
about me, and how Obama slurred my people. and never apologized

<•>

there are mornings when I wake up
in my nativity,
in my born/bred,
these struggling to be happy,
United States,
strangely hebrew-speaking,
Jamaican coffee
morning-thinking,
tallying up
what I am,
who I am,
commanded to be,
on this Earth

the labels that the
outward-looking apply,
the tags,
that you have caused
yourself to be defined,
been staked
to your claim,
in infamy and in fame,
that you have
by action and indeed,

have allow
to be presented
as entries on your
global entry passport,
with visas from the
lows and highs,
places where
your have sinned and saved,
all the acts accumulated,
and those,
in pain,
you have been a witness to

word titles that
tinge and suffuse,
summation of my presentation,
sampler of words
like
father, poet,
American,
even,
a for-real
community organizer,
and of course,
bien sûr,
a
Jew

the quality of all these life's papers,
which I grade myself,
I,
the harshest marker
of all

once a young man,
safely away in college,
under the fresh-air freedom of the
university's in loco parentis,
in the early years
spent quantifying oneself

nearly fifty years ago,
now he,
revealed and recalled
when
his college typed-letter,
lately uncovered amidst his,
recently passed mother's papers

"Don't know what kind of
Jew
I will be, but be assured,
that I will be a
Jew
all my life"

so here I am doing my post-sabbath,
top of the week,
right it down,
qualifying myself,
coffee enraged engaged,
a new Sunday tally

taking all my terms,
reordering,
re-prior-itizing,
what was prior, first,
is no longer

decades decay,
events sway,
simple words change me, stain me

nearing on five decades later,
when this
son of speakers,
son of humanists and 
son of
 writers,
son of proud
Jews
rewrites his list

today I write/substitute,
a new order,
a tag gladly taken,
a marker given,
some what in pride,
some in shame too,
first and foremost,
à la manière d'Lincoln
I am
of, by and for

"a bunch of folks in a deli"

proud member of them
that so identify,
for they are among those
that shall not perish from the Earth

those
happenstance-not,
bunch of folks in a deli,
I claim as
mine own,
as they would
have claimed me

no subtly professed,
a diminishment intended,
and now
an honorific taken,
Medal of Honor provoked and embraced,
proudly inscribed,
visible on my forehead,
in the black ink of mourning,
a Presidential Cain Citation,
a tattoo of letters,
not numbers,
now moves up to
head of the list,
I am
now and forever,
a member of that corps
(appreciate that double entendre)
I am
Je suis
JE JUIF

*"a bunch of folks in a deli"
Just google that phrase

Obama’s slur
Brent Kincaid May 2018
The Psychedelic Deli
Is sometimes in an alley.
It can seem accidental,
Some of it experimental
All completely experiential.

There is no shop, no store
You must have a friend
If you really want to score.
Everyone is different
Under new management.

Let me make this clear;
Anything you want,
Everything you want is here.
From champagne to beer
All the time, every year.

You can send out for *****
And have nothing to lose.
Only just all your money,
But you may think that funny
Once you’re getting chummy.

So mostly bring your own
And don’t drink it alone
Because it’s best to share
That’s true just everywhere
If you have the grace to care.

The Psychedelic Deli
May sell wares ***** nilly
They’ll charge you indecently
As stuff they made just recently
Must be paid for immediately.

They have this and that
And if you pass the hat
You’ll go on a trip with no ticket.
You surely don’t want to miss it.
But there’s always a bit more to it.

So, you better be up to it
Because many more blew it
And ended like a fish on their belly,
Their minds about as stable as jelly,
Shopping at the Psychedelic Deli.
zebra Dec 2018
come here with the jackknife
and see what I'm made of

i'm **** candy she said
taffy and blood
a steaming deli
doomed chicken of the sea
doll parts, splayed pomegranates
femurs left in a ******; wish bones
eviscerations to admire
peaches and cream sprinkles
skin like cold grey soap

barbed wire ******'s
spin like a toilet flushing
in spirographic squiggles
at the museum of modern art

video girl
video girl
video girl
like
butter flies flutter bye

dead movie star dancing
a matinee cyclops

everybody wants a glitter ****

shes a incandescent candy store
take a piece
take home in little bite size chunks
in a heart shaped pink box leaking red meat
enshrined crucifix; kosher

god is whatever is in your heart

i pray to modernism
to be saved
by *** death and resurrection
and a bigger ****
impregnation ghoul
like a solar ******* hero
*** heroine

a Bedouin and a Jew ******* each other off
in a New York City
Holiday Inn
while the Kabbalah and Koran read each other

I packed the suit case
with a yellow mucous colored rubber tube,
a razor and stockings
I don't know what ill do with it,
but ill think of something

God spins death
so why cant you; or are you to good for that
albeit a narrow construction
to carve my fate in such short order

ill get into my short short funeral skirt
and girly bobbles
ill go up and down on you like a yoyo

sea Venus foaming *******
til you flip me over
like a deli sandwich
and cut me in two
with a splatter of ketchup
on the blue plate special
while a huddling sabbath of *******,
in extra ******
groan like Pisgah turned to mulch
writing indigo shards suicide note
ending in
i don't mind
and precise instructions

please chew slowly
while I **** on your teeth
stuck rot
still kissing you
better bring a napkin and floss

you know I would get hot,
seeing my one way ticket next to your return one

wish we could
**** candy
pastel chew
blood bubblegum
melts in my mouth like
hissing fruity drops looping
that go down like squid
clawing its way back up
half chewed with that hurt look

you wont need a head stone
your feet will look good sticking out of the ground
with anklets
except upside down
your funeral; a foot kissing ritual
religion; follow dead feet, to paradise

head down
*** up
you know
the position of power

your the new aeon
grave stone arches with toe ring twinkles
rectitude striving
hot head buried in dirt
antagonizing worms
because your too hot to chew

a zombie ******
velvet tabernacle
smooth leg art
and pretty pointy toes
ascending
where glitter lights shine
pickle brine
green
in a
Promethean ******* ballet
phantasmagorias dark embrace

this is no ordinary love
dialog of paraphilias
surreal horror subversive
a poem about the non-rational sacred
untethered poetry
song of a shattered world


Across the spectrum of religious experiences—from the archaic and chthonic experience of sacred power to organized religion—surrealism arises in that elusive threshold between the sacred and the profane, between the illuminations and of everyday life and the more formal expressions of the sacred. The mysterious, contradictory nature of this liminal zone is embodied in surrealist literature and art: matter becomes metaphor; the ordinary object becomes extraordinary; and images evoke emotional disturbance and ambiguity rather than specific ideas. The ambivalent force of the surreal resists conventional rational categories of intellectual discourse. Behind its elusive potency of mood and charged associations lie the fundamental ambivalence and non rational power of the sacred.
—Celia Rabinovitch, Surrealism and the Sacred
Cain Oct 2012
Once again a still sunrise,
Quite too much to my surprise;
Now no longer the same reprise,
Never believing in fate's demise.

Once again awaits the sun,
Otherworldly; waits for none;
Terrestrial battles with wars unsung,
The time is now, and has begun.

Once waves of calamity striking the coast,
Now sinking caravels with swift riposte;
This paves the insanity to roads of most,
No graves on marvels without a host.

My ambiguous ocean, bounds not to the throes,
An effluent river asks not where it goes;
But through frigid winters it finally froze,
Yet two rigid reasons -- it once again flows.

Your guess is as mine, for nobody knows,
This mess is divine, and to us it bestows;
Thrown into disaster, yet much room for prose,
We are the ship-masters -- and everyone rows.

So set my oars down, and go for the sails,
Open your eyes, ears & mind; there is no trail;
Wandering didactic wisp you will find, futility of 'fail',
Galactic inhale, cosmic exhale, maybe then will the true path unveil.

So leave nasty mates; abandon the ship,
No mutiny required, just let the wreck tip,
As though through spread fingers they suddenly slip,
Though red feelings linger, you find your own grip.

Then leave folly habits -- straight at the shore,
Shut it & lock it, and close the **** door;
There always are options -- endless possibilities to explore,
Just activate your wings, open wide--soar.

Glad once again, for another sunset,
What you pursue is what you will get;
So forget calumet, anisette & cigarettes,
Simply don't fret -- paint vignettes with no regrets.
david badgerow Nov 2011
to the girl in the deli
whose whipped-cream face
is topped with freckles,

to the girl who winked back at me,

to the girl whose eyes
are sanctuary,
like a red-glowing fire on
a brisk autumn evening

to the girl behind the counter
wearing a hair net
looking cuter than
i don't even know what,

to the girl with dainty fingers
and shapely hips
and thighs like a sunrise
that creeps slowly across a room
to slap it's warmth across my face,





what time do you get a break?
Sarah Rodriguez Dec 2014
A midnight run for food,
Has not come to fruition,
Everywhere is closed,
Last stop: delicatessen.

My heart turns to a shade of roux
That mirrors the glowing closed sign,
"No food for you!"
It mocks at me,
As I peer inside.

I think I'll break a window,
Just for halva nibbles,
But is five to ten in jail,
Worth the Jewish kibbles?

Oh deli, you've forsaken me,
By not relieving my hunger,
So I grab a couple rocks,
And start some wicked thunder.

There's so much food to choose from,
And it's all free for me,
But wait, oh no, I didn't see,
The camera light has turned to green!

I've been spotted by the deli owners
I should've worn a hoodie,
Now I'm going straight to jail,
Just to nom on goodies.

There's no point in running,
The red and blue are here;
I may as well just sit and wait,
Maybe grab a beer.

They sent a squad that spewed laughter,
When they saw their guy,
Just a dame, small in stature,
Making a ham on rye.

Luckily I'd made enough,
To feed the seven men,
So they radioed to all their friends,
And laughter began again.

Now that we're all satiated.
And I've been let go free,
I wonder, had it been opened,
Would I have such a story to tell,
"My Big Night at the Deli"
ryn  Dec 2014
Trending
ryn Dec 2014

       you
               secretly
                       wishing, for
                              your writes to be
                                noticed•simple sign
                             that they have not been
                          missed•with every view
                     and every like•your popu-
               larity does spike•somewhat
          places your art on the poetry
      map•between major players,     
  you close the gap•constantly      
checking to see  who's been              
reading•you're always deli-               
ghted to see the 'yellow                      
lightning'
•a wish...                            
    for those who                             
     are writ-                    
ing      

secretly hope not only for your words to be
reaching far and wide, but also... trending
* the above does not apply to everyone here.
Max Chisholm Dec 2011
I gotta go to the store where on the corner stands a *****
She dresses kinda **** but her jeans are all tore
Prolly from the last time she was kneeling on the floor
**** it ima say hi cause im a little bored

Hey whatsup
Its just my luck
But before u duck
Can i get a ****?
I dont wanna ****
Cause i only gotta buck
If i wasn't such a schmuck
Ud get stuck
As we ****

So we get back to my place
Undid her shirt made of lace
She takes off her ******* and tries to sit on my face
Whooaaaaaa Slof down lil lady this isn't a race
Me lickin' you down Hell No it ain't the case
Not the time nor the place
Maybe if your ***** was still an ace
But after all your work it's just a disgrace
Problem is ur a beautiful woman, a pussly like that is nothing to waste
On second thought, you know what, No ill pass on that taste

Are you on the pill?
You better be still
If not in the morning you'll be feeling real ill
Your sicker than that cause u might get a thrill
When you walk to the doctor and get them to ****
My future little boy i was gonna name Bill
I through about Will
But before I knew it he's laying real still
Now im starting to get angry get the **** outta my grill
or ill end up dumping pieces of ur body in the water mill
bury the rest on the other side of the hill
An eye for an eye and a **** for a ****

I dont want any drama
Especially from a baby mamma
Lemme breath for a minute at least gimme a comma,
Ok relax ******* or ima spell "cide" after "homa"
Lemme calm down before all this deli drama
Ilene Bauer Mar 2017
Not everyone does it, but how I adore
A generous person who works in a store;
Specifically, one who's behind in the deli,
Who slices the meats and the cheese for the belly.

Today, for example, I ordered some cheese
And turkey, my grandson down next to my knees,
His hungry impatience apparent to all;
But just as it seemed he'd resort to a bawl

The counterman offered some turkey, a taste.
Disaster averted and hunger erased.
The guy was a stranger who sized up the scene
Or maybe, to him this was strictly routine.

It doesn't take much to connect with a smile
Yet to many, such actions are not in their style.
The deli employee, for such a small price,
Can improve someone's day just by cutting a slice.
Idris Muntaqim Dec 2020
The Muslim ninja has driven to a deli, stops his car, and gets out, which is true;
He enters the deli and here are other things that he would do.

The Muslim ninja sees an armed male crook robbing a male store clerk, which is horrible as can be;
The Muslim ninja will stop the armed robbery at the deli.

The Muslim ninja takes out a shuriken and throws it into the armed robber's head;
The store clerk is no longer in dread.

The robber drops his gun and I'll tell you why;
He's gonna take the shuriken out of his head and that's no lie.

The Muslim ninja runs towards the robber, as you can see;
When the robber takes the shuriken out of his head, the Muslim ninja kicks and knocks out the robber immediately.

The Muslim ninja cleans the shuriken, which is bright;
The store clerk thanks the Muslim ninja, which is polite.

The store clerk puts a bandage on the robber's head and calls the police, which is nice;
The robber is cold as ice.

The Muslim ninja takes the stolen money from the robber and gives it back the store clerk, which is cool;
The robber is a stupid *** fool.

When the police arrive and arrest the robber, the Muslim ninja buys some food and exits the store;
The robber is also a *****.

The Muslim ninja gets back in his car and drives away;
The Muslim ninja has saved the day.

— The End —