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Poetry Breakfast

Beginning March 20th, 2016 Poetry Breakfast will once again serve a little poetic nourishment every morning. Start your day with our new expanded menu. Poems, of course, are our specialty. But we will also be serving a fuller menu that includes poetry related creative non-fiction such as letters to and from poets, essays on poetry, and anything else that might feed a poet and poetry lover’s soul.

Poetry Breakfast Is Now Accepting Poetry Submissions

After a brief break for the summer, Poetry Breakfast is now open to poetry submissions again.

Visit our Submission Guidelines page for details.

We’re all very hungry here.  The table’s been empty for a while.  But beginning October 2nd, 2017 we will be serving up a delicious poem every morning again.  In order to have something to put on the table in October, we need your poetry submissions now.

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Featured post

The Art of Finding – A Poem by David Walker

The Art of Finding
~After Elizabeth Bishop

First lose. Practice losing. Start
small like the keys or your wallet.
Then graduate to more important
things. Things people would feel
offended if they somehow found
you misplaced. Say, a gift.

Your uncle says, I haven’t seen
you wear that watch I gave you
last Christmas, and you tell him its
too nice for everyday use. But you
think you left it on the stump
yard-working last month.

Make sure it isn’t where you last
remember leaving it. Art isn’t art
if it’s clean – think Pollack. Make sure
it isn’t left anywhere you frequent.
Your house. Your car. Your office.
The real artists struggle.

Call your mom when you’ve
truly lost it. When she tells you
it’s not there, don’t believe her.
Imagine her dangling it between
her fingers and smiling against
the receiver. Art takes time.

After you’ve exhausted all possibilities,
sink into the sofa and forget all about it.
But don’t really. Believe divine
intervention has nestled the thing
between your cushions. Art lies somewhere
between truth and willful lying – telling

ourselves, Yes, that is what a face
looked like this whole time. Don’t
reach through the lint and spare change,
fingers fishing empty seas. Your
eyes never drooped down the side
of your face, either. Art is trust.

 

 

About the Poet:  David Walker is a husband, father, and teacher. He has work forthcoming in 99 Pine Street, After the Pause, The Tower Journal, Every Pigeon, and Rumble Fish Quarterly and is the author of three poetry chapbooks. He is also the founding editor for Golden Walkman Magazine.

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

Start your morning with a nourishing poem.  Follow us on  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Morning Full of Birds – A Poem by Twila Newey

Morning Full of Birds

The whole house wakes dreaming of
the hawk with an old woman’s face.
I invited her in, also the owl perched on sofa arm,
Rotating and tilting his head.

I think hummingbirds have moved on,
begun the long flight down toward sunlit hour after hour,

until two appear in tango,
a love lance, over faux red flower.

The bland coated female wins
a full five-minutes of dulcet hover.
Behind her the breeze persuades
intertwined pines into a coupled wobble.

These strange animal dreams, when voiceless foliage speaks,
When wings scream a chorus of retreat and invitation.

Turn your face to the sun when the sky is falling.
(The sky is always falling)
Feel blessing of breeze and birdsong.
Couple with the warm light.

Commit yourself again to this web of world,
each thread supporting the next, each line dew sparkle and death.

We are all caught and spun, weave and devour.
All fraught filament. All boundless wing.

 

About the Poet: Twila Newey lives with her four children, husband and several elk herds in the mountains west of Denver, Colorado. She earned her M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Naropa University and has finished her first novel, a portion of which won publication in Exponent II’s Midrash Contest, fall 2016. In addition to her voracious appetite for fiction, she is an avid reader and writer of poetry.

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

Start your morning with a nourishing poem.  Follow us on  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Logan’s Bath – A Poem by Kevin Shyne

Logan’s Bath

Logan, 14 months, stands beside his mother on her knees.
Swishing with her hand, she tests the water in the tub,
fiddles with the faucet and finds the perfect mix.
Leaning in, belly pressed to porcelain,
amazed by water gushing from the spout,
Logan slaps above the waterline in pure delight.
His perfect fingers break the silver skin,
dipping deeper in, he sees his submerged arms
refracted to the right.
He laughs and makes a fist
discovering that water can’t be squished
but it will bend the light

How little does he comprehend
of optical illusions
of volume that his hand displaces
of pipes and drains
of stains dissolved in aqueous solution
of rites of absolution
of faith in God’s reunion when we rise
of immersion in the meanings water comes to symbolize?

My daughter lifts him up and in.
He splashes, kicks, his eyes go wide.
He has no words to analyze or name
this wondrous stuff.
His laughter is enough.

Standing in the open door,
I watch and realize
I’d give the world to see the water gush
through Logan’s eyes.

 

About the Poet:  Kevin Shyne is a lifelong writer whose work once appeared frequently in corporate annual reports and employee newsletters. Turning to poetry in his retirement, Kevin has had poems published in Clementine Unbound, The Lyric, Poetry Porch and Blue Heron Review. Kevin lives in a small town in the corn-and-soybean heart of the Midwest, where, along with a group of fellow poets, he helped organize the first-ever poetry event for the Prairie Arts Council in Princeton, Illinois.

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

Start your morning with a nourishing poem.  Follow us on  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Unanswered Question – A Poem by Diane Elayne Dees

Unanswered Question

There is a wall I cannot climb,
a veil I cannot pierce,
a door that will not open,
a song whose words I do not know.

How do others learn
to navigate the frigid rivers
of sorrow, age and loss?
Who taught them how to pull

the lost threads of fulfillment,
and how to gather the supplies
they need to save them when hunger
strikes, and the light dims and fades?

There is a book I cannot read,
a message I cannot decipher,
a screen I cannot see,
a secret no one will reveal.

 

About the Poet: Diane Elayne Dees’s poems have been published in many journals and anthologies. Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, also publishes “Women Who Serve”, a blog covers that women’s professional tennis worldwide.

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

Start your morning with a nourishing poem.  Follow us on  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Stars Lie – A Poem by Heather M. Browne

Stars Lie

The stars lie.
Hanging in the sky,
Their shimmering noose
In trail.

Hiding themselves beneath the soiled sheet of night.
Too many nightmares and accidents.

The earth is covered in dirt.

They flicker in blink,
Hoping to bring just one moment
Of light.
A song, a rhyme,
Anything,
To lessen this dark.

But clouds pass,
With the freedom to live over other lands.

And the stars,
So unsettled in this sky,
Burn.
Exploding all final hope,
Glorious.
Leaving only
A blackened
Hole.

 

About the Poet:  Heather M. Browne is a faith-based psychotherapist, recently nominated for the Pushcart Award, published in the Orange Room, Boston Literary Review, Page & Spine, Eunoia Review, Poetry Quarterly, Red Fez, Electric Windmill, Apeiron, The Lake, Knot, and mad swirl. Red Dashboard released her first collection, Directions of Folding.

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

Start your morning with a nourishing poem.  Follow us on  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

 

The Intruder – A Poem by Matt Mooney

The Intruder

At five a pheasant called me.
I had heard a constant cackle
in an open bedroom window
from where she had her nest
and cared for all her chickens.

So I stole out with my camera
for an exciting morning shoot
but she rose up at the dawning,
broadcasting her protestations
that I was an intruder, prying
into her private family affairs.

 

This poem also appears in The Singing Woods, a collection of poems by Matt Mooney.

 

About the Poet: Born in Kilchreest, Loughrea, Co. Galway in 1943, Matt Mooney has lived in Listowel since 1966.  His first book of poetry Droving was published in 2003 and this was followed in 2010 by Falling Apples.  Earth to Earth (2015) and The Singing Woods (2017) were both published by Galway Academic Press.  His poems have appeared in ‘Feasta, West 47, First Cut, The Applicant, The Kerryman, Duilleoga, Striking a Chord, The Connaught Tribune and The Galway Review, Poetry on the Edge and read on Radio Kerry.

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

Start your morning with a nourishing poem.  Follow us on  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

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