It’s decided, Sunday’s we’ll be hosting a Poetry Potluck and Inspiration Buffet
What does that mean? It means every Sunday we’ll be bringing you a buffet of inspiration to spark your written creations. And all poet’s are welcome to bring one of their dishes to the table via the comments sections.
Today being Valentine’s Day, well we went with the obvious…but we hope you’ll take it someplace new.
You can keep your creations to yourself, share them in the comments, or send them off to journals for publication. They’re your creations, do as you please.
And of course, we welcome everyone to use the comment section to say hello and greet your fellow poet friends. After all, who wants to eat brunch alone. It’s so much better to feast with friends. So, really, do use the comment section to say hello.
The photos are from Pixabay. Usually we give links to the individual photographer, but with the slide show, it just doesn’t work.
And we’ve picked a song from Danny Schmit and Carrie Elkin.
On that note, we will quote wiki “Echo, by trying to protect Zeus, endured Hera’s wrath, and Hera made her only able to speak the last few words spoken to her. So when Echo met Narcissus and fell in love with him, she was unable to tell him how she felt and was forced to watch him as he fell in love with himself.”
Well, the buffet is ready and laid out before you. We hope we’ve inspired something. Don’t forget to come back next Sunday for our next Poetry Potluck and Inspiration Buffet.
Oh, we almost forgot…there’s plenty of inspiration for everyone, so please, invite your friends.
Poetry Breakfast 
February 27, 2016 at 6:01 AM
Reblogged this on Ann Kestner.
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February 15, 2016 at 9:44 AM
Here’s one that seems to touch on the photo of the pebbled heart and on an attempted love for Narcissus. First published in Ekphrastic.net.
I am the promise you didn’t keep
the hidden pebble in your pocket
you played between your fingers
’til it went missing
in the wash, or when
you searched for coins
that day you bought chestnuts
at the corner.
You paid no mind,
drifted through a mosaic
of other pebbles and promises,
with the ciphered center
I tried once to fill.
Sarah Russell
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February 14, 2016 at 5:08 PM
Oooo, Valentine’s Day, eh? It was my mother’s birthday. I should write something new, but, um, can’t right now. Instead here’s one, previously published at Blue Skirt in August 2014. Sorry to bring you down.
Valentine’s Day
(KFL 2/14/27 — 1/24/01)
No one goes there now.
For days the smooth snow,
unbroken to the treeline,
lifted there by wind
along the ridge, settles
at last among the stones.
At night, stars, high,
hiss an inaudible static,
dance for the dead.
In the morning,
if there is sun,
it washes down
between the stones,
lights but does not warm.
Cold reigns,
and I stand in the drift,
nearly ash among the ashes.
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February 14, 2016 at 12:29 PM
Here’s a easy way to create a love poem…go to a new website and comment on headlines, like this:
Top of the News
Scientists have cracked
the DNA code of rice,
but I’m still figuring how
you found me attractive
Discovery’s astronauts
braved the unknown,
I simply wish to add onto
our many years of memories
Gunmen kidnapped a
senior Iraqi official,
you captured me
a long time ago for good
Fire crews worried
about Western Montana,
I don’t have to worry about
the sparks we always make
Israeli troops prepare
for Gaza pullout,
you better believe I hope to
never live in a Laura-free zone
Best-selling author
Judith Rossner has died,
yet you may rest assured
you are my immortal muse
Bear opens garage door,
enters Alaska home; reminds me
of the joy I get when I walk
into our apartment every day
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February 14, 2016 at 11:46 AM
So great to see Poetry Breakfast up and about with new and renewed energy.
I’ve just been reading Ruth Danon’s book Limitless Tiny Boat which has a series of Echo poems. There is surprise in hearing an echo focus on Echo.
Echo echoes, no surprise there
but a longing for the words
that came first, the ones abandoned,
that disappear. Echo echoes
the last to come first the next time
around, the ones who wait their turn
to die off, this time, next time,
the repeating line, the end,
the drift, the float, the dying.
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February 14, 2016 at 11:31 AM
I offer you, dear readers, a poem of mine, an ode to lost love in the deep winter.
Frostbite
It will be a thin, mean winter
without you around
to keep the cold at bay
to warm my hands
bring me tea
and tell me bedtime stories
of summers that would come again.
While your own teeth chattered
you’d rub my toes between yours
chastise me for my complaints
stay in bed with me during blizzards
boost my car
and make me eat better.
Throwing sweaters around my shoulders
we made the best of it
holding on to one another
through late movies
and frigid Sunday afternoons.
Behind frosted windows
we survived
until summer came
just as you said it would.
Winter lurks
yet again
more brutal than ever, I expect
without you around
to stop me from shivering.
– Tricia McCallum
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February 14, 2016 at 11:07 AM
Ah, there is nothing better than starting the day off with poetry. In honour of the day, perhaps something warm and tender like Dorothy Parker… 😉
Okay, I shall behave if I must.
“As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I shall luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.” Robert Burns ‘A Red, Red Rose
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