Search

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.

Category

All Poems

Land – A Poem by Peggy Turnbull

Land

After Szervanszky’s Wind Quintet, No. 1

breath pours
into bassoon body
purrs mountain maple

sixteenth note swirls
soar blueward

brass crackles in sunshine
cattails’
muddy roots

clarinet shadows
darken forest duff

mist
hugs lowlands—
evening

 

About the Poet:  Peggy Turnbull’s most recent work is forthcoming or published in Soul-Lit, Plum Tree Tavern, Postcard Poems & Prose, Three Line Poetry, and New Verse News.  She is a member of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets.

 

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.

Advertisements

A Love Letter – A Poem by Eric Delp

A Love Letter

The words will be inscribed in neon pink,
the writing in your former lover’s hand
to you when you were seventeen years old,
and to that place in you still seventeen years old,
and to that place that will forever be
a name so deep that names will disappear
discovered late at night in dresser drawers
in the guest room of your mother’s house,
as if returning not quite home to find
yourself somehow departed, gone, and gone
to sleep at dawn on pull-out couches, shook
the quiet death rattle in your bones –
no question and no answer where it goes.
Our poems are always love letters to God.
The words we write each other seal our faith
forever bound in some most holy place,
a name so deep that names will disappear.
The paper still will smell of her perfume.
You will approach the moment of your death,
your eulogy a whisper in her voice
of what is lost and what more pure endures,
and into what most pure unknown it goes
and stays forever, locked in dresser drawers.
And you will go forever, too.
Stranded there outside yourself, unraveled
in the purple flower dawn, trembling, everything
will be taken from you, and something new will rise
into the night above Wisconsin and will spread
beyond the windows of these tiny rooms
and wider than seemed possible across
the miles and years and names of flesh:
a name so deep that names will disappear,
a star collapsing to expand forever
into the neon pink of its becoming.

 

About the Poet: Eric Delp is a poet and writer living in Oxford, Mississippi.

 

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.

Adrift – A Poem by Sheila Wellehan

Adrift

Sift your history through a silver sand sieve.
Watch the cascade of holiday parties and funerals fall.
You’ll see there are five million ways it happens,
how family turns into relatives.

The last straw – the daughter miffed for the last time,
at years of disrespect and disappointment,
at getting the short end of the stick.
The end was anti-climactic.
She disappeared after her child’s forgotten birthday gift.

Then there are the spectacular fights
that result in swift ruptures,
precipitated by unfortunate observations
about children or worse.
Tiny shared worlds can explode in a moment
when one sibling pushes another over the cliff.

Huge new houses, strange new spouses,
moves cross-country.
Bankruptcy, sobriety, disease.
Small rifts grow stronger and wider
when something essential shifts.

The saddest drifts are created by neglect and exhaustion.
Without nourishment, even strong bonds starve.
We become strangers when we don’t phone or visit
because our own lives take all we have to give.

 

 

About the Poet:  Sheila Wellehan’s poetry is recently featured or forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry, the Aurorean, Menacing Hedge, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Whale Road Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. Visit her online at www.sheilawellehan.com .

 

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.

Winter – A Poem by Melissa Fite Johnson

Winter

The trees undressed now,
I see into my neighbor’s kitchen,
the single father eating breakfast alone.
I should look away. Jelly oozes
from his doughnut, splatters
his undershirt. He dabs his large belly.
His son shoves something from the fridge
into his backpack, hurries out.

My husband, dressed already, joins me
in our kitchen, kisses the top of my head.
Last night’s argument settled,
I hug him good-bye,
place my dish in the sink.

Our neighbor startles at my hello
when our garage doors lift. We slip
into our cars, drive past
the bare, invulnerable trees.

 

About the Poet:  Melissa Fite Johnson received her Master’s in English literature from Pittsburg State University in Kansas. Individual poems have appeared in RattleValparaiso Poetry ReviewBroadsided Press, and elsewhere. Her first collection, While the Kettle’s On (Little Balkans Press, 2015), and her second, Ghost Sign (Spartan Press, 2016), which she co-authored, were both named Kansas Notable Books. She is also the author of A Crooked Door Cut into the Sky, winner of the 2017 Vella Chapbook Award (Paper Nautilus Press, 2018). Melissa and her husband live with their dog and chickens in Kansas, where she teaches English.

 

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.

Today – A Poem by Twila Newey

Today

Today is a day for books and grass
To wander across the fibers of your own mind

Spend hours running the pad of your finger
Over ghost body trees made smooth for scribble

Get lost in folds of hot sunshine
Perhaps meet the ladybug at her level

Sway back and forth
Back and forth

Listen for the whir of tiny wings
Lay your ear to earth to count the rate

Of grass production: slow
The near silent beat out of sync with your carefully written schedule

Oblige the hours
Give into the pleasurable clutter

Today is a day to be a barefoot risk taker
To sidle up and make friends with abandon

 

 

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  TwitterFacebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

The Light in those Hills – A Poem by James Diaz

The Light in those Hills

“I am not what I asked for.”
-Jorie Graham

I curved into the world
slow on my feet
hustling is like love
it’s all about convincing/covering up
papering over

pot hole earth
I weep
and go crazy sometimes
forget to breathe
do the right thing

rippling water
I know you’re deep
but I’m deeper still
linen thread count-heart
all shred and dropped elements

all purposeful watching
and waiting

quietly
oh so quietly

like a dead thing
but somehow alive.

 

About the Poet:  James Diaz is the founding editor of the literary arts & music journal Anti-Heroin Chic http://heroinchic.weebly.com/. His poems can be found in Quail Bell Magazine, HIV Here & Now, Foliate Oak and Ditch. His debut book of poems, This Someone I Call Stranger, is forthcoming from Indolent Books (2018).

 

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  TwitterFacebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: