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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.

Category

All Poems

Garden of Eden – A Poem by Ingrid Bruck

Garden of Eden

They will call her the widow with no grass.
In a gated mobile court, she builds a garden,
fills every inch of ground
with shrubs, trees and vines.
Inside the double trailer,
her husband lays dying of cancer.
She plants for him, an act of love,
a cool green hammock to rock his pain.

Some home owners gripe to each other,
grumble about breaking rules,
denounce her to staff at the park office.
Everyone should have a proper yard with a palm or two.
A small side bed with annuals is acceptable.
Or shell circles topped by a pink flamingo or gnome.
Lawns are supposed to have grass, everyone agrees,
rough sod with broad blades that tolerate Florida sun.

Neighbors protesting the secret garden
mail letters of complaint from anonymous,
someone pushes a threat under the door,
once at the club house, they egg her car.
Accusers call her bad names,
say she’s making a joke of their park
but she keeps on planting until no ground is left.

After his funeral,
she’s called to task at a homeowner’s meeting.
Most residents side with her,
the widow prevails.

Her garden still grows, mute testimony of old sorrow,
a roadside shrine so out of place, it acts like a stop sign.
Passersby on foot, bikes and cars halt when they see it,
some in solace, others in irritation.

Years later, all you see is the garden,
fronds, leaves and flowers hide the home.

 

 

About the Poet:  Ingrid Bruck writes poetry, makes jam and grows wildflowers. She’s a retired librarian living in the Amish country of Pennsylvania that inhabits her writing. Her favorite writing forms are short. Some current work appears in Unbroken Journal, Halcyon Days, Quatrain.Fish, Entropy, and The Song Is. Her poetry site is: ingridbruck.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  TwitterFacebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

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Not Blue, But Black – A Poem by M. Stone

Not Blue, But Black

She spent childhood afternoons
at the bathroom sink, hand washing

and wringing, cutting her twelve-
year molars on hunger for certainty.

Riddled by compulsive tics, her feet encased
in depressive concrete, she survived with pills

and ravenous hope. Now, inching toward forty,
she will not partake in the scavenger hunt

for absolute truth. She no longer seeks comfort
serene as the weightless saltwater womb.

During dingy gray days when her body
is pain-dulled and her mind dead-set

on devouring itself, when joy is elusive
as the god particle, she cocoons her flesh

with clean sheets and settles for ten-hour stretches
of oblivion, death served in bite-sized pieces.

 

 

About the Poet:
M. Stone is a bookworm, birdwatcher, and stargazer who writes poetry while living in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in San Pedro River Review, SOFTBLOWCalamus Journal, and numerous other print and online journals. She can be reached at writermstone.wordpress.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  TwitterFacebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Blood Draw – A Poem by Jeff Burt

Blood Draw

I walk like an old truck
with a bent frame
ready to wander off the road
into a head-on crash
or drift into the ditch
but somehow maintains
its direction down the center
of the slow lane.
I find the raised chair,
lift my arm to tube
and needle, make small talk
as the oil runs out,
the tread of my fingers
unleashes the gripped ball,
and I dream of the road
and the next five thousand miles.

 

 

About the Poet:  Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California, with his wife and a July abundance of plums. He has work in Spry, The Monarch Review, and won the 2017 Cold Mountain Review Poetry Prize.

 

 

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.

Awaiting Acceptance – A Poem by Ron. Lavalette

Awaiting Acceptance

I will have coffee and cigarettes on the porch.
I will watch the morning build itself

from fading dark. Men will arrive,
and I will think that this is work

I could do myself, but it will not be
true: there are to be new steps, and I

will only watch. There will be scrap heaps
and sawdust, and I will be busy, inspecting

cobwebs in the joists, pondering errant
commas, watching for the mailman’s van.

 

 

About the Poet:  Ron. Lavalette lives in Vermont, land of the fur-bearing trout and the bilingual stop sign.  He’s been widely published, both in print and online. A reasonable sample of his work can be found at EGGS OVER TOKYO: http://eggsovertokyo.blogspot.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.

Poet’s Lunch and Reading October 8, 2017

Readers here are familiar with Poetry Breakfast.  A morning nibble of poetic nourishment.  But Poet’s Lunch and Reading?

I am not much good at explaining.  Especially when things grow organically.  A seed dropped by the wind.  Planted in my yard.  Growing without my planning.

Over the course of the last year and a half a place now known as the Poetry and Arts Barn has been incubating.  Its final full birth came about October 1st, 2017.  That day, the first Writer’s Brunch and Poet’s Lunch and Reading happened.  And they will continue happening every Sunday.

Brunch and Lunch are the obvious outgrowths of Poetry Breakfast.  Only, these are in the physical realm, face to face, bodies in the same space.  The purpose of them is the same as any meal – fuel and nourishment.

The full growth of the Poetry and Arts Barn has yet to be revealed, even to me, though I am the one with the keys to the building.  What will come, will come when it is meant to be.  For now, we have the Writer’s Brunch and Poet’s Lunch and Reading.

For those who dine with us each morning for breakfast, we don’t want you to go without some poetry for lunch on Sundays.  So, each week we will capture something from the Poet’s Lunch and serve it up the following Sunday.

This past Sunday, we had a wonderful visit from Annmarie Lockhart, a local Jersey poet, who heard about the Poetry and Arts Barn through Poetry Breakfast.

She was gracious enough to be our spontaneous featured poet.  And we caught it on video to share with you today.

Annmarie Lockhart is the founding editor of vox poetica, an online literary salon dedicated to poetry, and Unbound Content, an independent poetry press. A lifelong Bergen County, New Jersey resident, she lives, writes, and works two miles from the hospital where she was born. You can read her words at fine journals online and in print.

We hope you’ll watch and listen.  And while you’re munching on this today, we’ll be at the Barn cooking up something new to serve you for lunch next Sunday.

Part 1

Part 2

And Part 3… The Nailpolish Poems

When Grandma Wins at Bingo – A Poem by Rebecca Villineau

When Grandma Wins at Bingo

We four get to go
To Denny’s
Fried chicken in baskets
A mound of hot crisp fries
Our oily fingerprints all over
The paper mats
The four of us coloring
Laughing and gulping
Milkshakes
And grandma with her bingo wins
Fresh under her Irish hands
Her purse ajar
On her lap breathing the winnings
A sweet aroma
To the air
On the way home we stop at the Kmart
Each of us gets a toy
The doll I saw on television
New play dough and markers
At home grandma laughs again at those winnings
At how luck came when she was down
The winnings turning her life into
Something more beautiful

Then there are the days
When there are no bingo winnings
Grandma returns from the basement of St. Patrick’s Church
Her purse holding on
Like a defeated friend
To her elbow
We sit quiet knowing the sound of disappointment
We eat cube steak
And instant potatoes
When we ask for a dollar for the candy store
She snaps, “You think I’m made of money!”

 

 

About the Poet:  Rebecca Villineau is a poet and a social worker. Her poems have appeared in Vox Poetica, Spillwords Press and upcoming fall/winter issue of The Stray Branch. She lives and creates in New Bedford, Ma..

 

 

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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