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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 Poets

For Shura – A Poem by Pritha Bhattacharyya

 For Shura

Sylvia –
+++++++ The oven, frosted over with burns,
Which claimed you that quiet morning –
I imagine that morning, rainy and damp,
toys strewn about: trucks and cars never to return.
And a doll who had experienced a love
Versed in the recesses of a thickening air.

Sylvia –
+++++++ through a wineglass one wouldn’t see it rise,
a sparkling rosé would mask the surprise.
Dawn, before birds chirp and after crickets sigh,
And bees in the garden, perpetually humming
is when towels were stuffed and door hinges sealed.
A closing heart, a slowing drumming.

Sylvia –
+++++++ Children cry when left alone,
but learn to play with empty space.
Faces unnerve me now and yours in full:
those grains of yours are seeds newly sown.

Sylvia –
+++++++ we are twins in death, you and I,
circling each other in the sky.
A blue that darkens, hues unsaturated,
cannot light up the same way.
You were braver than I, though both fated
to leave. I took meaning with me,
while you left yours to stay.

Sylvia –
+++++++ I didn’t write poetry.
But rest assured, I will write it now,
and all my lines and choice of words –
felicitous fox, rained pain, grapes for geese
will be for Shura,
+++++++ for Shura,
+++++++ for Shura,
There, where you lie,
is where I wait for peace.

 

 

 

About the Poet:
Pritha Bhattacharyya is a writer and graduated from Cornell University in 2016. She studied psychology and minored in creative writing. She writes both short stories and poetry and her work has been featured in Rainy DayMarginalia, and Litro Online. To learn more about her work, visit prithabread.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  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Ghetto Pain – A Poem by George Agak

Ghetto Pain

Roads narrowed by food sellers
Houses peeling and leaking
Children walking bare feet
With windowed garments
Women breaking their backs
As their husbands are hammering
Anvils into meals

Sirens are heard
A house is on fire
Shouts are heard
A purse has been snatched
A mother wails
A son has been shot
A daughter has been raped

When night falls
You hold your heart in your hands
A bullet may spray it anytime
Police and thugs are a family
Just in different uniforms

Stinking dumpsites
Burst sewers
Contaminated waters
Blinding illicit brews
Pregnant minors
Aborted babies blocking toilets
Fresh human dung on paths
Ghetto pain is becoming unbearable

 

 

 

About the Poet:
George Agak is a Kenyan who loves expression by pen. He considers poetry a tool to unravel some of the mysteries of nature. His first book, Nothing Underneath is set to be released in May 2017. George loves nature and writes much about its marvels, his poems; Never Alone, Marvel, Meditating by the River and Love in Cold November have been published in American Nature Journal, Avocet. You can Visit his blog www.georgeagak.wordpress.com  for of his work. 

 

 

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.

Unfinished – A Poem by J.I. Kleinberg

Unfinished

The centerpiece is a low hedge
of gourds and pinecones and holly.
Glasses are slicked with wine
and lipstick, plates half empty,

a fork dropped, chairs pushed away,
one fallen on its side,
fringed blue rug rucked in a heap,
the front door stands wide.

Our shoulders touch,
hands clench, grip an arm,
cover a mouth, hang confused,
unable to help,

faces all turned to follow
what cannot be undone
though for years
our fingers will scrape

at the hammered lid,
the closed eye,
our throats clog with words
as we try every language —

shout and whisper
into the long silence —
write — pray —
implore you to reply.
 

 
About the Poet:
A Pushcart nominee, J.I. Kleinberg is co-editor of Noisy Water: Poetry from Whatcom County, Washington (Other Mind Press 2015). Her poetry has appeared recently in One, Diagram, PoemMemoirStory, Clover: A Literary Rag, The Precise Dimension of Light (Leaf Press, 2016) and elsewhere. She lives in Bellingham, Washington, and blogs most days at chocolateisaverb.wordpress.com and thepoetrydepartment.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  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Mira Gut – A Poem by PD Lyons

Mira Gut

there are no flowers here but snow.
the bay not yet free chunked with ice
the white of which exists only against a distant liquid sea.
at least the sun visits, comforting,
illusion though it is,
visions of thawing, melting down to something green.

in the long sleep of winter, I have dreamed
something Spanish that you said along a twilight turquoise
something soft covering sun drenched shoulders
silver threads an old man’s harp played for money by the moon

 

 

About the Poet:
PD Lyons was born and raised in the USA. Traveling and living abroad since 1998. Now permanently residing in of Ireland.  Received The Mattatuck College Award for Outstanding Achievement in Poetry.  Received Bachelor of Science with honours from Teikyo Post University Connecticut.  Please visit pdlyons blog at http://pdlyons.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  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.

Daylight Savings – A poem by Christine Vovakes

Daylight Savings

Saturday night we set the clocks
an hour back. Now morning lazes
in a new time that feels strange,
like shoes not yet broken in.

The birds heed only the dawn-tick
of sky and light. Their first aria
trills the sun awake,

then the whole choir of crows
and sparrows, a red-tailed hawk
and at least two geese by the river

make the Sunday holy
in ways we with our inventions
of time and verse and incensed
worship never can. Amen. Amen.

 

 

About the Poet:
Christine Vovakes lives in northern California. Her poems have appeared in San Pedro River Review, The Cape Rock, JAMA, California Quarterly, Boston Literary Magazine, Apple Valley Review, the Marin Poetry Center Anthology and more. The Washington Post, Sacramento Bee and San Francisco Chronicle, among others, have printed her articles and photos.

 

 

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.

Questions for Winter – A Poem by Jax Peters Lowell

Questions for Winter

Building its sequined dune against the garden door —
Can snow sense the futility of accumulation?
Does ice dream of melting into the earth’s arms?
Hydrangea plays possum on dead wood
Brittle sky offers an empty bowl
The wind tells us only what it wants us to hear.

Winter knits its sweater of us.

Cold daggers glitter in night’s obsidian eye
A rising gale picks at the locks,
Howling for pelts and silver.
A hoarded summer soup delivers us from the gulag
Of root vegetables. Peaches float in amber syrup,
Experiments in cryogenics.

Love broken, blood ravished,
Taste of August in our mouths,
We do not question the panic of sparrows.

 

 

About the Poet:
Jax Peters Lowell is an award-winning novelist and recipient of the Leeway Foundation Transformation Award for fiction and poetry.  Her poems have appeared in Poetry East, The Pinch, Alimentum, and The Examined Life and have been cited by the New York State Council on the Arts. In a parallel universe, she is a food writer, activist, gluten-free expert and bestselling author of The Gluten-Free Revolution, an American Library Association “Top 10 Food Book” of 2015.  Presently she is working on a novel. She lives in Philadelphia in a restored bread factory.  Yes, really.  www.jaxlowell.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.

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