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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.

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Ariel Westberg

At The Park by Ariel Westberg

At The Park (10-17-10)
by Ariel Westberg

A low-slung mist
Stultifies the LA sunscape, setting the stage to play the part
Of a rainforest’s cupola.
But rain doesn’t come
Even though I am ready.

Boots and sweater, and a nameless heartache to accompany

My attire….
Hibernation at times suits me,
But these days, these years,
I can ill-afford the luxury
Of wallowing, of pining, of yearning.

Today, through the trenches of a familiar yet unknown abyss,
I cradle myself, filled with
A boundless love,
As intricate and vast as the
Stuff of dreams.

A runner, springy and supine, passes me as I sit.
I feel catatonic but my soul,
A burbling brook, coos and
Joyously knows the routes of the gods.

Knows the loving hands that hold me like a child holds a love-worn doll,
Perfectly beautiful to eyes
That have seen all its years,
Limbs gone missing,
Hair brushed out of its head,
A marble eye rolled down a drain,
Smudges that have turned to stains forever.

I am loved that way.

 

 

Ariel Westberg is a poet and singer-songwriter from Los Angeles.  She attended the Evergreen State College and Cornish College of the Arts in Washington State where she studied writing, classical composition and vocal jazz.  She has been writing poetry, drawing, and singing since she was a small child.  Writing has always been her first love.  Her work has appeared in various poetry publications and she is currently writing a childrens’ novel.

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Malibu Mornings by Ariel Westberg

Malibu Mornings (2004)
by Ariel Westberg

Each hour treads hastily upon bliss
and fleeting desolation.

Upon love and hate, even as the trees
gently call my name,
as the ocean is serene….

The tip of ocean’s tongue lapping at my toes;
granules of sand finding their way home
as this breeze is destined to my skin….

These sightless waves, they do not discern.
They reach indiscriminately
between a woman who believes that she does belong….
and a woman who does not.

But my lovely life winds down the bend
with knowing grins.
It gives me these Malibu mornings.

If I could do what a woman would do
maybe I’ll learn to be unafraid.

But my love does not fathom its enormitity.
And my strength doesn’t realize its mission.

Young and unhinged, as I sail along
the cocophany of the shore.

All I want is to belong
to everything
and everyone.

As the ocean wants for nothing.

 

 

Ariel Westberg is a poet and singer-songwriter from Los Angeles.  She attended the Evergreen State College and Cornish College of the Arts in Washington State where she studied writing, classical composition and vocal jazz.  She has been writing poetry, drawing, and singing since she was a small child.  Writing has always been her first love.  Her work has appeared in various poetry publications and she is currently writing a childrens’ novel.

Sick Day by Ariel Westberg

Sick Day (2008)
by Ariel Westberg

Gordon, a dog I know,
bows, then glides into my belly
as I fold like a paper airplane on the rug.

My capillaries don’t understand the cough medicine’s intrusion.
My hands
retroactively succumb

to the whims of sodium buzoate and glucose
as they tremble like an addict in withdrawl.

My medicine mind

My robitussin tears.

 

Ariel Westberg is a poet and singer-songwriter from Los Angeles.  She attended the Evergreen State College and Cornish College of the Arts in Washington State where she studied writing, classical composition and vocal jazz.  She has been writing poetry, drawing, and singing since she was a small child.  Writing has always been her first love.  Her work has appeared in various poetry publications and she is currently writing a childrens’ novel.

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