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Poetry Breakfast

Serving 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 book reviews to feed poets' and poetry lovers' souls.

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Ingrid Bruck

Bells Palsy – A Poem by Ingrid Bruck

Bells Palsy
by Ingrid Bruck

To smile is natural until you can’t. It happens fast as a hummingbird. Nerves on one side of the face stop working. Can’t lift the left eye brow. Can’t wink the left eye. You use a finger to open or shut the eyelid. Wear a black patch over that eye to protect it. Can’t drink from a glass. To hold in a straw, you pinch your lips around it. Face and mouth sags, food and drink dribbles. People startle on meeting. You feel like a freak. Understand the Phantom of the Opera wearing a mask, want to join him in the cellar. If you could catch the thief who stole your whistle, you’d spit in his face but can’t. The not bad news is that nerves heal – you recover with gratitude at your good luck.

 

 

About the Poet:
Ingrid Bruck grows wildflowers, makes jam and writes short form poetry and haiku. She’s a retired library director living in the Amish country of Pennsylvania in the US, spends time with grandchildren and writes very day. Her first chapbook, Finding Stella Maris, was released by Flutter Press this past winter. Current works appears in Between These Shores Literary and Arts Annual, Halcyon Days, The Song Is… and Nature writing. Poetry website: www.ingridbruck.com

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.

Roadmap – A Poem by Ingrid Bruck

Roadmap

Read the leaves, truth sayer.
Oh Oracle of Delphi, read the bones.
Hear stories of women and family.
Nature observation paves my way
to personal understanding.
I talk to wildflowers in the garden
that overflow their boundaries
and watch the birds in the yard,
it’s where I discover truths that change me.
In the birdhouses live Jenny wrens,
bluebirds, chickadees, starlings,
the feeders gather colored feathers.
In the wild, species band together,
land claims are made by a mob of crows,
a rouge of cardinals, a flock of blackbirds.
At the feeders, they lay aside feuds,
a rainbow eats side by side.
I go to birds and flowers
to learn something about healing.

 

 

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

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