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.


Daily Poem

Influencer – A Poem by Chris Jansen

by Chris Jansen

Like a car wreck with a plastic sheet.
Like the place to go where we might meet.
Like a bloody bandaid in the street

next to a penny,
two feathers,
a yellow burrette,
my mother’s unlived life,

I see,
I glow,
I go around.
I run.

And I derive my power from nothing.

Like the sun.



About the Poet: Chris Jansen is a recovering heroin addict. He lives in Athens, Georgia, where he teaches boxing and cares for a disinterested guinea pig named Poozybear.

What’s Still Remembered Somewhere Lying Around as Shades of April Finds Broken Bones – A Poem by Ariana D. Den Bleyker

What’s Still Remembered Somewhere Lying Around
as Shades of April Finds Broken Bones

by Ariana D. Den Bleyker

We set out naked on the street,
jumped fences into a pair of outstretched arms—

two to embrace; two to push away—
& fell halfway through, guided

by a sky stuffed wet with pitch,
the rain small tears needling

against a mysterious, endless tune
of winds discovering faith, shivering,

groping conflict, history collecting dirt, fear—
silence the only answer. We, all red inside,

move in uncomfortable skin,
poking it to reach bone, biting

into a sky already bitten by God
in times of famine. The rain spreads mirrors

across the road, & we make faces
as to not recognize ourselves.



About the Poet: Ariana D. Den Bleyker is a Pittsburgh native currently residing in New York’s Hudson Valley where she is a wife and mother of two. When she’s not writing, she’s spending time with her family and every once in a while sleeps. She is the author of three collections, eighteen chapbooks, three crime novellas, a novelette, and an experimental memoir. She hopes you’ll fall in love with her words.

Caught – A Poem by Nynke Salverda Passi

by Nynke Salverda Passi

A moth’s tetrapterous body is impaled—
++++++as if by the pins of its eyes—

on the green screen door of my kitchen.
++++++The powdered edges of its wings

pulsate with the calm of death
++++++upon the faint extinction of its breath.

It is early fall, the air paper-thin
++++++as if it could tear. I can’t tell apart

the squares of mesh from the moth’s
++++++nacreous skin. My mind tries

to capture this scene in luminous words
++++++and turn this ordinary door

that needs a coat of paint and a new knob
++++++into relic or shrine.

Then the barest flutter of pensive,
++++++passive rage trembles through the moth’s

caviling frame. It dies so young, so
++++++surely, and it has no name.

Now I’m awake it dies, and as I slept
++++++last night, its life had just begun.



About the Poet:
Nynke Salverda Passi was born and raised in the Netherlands. Her work has been published in CALYX, Gulf Coast, Red River Review, Illya’s Honey, and The Anthology of New England Writers, among other places. Her poetry has been anthologized in Carrying the Branch (Glass Lyre Press) and River of Earth and Sky (Blue Light Press). Together with Rustin Larson and Christine Schrum, she edited the poetry anthology Leaves by Night, Flowers by Day. Her story “The Kiss” was nominated for a Pushcart, and her essay “Oom Ealse and the Swan” was one of the finalists in the 2014 Editor’s Prize of The Missouri Review. Nynke has 20 years of college teaching experience in creative writing and is director of The Soul Ajar, a writing center offering workshops and collaborations exploring the relationship between writing, creativity, and healing.

Find her website here:

Mother’s Glasses – A Poem by Gabriel Muoio

Mother’s Glasses
by Gabriel Muoio

I tried my mother’s glasses once,
when I was little, and saw what
she saw, I thought—the world
was like tears, and a haze of shifting
fog, and life was divided by a
line like some magnetic pole—
I thought it was a border, a kind of
limbo place where things decided
what they were—and what was I then?
Just a blur (poor Mother, dear
weeping woman of sorrows), I was
ascending like a puff of vapour,
though I was distant, and no one saw it,
I was translated too through the polar
channel, what I saw was life and colour,
and I condensed somewhere, at some point—
I am tears, dear Mother, you see
sadness clearly—you laughed for me,
and I love you, though I hate the
demons in you, despite my rage I would
die for you, dear Mother, you see dimly,
and though through tears I see you too,
I see you, Mother, I see you clearly.


About the Poet:
Gabriel Muoio is a writer from Western Australia. His poetry often explores the world of birds and nature, as well as metaphysical and supernatural topics like ghosts, death and the afterlife. He’s written two novels, one of which he has made available to read for free on his website,

Here Comes the Sun; A Bluegrass Experience – A Poem by Susan E. Gunter

Here Comes the Sun; A Bluegrass Experience
by Susan E. Gunter

A chaste sun burns off desire,
its fire warming us while coins
of light fall on the green grass.

Blue notes beat the air—
stringed kithara or mandolins—
counterpointing the sun’s beams.

Arrows of light and sound,
negative shapes, beauty of the singular—
we are turning into memory.

Only once—we come here only once,
but the sun takes the day from me
before I can write it down.


About the Poet:  Susan E. Gunter has published poems in journals here (Atlanta Review, Louisville Review, Poet Lore, Semaphore, and dozens of others) and also in England and the Balkans. She has published three books on Henry James and the James Family and she volunteers at the Marin Poetry Center.

Before Dawn – A Poem by Joan Higuchi

Before Dawn

Before a gleam appears
on the ledge of the horizon-
Before the sky blushes
in acknowledgment
of the compliments
of early risers-
Before a glint of sunlight
torches the dew on grass
creating sparklers

I kiss the dark, stand
Queen of the Night
naming shadows-
snatch pleasure from
the absence of noise
the cacophony of people
and the impedimenta
of their lives

soak myself in peace
filled with the quiet sounds
of the working world
a dancer poised on one toe
as though time and motion
are unrelated

until a robin in nearby nest
announcing perception
of the shift of light
burbles in his exotic language
clear in its translation.


Published in Joan Higuchi’s chapbook  A World of Small Things Singing  (


About the Poet:  Joan Higuchi is a multiple prize winner in Writer’s Digest contests, including a category first place as well as the Miracles competition sponsored by the Walt Whitman Birthplace Association. Her poems have appeared in many online and print productions and she is the author of one chapbook of nature poems A World of Small Things Singing (www.finishinglinepress) and a collection based on her work as an RN in the field of mental health (



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.

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