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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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Jane Blue

Independence Day – A Poem by Jane Blue

Independence Day

We were both in the dream, talking
about words forbidden to state workers.
“What if someone called their child ‘dear?'”

You answer, “They might think that they
are a hoofed animal?” This is the way
we are. Cracking esoteric jokes.

But we are essentially alone in our bodies.
Sometimes I feel trapped, like an aquarium
fish bumping at the glass. I feel

suicidal at night and hopeful in the morning
as red flowers of the Rose of Sharon
pop out fleshy and erotic one by one.

It is Independence Day. A white
cabbage butterfly bounces down asphalt.
Everything is dependent on something.

The caprice of air, the availability of nectar.
The way you graze my lips as we walk
toward each other down the hall.

 

 

About the Poet:
Jane Blue has been published widely both in print and on-line, including antholgies, books and chapbooks. recent publication includes Avatar, Panoplyzine, and the anthology Unrequited Love. A new book of poems, Blood Moon, was published by FutureCycle Press in 2014 and is available on Amazon.com. She also has a memoir at Amazon, on Kindle only, My Mother and Amelia Earhart. She was born and raised in Berkeley, California but now lives near the Sacramento River.

 

Photo by Frank Winkler.

 

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.

The War Against the Ants – A Poem by Jane Blue

The War Against the Ants

The ants marched up from the cellar
through a crack in the bathtub caulking

twelve abreast. No wonder they’re called
an army. We sprayed poison.

What else can you do? If only we were
Zen enough to whisper, “Go. Sweethearts,

you don’t belong here.” But instead
we committed genocide. Now

a few disoriented stragglers stumble
on the basin, zig-zag and finally

turn to inert black dots. They go to the sink
to die. And I want to cry for them.

Is this how God feels?
 

About the Poet:
Jane Blue has been published widely both in print and on-line, including antholgies, books and chapbooks. recent publication includes Avatar, Panoplyzine, and the anthology Unrequited Love. A new book of poems, Blood Moon, was published by FutureCycle Press in 2014and is available on Amazon.com. She also has a memoir at Amazon, on Kindle only, My Mother and Amelia Earhart. She was born and raised in Berkeley, California but now lives near the Sacramento River.

 

Photo by Phoenix Sierra.

 

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.

The Woman Who Fed the Doves – A Poem by Jane Blue

The Woman Who Fed the Doves

Short and compactly Sicilian
she was the pastor’s mother––a priest––

her only child; a son. She started her car
every morning, put it in gear, gunned it

in a semi-circle from curb to curb
until one day she plowed across the street

into camellias and stucco down to the mesh.
Someone called police; the priest came

flapping his pudgy hands. She fed mourning
doves in her back yard, a grey cloud

of thousands and thousands of them,
sated, leaving. Always some drama.

She would stand on the sidewalk, aiming
the Evil Eye––Il Malochio––

through a living room window.
I used to hear the call and response

of doves softly echoing across treetops.
The priest finally put his mother in a place

where she died, and the doves went away.
Now all I hear is the raucous cawing of crows.

 

 

About the Poet:
Jane Blue has been published widely both in print and on-line, including antholgies, books and chapbooks. recent publication includes Avatar, Panoplyzine, and the anthology Unrequited Love. A new book of poems, Blood Moon, was published by FutureCycle Press in 2014and is available on Amazon.com. She also has a memoir at Amazon, on Kindle only, My Mother and Amelia Earhart. She was born and raised in Berkeley, California but now lives near the Sacramento River.

 

Photo by Amber Avalona.

 

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.

Ghazal of the Cyanide Almond by Jane Blue

Ghazal of the Cyanide Almond
by Jane Blue

The little cyanide almond exposed inside the peach.
The teakettle whimpering instead of whistling.

The pain of last week is gone. An earthquake has rattled Tokyo.
Someone is mowing, always mowing, slashing the street with their noise.

Before I was twenty I had no memories, knitting them together for later.
Dragonflies circle and tilt away like helicopters.

Or cutting trees, murdering trees, with that hoarse, slicing sound.
Last night a panther poured itself through an upper window in a house on a hill.

I lay on a big bed with a former lover, light slanting in like water.
You say your life is narrow, that there is no adventure in it.

A red geranium peeks from behind the sycamore.
Overheard on a television ad: “You can own a new solar system.”

A black honeybee comes to my pen, drawn by the smell of ink?
One memory grows out of another, like a plant from a seed.

Jane Blue was born and raised in Berkeley, California and now lives with her husband near the Sacramento River. Her poems have appeared or will appear in many print and on-line magazines, She has taught creative writing at women’s centers, colleges and prisons, and privately.

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