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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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morning poetry

When Love Arrives

Something a little new here…take a look see at this wonderful poem and then scroll down to find out all about the new line up at Poetry Breakfast.

So yes, there’s a little something different on the menu this morning.  But really, one can’t eat oat meal every single morning without soon thinking breakfast is just an unemotional function.  And as the cook, er editor, here at Poetry Breakfast, I can’t keep serving oat meal day after day after day.  Not when there’s a plethora of amazing poetry dishes out there.  It’s time to spice up the menu!

Here’s the daily menu:

Mondays:  Featured poem chosen from the best of those submitted to Poetry Breakfast

Tuesdays:  Video/Audio reading of a poem – selected by the editor

Wednesdays:  Featured poem chosen from the best of those submitted to Poetry Breakfast

Thursdays:  Interviews / Lectures by poets past and present, and the occasional poetry class

Fridays:  Featured poem chosen from the best of those submitted to Poetry Breakfast

Saturdays: Extended Poetry Readings – these will run 20 minutes to 2 hours.  Sit back, relax, and enjoy a Saturday Poetry Brunch

Sundays:  Featured poem chosen from the best of those submitted to Poetry Breakfast

Poetry submissions are still being accepted as usual for Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays featured poems.  All other days will be filled with videos and audios found and chosen by the editor.

Hopefully, by being a little more adventurous with our Poetry Breakfast we’ll all be able to have a broader taste and fuller experience.

Last Dance with Mary Jane by Nina Bennett

Last Dance with Mary Jane
by Nina Bennett

Miguel shows me his bag of dope
at every counseling session.
I keep my expression neutral,
refuse to be drawn in when he asks
if it looks like good shit.
We then spend 30 of his 50 minutes
discussing his paranoia. He worries
that he is being ripped off, that his dealer
thinks he is stupid because his English
is poor. I use every maneuver I know
to redirect the session, but each week
we end up gazing at the baggie
he pulls from his backpack.

This week Miguel doesn’t show up,
doesn’t call to cancel, doesn’t answer his phone.
Today I see the article, buried
in the crime section of the newspaper. Shot
in the back, he bled out on the sidewalk,
died alone, three doors from his home.
Outside my window, daffodils bow their heads
as a spring shower cleanses the street.

Nina Bennett is the author of Forgotten Tears A Grandmother’s Journey Through Grief. Her poetry has appeared in numerous journals including Requiem, Tipton Poetry Journal, San Pedro River Review, The Summerset Review, Bryant Literary Review, Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine, The Broadkill Review, and anthologies such as Spaces Between Us: Poetry, Prose and Art on HIV/AIDS. Nina is a contributing author to the Open to Hope Foundation. www.transcanalwriters.com

Forecasting Hemlines by M.R. Smith

Forecasting Hemlines
by M.R. Smith

Weather will come
in its own fashion. Dark
evening dress, sharp jewelry
meant to kill,
sometimes light and blousy.
Today it is straight-legged
and lined out clean, a casual
bearing trying to portray
confidence and control
of a situation that could
change at the drop
of a barometer.

M.R. Smith lives in Boise, ID and will have work appearing in the fall in The Red River Review.

Resurrection by Nina Bennett

Resurrection
by Nina Bennett

The first Easter after Dad died
I waited for him to come back to life.
I sat at dinner, silence broken
by klink of fork against china,
swish and crackle of ice
as I stirred sugar into my tea.
I tried to ignore the whispered hypocrite,
you don’t believe in the resurrection
.

I am responsible for my father’s
death. I’m the one who implored
the ICU doctors to convince my brother
it was time to forgo life-sustaining treatment,
to explain that our father now existed
in a realm we could not access.

First child, oldest daughter,
I’m the one who rested my head
on Dad’s chest, strained to hear
his fading heartbeat, pressed my fingers
against the once-pulsing artery in his neck,
pushed the call button and told the nurse
his final exhale was at 5 p.m.

Nina Bennett is the author of Forgotten Tears A Grandmother’s Journey Through Grief. Her poetry has appeared in numerous journals including Requiem, Tipton Poetry Journal, San Pedro River Review, The Summerset Review, Bryant Literary Review, Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine, The Broadkill Review, and anthologies such as Spaces Between Us: Poetry, Prose and Art on HIV/AIDS. Nina is a contributing author to the Open to Hope Foundation. www.transcanalwriters.com

Dear Park Ave. by Gary F. Iorio

Dear Park Ave.
by Gary F. Iorio

She bought a dog to have
someone
to walk with. But the dog never walked.
He ran, and stopped, sprinted, circled, peed, barked,
pooped (shat), yawned and slept.
Really! He
never walked with her – at her side, like
she dreamed.

The town was waiting for her
and her dog.
Outside the bakery, there was a water bowl on an aluminum stand.
Inside, the doggie treats were free.

The guy who owned the franchise-sandwich-shop had
pictures of a Boxer-mix taped to the register. But behind the counter
there was always a sleeping Husky
lying close to a wall papered with black and white images of the
Subway station at Stillwell Avenue,
Coney Island!

She chased and shouted as
he knocked over the clean, aluminum stand; pleaded with him as
he refused and barked loudly at the doggie treats that were offered and free.

Once, while she waited for her small “Veggie-Local,” he cleared the counter
and landed on the sleeping Husky.

She’d walked past my window carrying the huge, heavy, happy beast.
We all knew she whispered his name each night, last thing, before
she dreamed.

GARY F. IORIO was raised in Brooklyn and Massapequa, NY; he has an MFA from The University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Mr. Iorio works as a real estate attorney. His fiction, poetry and memoirs have been published in various publications including SAN PEDRO RIVER REVIEW, FICTION AT WORK, THE EAST HAMPTON STAR, THE WISCONSIN REVIEW, THE MISSISSIPPI REVIEW, FRONT&CENTRE MAGAZINE, ECHO INK REVIEW, BLACK WORDS ON WHITE PAPER, CRACK THE SPINE and MUSED.

City Pool by M.R. Smith

City Pool
by M.R. Smith

I exit the city dripping,
sagging like hip-hop pants,
equally useless; my arms
clutched from my risk-on day.

On the train I think
I must be a sight
with my eyes wide and
leaving a trail like a slug.

My night will consist
of vigorous motion,
pacing, tossing, turning;
trying to dry off

before tomorrow when
I must make another
ill-advised steep dive
into the shallow end.

M.R. Smith lives in Boise, ID and will have work appearing in the fall in The Red River Review.

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