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Poetry Breakfast

Serving a little poetic nourishment Monday thru Friday and featuring a Short Play Saturday Matinee to read.

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What Lingers – A Poem by Mary Fox

What Lingers
A poem by Mary Fox

What Lingers

She took your old-but-still-working truck
to her new job, taught her kids to drive in it,
loaned it to her husband when his jeep pooped out,
fetched groceries and birthday presents in it.

Whenever she drove it back to visit me,
our old cat Boguy slid outside to examine the tires,
sniffed each carefully to check where she’d been,
then return to the house to rub against her,
purring in his approval.

(Earlier, when I had given her your key nob,
its tinny metal and crackly plastic,
lingered in my finger memory—
a kind of scent or, perhaps, some imprint of you
that never wore off after you died.
I could hold in my hand and remember
the warmth of your touch.
It felt like a smile—a nod of approval—
encouragement to hand your keys to someone
who would use your old truck to nurture others
the way you cared for our garden, our home, our lives—
me.)

About the Author:

Mary Fox, a Detroit-born poet, resides Portland, MI.  She graduated from Michigan State University (BA) and Central Michigan University (MS.). In 2016, she published “Waiting for Rain”, a poetry chapbook, with Finishing Line Press.  Her 2019 chapbook is “Reading Lessons” (Finishing Line Press).  She enjoys working with her writing groups, exchanging poetry ideas with other poets, supporting local poetry venues, and performing in the Lansing area.  Mary’s current work can be found in a variety journals and anthologies.

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.
If you’d like your short play considered for publication visit our Short Play Submissions page.

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Wherefore – A Poem by April Krassner

Wherefore
A poem by April Krassner

Wherefore

I cannot remain fixed on the fact
of Saturday, or is it a concept?
The concept of Saturday? I’d like
it to be. I’d like it to be both
fact and concept: Saturday.
Maybe it is. Maybe not. Maybe 
it floats from one shore to another, floats 
in terms of time zone, latitude, language.
The concept of this named day betrays 
history, wrecks the abacus of adding 
time to the changing of time, the counting
adding, subtracting clocks, reversing mornings 
for evenings, exchanging time for time lost 
or gained. The fact of Connecticut decries 
the fact of Islamabad or Western Ontario. 
Even though I have lost Saturday, the moon 
follows, flirts with clouds, covers herself 
before speaking. It is Sunday. It is in fact.

About the Author:

April Krassner holds an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College and an MS in Secondary Education from New York University. A teacher, her work has recently turned toward improvisation, reflection, and online connection. A writer, her work includes essays, poetry, flash poetry and fiction as well as flash memoir. Her work has appeared in print and online journals including Poetry Breakfast, Anderbo, Cyclamens and Swords, Moria, Slapdrag.

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.
If you’d like your short play considered for publication visit our Short Play Submissions page.

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advice from my future self – A Poem by Rose Brightree

advice from my future self
A poem by Rose Brightree

advice from my future self

here i sit under the ancient evergreens,
ninety-five growth rings
gracing my face
and still the winds of life
blow through me

did you succeed or fail?
that is what you came here
to ask

failures?
they are all forgotten,
and most successes you will
never see,
being thoughtless and invisible,
small everyday kindnesses
leaving scatterings of light
behind you,
the kind that make the sky
blue

what is it you fear—change?
death?

is a withered leaf afraid of descent?
of transformation?
it falls from life to
life

in all the universe
there is not one breath
out of place

About the Author:

Rose Brightree is a poet, artist, classical musician, and passionate nature lover and supporter. Her poetry has appeared in Room Magazine, Contemporary Verse 2, Sistersong: Women Across Cultures, Other Voices, the anthologies Revelation and Winners’ Circle (Canadian Authors Association), and in other print and online publications.

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.
If you’d like your short play considered for publication visit our Short Play Submissions page.

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road trip – A Poem by Cynthia Bernard

road trip
A poem by Cynthia Bernard

road trip

happily ever after
is not a smooth glide
down a freshly-paved highway
in a pristine silver Mercedes
under clear skies

the road can be bumpy
and some of those potholes
are decades old
and pretty darn deep

sometimes we cruise along
enjoying the view
checking out enticing detours 
or going pedal-to-the-metal
to get to that little diner
with the best burger ever

other times we get lost
in a maze
of unpaved streets
and some of them
are dead-enders
with no warning signs

there are a few maps
in the glove compartment
but someone did an origami
fold-and-tuck on them
and they’re impossible
to open

the google lady’s 
no help either
there are too many places
with no cell service
along the way

and then there’s my 
looney-tunes mother
and your
iceberg of a father
who show up
uninvited
and try to grab the wheel

but your brown eyes still twinkle
and I still sing an off-key happy song
when my hand
finds yours
and weaves its way in
even when we fall
into a ditch and
the wheels spin and spin
before we manage to get out

and all along the roadway
we remember
that we’re playing
for the same team
which means 
we always win
no matter what might happen
especially on cold nights
when the heater fails
and we have to cuddle up
to keep warm

About the Author:

Cynthia Bernard is a woman in her late sixties who is finding her voice as a poet after many decades of silence. A long-time classroom teacher and a spiritual mentor, she lives and writes on a hill overlooking the ocean, about 20 miles south of San Francisco. On Twitter: @CynBernard53

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.
If you’d like your short play considered for publication visit our Short Play Submissions page.

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Ode to Waze – A Poem by Faith Paulsen

Ode to Waze
A poem by Faith Paulsen

Ode to Waze
 
Guide me, cartoon bubble on wheels.
Chirp Where to? and hear my supplication.
Because a guardian timekeeper in the sky 
determines location by measuring time, 
  
I can choose the most direct route to my destination,
you at my right shoulder, a lamp unto my feet.
 
You forewarn me, Watch out. Object on road ahead,
and I respond, yes, the object still there.
 
Let me sail past highway drama,
my co-pilot, compass, conscience, North Star.
 
I read your signs, your pop-up prophecies
price of gas, paddling spot, the best place to park.
 
Or maybe with your guidance I dare to wander
the road less traveled by, for you are with me.
I praise your truth: Traffic is sometimes unavoidable.
Sometimes the hard road still the best.
 
If only you’d map for me those other crossings
what to say to him, where to turn,
 
late-night speed traps, chasms of grief,
wobbly dawns with no clear bearing
 
except the magnetic inclination
of what, and whom, I love.

About the Author:

Faith Paulsen’s work has appeared in venues including Philadelphia Stories, Apiary, Ghost City Press, Book of Matches, One Art, Panoply, Thimble, Evansville Review, Literary Mama and Mantis. She is the author of three chapbooks.

https://www.faithpaulsenpoet.com/

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.
If you’d like your short play considered for publication visit our Short Play Submissions page.

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Weeds – A Poem by Marie Donnelly

Weeds
A poem by Marie Donnelly

Weeds

Why is it that I feel so satisfied
when my fingers are pressed around the root?
(I’ve already removed the fragile earth surrounding the weed.)
And when I begin to
p u l l
it feels like I am evacuating a dream.

Afterall, didn’t that weed have
plans
ambitions
desires
a need to put down roots?
I guess we all did.

Well, anyway…
Its plans, ambitions, desires
lay there in a pile with the others.

But what does it say about me
that this is where I would rather be,
(gingerly tucked between coreopsis and river stone,
clothing soiled and sticking to sweaty skin)
than making dinner, washing dishes, folding clothes?
Such domesticities.
Weren’t they the dream a few short years ago?

Now I purposely let my earth-clod boots
track meaningful mud into the house
and the dirt I refuse to clean from underneath my fingernails
will certainly clash with the dress I am wearing to dinner tonight,
causing concern among well-intentioned friends.

About the Author:

Marie Donnelly is a high school English teacher and college counselor who has given up cooking and cleaning to care for her houseplants. A mother of three, she sometimes is successful at instilling appreciation for poetry in her children and students. She lives with her husband and best friend (he is the same person) in northeastern Pennsylvania.

Poetry Breakfast is an online journal publishing poetry and short plays.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.
If you’d like your short play considered for publication visit our Short Play Submissions page.

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