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Poetry Breakfast

Beginning March 20th, 2016 Poetry Breakfast will once again serve 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 related creative non-fiction such as letters to and from poets, essays on poetry, and anything else that might feed a poet and poetry lover’s soul.

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poet

Night Showings – A Poem by Paul Waring

Night Showings

There is little choice but to close
your eyes, let night do the work;
with luck your body will rest,
though that’s only half the fun.

The better part is to watch your
other self act in uncensored movie
roles; irrational, unfinished scripts
from a genre-rich library: adventure,

romance, fantasy and horror. Turn
up at black-of-night premieres,
ride an emotional rollercoaster
through deep wishes and dark

fears to breathtaking, jaw-dropping
finales – that light of day will do
level-best to convince are quixotic,
far-fetched as ever.

 

About the Poet:  Paul Waring is a retired clinical psychologist who once designed menswear and was a singer/songwriter in several Liverpool bands. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming at Clear Poetry, The Open Mouse, Amaryllis, The Lampeter Review, Anapest Journal, Reach Poetry, Rat’s Ass Review, Foxglove Journal, Eunoia Review and many others. His blog is https://waringwords.wordpress.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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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.

Out of the Fog – A Poem by Loretta Diane Walker

Out of the Fog

This morning came galloping
with a hot vengeance
after I had only three hours of sleep.
Oh, to roll time back,
make the hours a black umbrella.

Even the gas pump is impatient.
When I lift the nozzle and insert my card,
it demands, remove card quickly.
Or what? It will not blink its eyes,
hold me hostage in the sun’s yellow breath?

How I swell with fatigue, helplessness, anger
under the command of an one-armed soulless dictator.
I squeeze its metal tongue until my tank
and the creases in my palm are full with its salvia—
the smell of someone else’s money.

I release after hearing gas spill onto my feet.
The splashing taps me out of my drowsy fog.
It’s the same type of fog I found myself falling
into when you asked, “What does the poet mean?”
then answered.

Do not ruin poetry
with that question, coax with your interpretation.
Let your students open a poem
with sticky fingers and find their own way
with gummed words in their hands.

Let them crack it open like a raw egg,
prepare to their tastes,
tell you the rose is a woman.

Once I hurled a smooth stone upwards
and turned before the stone plunged its hard life
back into the earth.

I don’t know if it struck, woke
some sleeping desire, startled it into curiosity.
When I looked up,
morning and eggs and stone were the color of air.
I saw only blue dripping from the sky.

 

 

From Word Ghetto published by Bluelight Press.

 

 

About the Poet:
Loretta Diane Walker won the 2016 Phyllis Wheatley Book Award for poetry, for her collection, In This House. She is a five time Pushcart nominee. She has published three collections of poetry. Her manuscript Word Ghetto won the 2011 Bluelight Press Book Award. She teaches music in Odessa, Texas.  Loretta received a BME from Texas Tech University and earned a MA from The University of Texas of the Permian Basin.

 

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.

Native – A Poem by Kimberly Paulk

Native

Every tree and flower I see,
I ask if it is native.
Was it here before time?
No, the answer comes
always the same.
India, New Caledonia, Africa
are their ancient homes.
What, then, was here?
The mountain, of course.
Always the mountain.

 

 

About the Poet:
Kimberly Paulk is a writer in Matthews, North Carolina. Her work has appeared in Ground Fresh Thursday Press as well as Charlotte Parent and Mom Writers’ Literary magazines.

 

 

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.

this is how you remember high school – A Poem by Archita Mittra

this is how you remember high school

a dreamed-up kiss, too tight clothes & claustrophobic skin, the world spiraling into sense, the chemistry of falling out of love, the wingless phoenix struggling to fly, multiplying loneliness, the certainty of being a lab experiment gone wrong, sleepovers at houses that were never home, all the wrong shades of lipstick, discovering creative ways to slit your wrist & hiding it beneath pretexts and long black sleeves, turning scars into temporary tattoos, learning the hard way that swearing is cool but lesbian is an ugly word, the world spiraling out of sense, the dark drowning like prufrock, the taste of new words on your tongue, spying far away futures on the lawn, sky-walled classrooms & sunlight filtering through unwashed curtains, too-long waiting for too-short poetry lessons, conversations in shadowy corridors with someone you almost fell in love with, the utter depravity of clocks that refused to abide by the rules, walking past unchanging streets, people wearing different faces each day, growing up & apart, burnt diaries, leaving words unsaid, this sense of being so close yet invisible (forever)

 

 

About the Poet:
Archita Mittra is a wordsmith and visual artist with a love for all things vintage and darkly fantastical. She occasionally practices as a tarot card reader.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/archita_mittra
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/camelot_queen1996/
Website: https://thepolyphonicphoenix.wordpress.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.

Bad Girl Love – A Poem by Archita Mittra

Bad Girl Love

you always liked slicked, slender arms around you
and torn jeans from the old movies, which you’ve
stashed beneath the mattress, along with empty
cigarette packets and mutilated pulp magazines.
the men you loved took your childhood in exchange.
in your dreams, you were a rockstar, a wild-eyed thing.

in the novel that you’ll never ever write, cinderella misses
curfew to hook up with the prince who reaches under
her mattress-gown to find a barren planet. she’ll later
trap her stepmother and sisters inside an oven, along
with the glass slippers and bake them for thanksgiving.
and then, the men shall write stories of her terrible majesty.

at night, you wear lipstick and a see-through white
petticoat that smells of stale love and sleep awake
on a mattress below which you’ve hidden your heart.
you are singing cinderella’s song in a way men never
do, even as werewolves or starved princes eye you
from the shadows. your smoke rings are little tiny hearts.

 

 

About the Poet:
Archita Mittra is a wordsmith and visual artist with a love for all things vintage and darkly fantastical. She occasionally practices as a tarot card reader.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/archita_mittra
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/camelot_queen1996/
Website: https://thepolyphonicphoenix.wordpress.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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