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.


poetry journal

Perfect – A Poem by Karlo Sevilla

by Karlo Sevilla

There’ll be a hypothetically perfect
children’s birthday party one day.

There’ll be a hypothetically perfect
child’s birthday party somewhere soon.

Or hypothetically…always.

I spent the years
with neither time nor money
to spend for such birthday party.

(And there were even years
without any party at all.)

Now all I have is this,
something that will never be his:

My fault, my fault, my most grievous

And he, a child no more.



About the Poet: Karlo Sevilla writes from Quezon City, Philippines. His poems have appeared in Philippines Graphic, Indiana Voice Journal, Radius, Matter, Bombinate, an Origami Poems Project microchap, in the respective first anthologies of Riverfeet Press, Peacock Journal, and Eternal Remedy, and elsewhere. He is active in the online poetry workshop of Rat’s Ass Review. He also coaches wrestling and Brazilian Luta Livre, and does volunteer work for the labor group Bukluran ng Manggagawang Pilipino (Solidarity of Filipino Workers).

His twitter account is @KarloSevilla, Instagram’s @karlosilveriolagmansevilla, and Facebook name is Karlo Silverio Lagman Sevilla III.

River Fable – A Poem by Daniel Pravda

River Fable
by Daniel Pravda

Along the shoreline strewn with the ruins of a school:
cement blocks, bergs of mortar and brick, and rusty pipe daggers,
the human heron pecks for pieces of seaglass.

No Trespassing, it says along the edge of the road broken
by the tide and falling stone by stone into the invisibility of time.
The human heron pours water down its beak.

The scene seems bleak to the mice of the moment,
a school bulldozed and a beach buried by trash and debris.
Turkey vultures circling high above see

the value of vampires and the price of the inevitable.
The human heron fishes a perfect jewel from a crack in the galaxy.
Discrete and incomplete, the human heron rests, takes a breath.

An owl teaches a dragonfly a final lesson in the air. The heron
resumes working west, as high tide climbs toward the road again.


About the Poet: Daniel Pravda is a teacher, explorer and wannabe rockstar whose work has recently appeared in Aji, Apricity, Cedar Creek Review, Dead Mule, Hamilton Stone Review, Jazz Cigarette, Light, The Meadow, Oyster River Pages, and Poetry Quarterly. He teaches English at Tidewater Community College in Chesapeake, VA and, when possible, searches for humanless beaches.

Second Guesses Second Chances – A Poem by Michelle Gregory

Second Guesses Second Chances
by Michelle Gregory

I remember when I got up
and tried again like it was
Slowly, with expectations
comes hesitation
and then fear.

Now I don’t even try, in
case of failure.
The new status quo.

The path from one to the
other is long and winding
to confuse and blur.

The truth is you can step
back, follow the path,
become the person who
tries again.

You know I’m right.
Look past the mountain of fear.



About the Poet:
Michelle Gregory is a Canadian writer who enjoys reading and writing poetry. She loves to travel and enjoys spending time in nature with her two dogs. She is a member of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association and is currently writing her first novel.
Instagram: @iam_michelle_gregory
Twitter: @michellemgreg

An Old Song – A Poem by Mara Buck

An Old Song
by Mara Buck

First they came for the scorpions and we said, fine,
Dangerous creepy bastards, squirt em, better off without em,
But the birds that ate the carcasses didn’t agree as they died.
Then they came for the clothes moths, vermin, destructive bitches
Ate my cashmere sweater, but the child who played
Dressup in the closet and ended her life in ICU was
Unsure of the relative importance of her years to cashmere.
Then they came for the wasps, stinging hateful enemies of
Unprotected skin in the summer. Nuked em with everything
In the arsenal and our barbeques were safer.
Then they came for the honeybees (well we do like honey) but
Hey there are so many dandy substitutes, we can certainly do without.
Still, we noticed the produce and the flowers in our Valentine bouquets
Looked less and less vibrant, the oranges smaller and less juicy
And most importantly, cost more—and we frowned.
But now, they’re coming for the butterflies, beautiful flying gems
Glinting storybook splendor, poetry on the wing, and we say,
Wait just a damn minute, but that minute is ticking away, and
So are we.



About the Poet:  Mara Buck writes and paints in a self-constructed hideaway in the Maine woods. Winner of the 2019 Raven Prize, Scottish Arts Club Prize, F. Scott Fitzgerald Poetry Prize, Binnacle International Prize. Awarded/short-listed by the Faulkner/Wisdom Society, Hackney Awards, Balticon, Confluence, and others, with work in numerous literary magazines and print anthologies.

Recalling Alcohol at the Wharf – A Poem by Mark J. Mitchell

Recalling Alcohol at the Wharf
by Mark J. Mitchell

A bite of whisky in the iodine air.
That glass-eyed stare and slow sigh
of a last sip. The short lie.

Fog over a calm bay. A burdened ship
splitting water. Your unlearned
lessons and that refreshing burn.

It comes home some mornings, like soft, cool fog.
Note in your mind’s log. A jeweled
sunrise calls you back. Old fool.


About the Poet:
Mark J. Mitchell’s latest novel, The Magic War just appeared from Loose Leaves Publishing. A Full-length collection of poems will released next year by Encircle Publications.  He studied writing at UC Santa Cruz under Raymond Carver and George Hitchcock. His work has appeared in the several anthologies and hundreds of periodicals. Three of his chapbooks— Three Visitors,Lent, 1999, and Artifacts and Relics—and the novel, Knight Prisoner are available through Amazon and Barnes and Noble.  He lives with his wife the activist and documentarian, Joan Juster and makes a living pointing out pretty things in San Francisco.

A meager online presence can be found at

The Sandwich – A Poem by Maggie Rosen

The Sandwich
by Maggie Rosen

I ask my daughter if she likes
her peanut butter sandwich.
She says, “kindof,”
which, it turns out,
means “my throat is swelling
and hives are marching across my chest.”

I remember a copperhead grazing my shin in a stream.
One time I leaned on grass
to reach a tennis ball
and the yellow jackets inflamed my hand.
A black widow spider lived
quietly, alone
under a stool at the nursery playground.

Now I carry antidote
for my daughter’s venom, poised at all times
to stab her to save her.
This river will bathe her
in breaths, or send her down.
The eye of this needle
zooms in on the point of my life and hers,
cinched between antibody and antigen,
I do not like this sandwich.



About the Poet:  Maggie Rosen lives in Silver Spring, Maryland. Her poems have been published in Little Patuxent Review, Waccamaw, Cider Press Review, RiverLit, Blood Lotus, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Barely South, and Conclave, among other publications. Her chapbook, The Deliberate Speed of Ghosts, was published in 2016 by Red Bird Chapbooks. See more at

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