Not Concrete by Anthony Ward

Not Concrete
by Anthony Ward

In our indeterminate future
I imagine stepping onto a barren landscape
Looking over at symmetrical mountains
Towering above immense craters-
As if set in stone.

Yet this world is not concrete.
It’s a living thing,
It grows and breathes-
Is constantly moving,
Prone to different temperaments
While it wails with despair.

Its grey complexion obscuring
A vibrant colourful persona
Exulting from the darkness,
That’s sheer lunacy to ignore.

Anthony tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including Enhance, Drunk Monkeys, Speech Therapy, Turbulence, Underground, Ginger Piglet, Torrid Literature Journal and The Rusty Nail, amongst others.

Sternutation by Anthony Ward

Sternutation
by Anthony Ward

We are but a sneeze through time
Our lives so brief we barely notice
Travelling at the speed of life
Getting where we’re going before we’re gone
The splendour of space converged to a future
Culminating in the past.

Anthony tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including Enhance, Drunk Monkeys, Speech Therapy, Turbulence, Underground, Ginger Piglet, Torrid Literature Journal and The Rusty Nail, amongst others.

SUMMER SCHOOL SENRYU by Don Kingfisher Campbell

SUMMER SCHOOL SENRYU
by Don Kingfisher Campbell

(1) PRE-TEST

It’s like light rain
heard outside a window–
students writing.

(2) CLASSWORK

Binders opening
and closing–popcorn,
popcorn, popcorn!

(3) FRIDAY TEST

Chair leaning back,
looking for answers
in the ceiling.

(4) STUDENT DESK

Orange edged,
scraped wood butterflies
leave graphite droppings.

(5) NO LOCKERS

On the tables of
the Creative Writing class,
Algebra and Calculus books.

Don Kingfisher Campbell is currently studying for an MFA in Poetry at
Antioch University, Los Angeles. Mr. Campbell has taught Creative Writing
for 27 years in the Occidental College Upward Bound program and has been a
Guest Teacher even longer for the Los Angeles Unified School District.
Kingfisher is the host of Saturday Afternoon Poetry in Pasadena, editor of
the San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, and founder of POETRYpeople youth
writing workshops. Don has recently been awarded a commission by the city
of Pasadena to compose a poem for the City Speaks art exhibit and also won
first place in the 2011 Whittier Poetry Contest.
(http://dkc1031.blogspot.com)

ROAD BED by Don Kingfisher Campbell

ROAD BED
by Don Kingfisher Campbell

lying on her side
like she was sleeping

golden brown fur still
absorbing morning sunlight

so intact so peaceful
cars drive around the feline

we continue on asphalt
in our metal machines

swerve away from each other
on the concrete river

off the offramp
a billboard reminds me

to VIVE HOY con Pepsi
in the midst of construction

Don Kingfisher Campbell is currently studying for an MFA in Poetry at
Antioch University, Los Angeles. Mr. Campbell has taught Creative Writing
for 27 years in the Occidental College Upward Bound program and has been a
Guest Teacher even longer for the Los Angeles Unified School District.
Kingfisher is the host of Saturday Afternoon Poetry in Pasadena, editor of
the San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, and founder of POETRYpeople youth
writing workshops. Don has recently been awarded a commission by the city
of Pasadena to compose a poem for the City Speaks art exhibit and also won
first place in the 2011 Whittier Poetry Contest.
(http://dkc1031.blogspot.com)

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.

BARD by Mark Jackley

BARD
by Mark Jackley

I was going to write some crap about how my maple tree
blooms like an umbrella,
shielding me, oh barf…

when suddenly I remembered
the angry downpour of your words
mashed down on the paper, front and back, several pages

tucked under my windshield wiper,
and I can’t recall a thing
you said but can’t forget the way you made my blood boil

and my heart swell to know
you cared enough to rip me
like a hungry badger. That was poetry,

a scalding rain no blade
could ever wipe away, as if I ever really
wanted to stay dry.

The place where the fox lives by Julija Gulbinovic

The place where the fox lives
by Julija Gulbinovic

the place where the fox lives

orange seeds lie around like teeth, flakes of meat hold onto cherry bones

in the darkness of its thoughts it knows, when joy visits here it seems it will remain forever
when the fox cries, it cries for everyone

disentangling itself from grass and fog, the fox finds itself praying in front of a mirror, wide-eyed darkened face
hair tied back, the purity of the worn-out

it can still hear the sound of leaves under its energetic steps through the vineyard

the earth will be frozen soon and the birds will have left

for a moment, it desires comfort and its body aches for forgiveness
it wishes to let the old souls go, it wishes to tidy up the place

Julija Gulbinovic, is a Lithuanian from Vilnius, and she lives in London since 2006. She studied Human Geography. Now her greatest pleasure and challenge is her Arabic lessons. Apart from that, she dances flamenco and is planning an escape.

Cascades by Mike Berger

Cascades
by Mike Berger

It was a dreary day; dark and somber.
The smell of moisture hung heavy in
The air. It was still and cold.

A gentle snow began to fall; it broke
the dark spell. Fluffy flakes danced
in the sky. There was a strange
magical feeling to the snowflake’s
Gypsy dances. The thirsty forrest
Gobbled up the flakes.

The trees across the pristine scene
had no winter coats; their stark, bare
arms jabbed the sky. Softly, a layer
of stillness distilled.

Snow piled up on the branches, then
a clump would break away. It would
rain down on the branches below. A
cascade on fine powder burst open.

The forest is so use to rain ;so used to
the tap dance of falling drops on lazy
puddles must now learn to a waltz.

OVER BREAKFAST by Joan Colby

OVER BREAKFAST
by Joan Colby

We argue about the mattress.
You prefer firm while I
Like some give. It’s the same
With textures. I want crisp
While you fancy mushy.
I insist on reason, you go for
Guesswork, yet where you’re
Precise demanding perfection,
I’ll say: good enough.

When you hear hoofbeats
Think horses not zebras
The famous medical axiom.

Your zebras run amok in the
Canyons of exception while
My horses graze in their usual pastures.

We face off each morning
Over coffee, juice, the days
Parade of controversial news.

Seven books published including The Lonely Hearts Killers, The Atrocity Book, etc. Over 980 poems in publications including Poetry, Atlanta Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, The New York Quarterly, South Dakota Review, Epoch, etc. Two Illinois Arts Council Literary Awards (one in 2008) and an IAC Literary Fellowship. Honorable mention in the 2008 James Hearst Poetry Contest—North American Review and the 2009 Editor’s Choice Contest–Margie, and finalist in the 2007 GSU (now New South) Poetry Contest, 2009 Nimrod International Pablo Neruda Prize, 2010 James Hearst Poetry Contest and Ernest J. Poetry Prize Joan Colby lives on a small horse farm in Northern Illinois with her husband and assorted animals.

THOUGH LEVON HELM IS DEAD by Mark Jackley

THOUGH LEVON HELM IS DEAD
by Mark Jackley

After nearly losing a finger,
my wife watched the turtle
move to the music
of April beautifully,
slowly,
fiercely,
rocking out
a rhythm
in the wet and glittering
grass toward the pond.