Best Breakfast Time Poems
STILL LIFE WITH FRUIT
In spite of the orchard
A far white moon dominates
Its sick room presence lifts the eye
Still life with fruit –
Crescent dish with bananas, apples, pears -
A wrinkled bed spread falls off the sky
In all an angular canvas,
A drowsy cubist squint,
Imposed shapes, lines – Picasso pie
This pointed, silver vase pokes through
Its ample gift of flowers,
Destroys the view – Oh, my!
I’ve come to, limp right arm yet hangs over,
Attendant tells, “Breakfast time. You hungry?
Let’s sit up. There! Good guy.”
Dave Austin
I love a sunburnt Aussie bloke, with great big, muscled arms,
His rugged well-built shoulders, and face with all its charms.
I love his thongs and singlet too, and stubby shorts you see,
His beer gut proudly hanging out, he is the one for me,
I love his Aussie greeting way “‘G’day mate” when we meet
His laugh so loud, make no mistake, you’ll know him in the street.
I love the Aussie Sheila too, she’s really trim and taught.
Long legs, tight skirt, big bust, great smile, a real good-looking sort.
I love her when she’s on the beach, bikini clad real brown,
Or when she meets her friends for lunch, all dressed up for the town.
I love her friendly way she says “G’day mate” when we meet
Her laugh so loud, make now mistake you’ll know her in the street.
I love an Aussie BBQ, with lamb chops, snags, and steak
And ‘Big Red’ sauce, a loaf of bread, some salads we do make.
I love the Aussie breakfast time with Vegemite on toast
Or Sunday lunch no better that an Aussie dinkum roast.
I love our wine and spirits too, but best is Aussie beer
It’s Fosters, Gold or Tooheys Blue, you won’t find soft drink here.
I love our sport, we watch a lot, of course we are the best,
We’re always fair, we understand, just better than the rest.
I love the Aussie rules we play, that’s football, not ping pong
And how the crowds call out real loud if the umpie gets it wrong.
I love the summer tennis too; it’s watched by young and old
Or a cricket match the Aussie way, dressed in the green and gold.
I love our patriotic style, the anthem that is sung
‘Advance Australia Fair’ I think, don’t know the words just hum.
I love our multi-cultural race, from lands quite near and far,
As a nation proud we do stand because that is who we are.
I love the freedom that we have, our wide brown land to roam
This place we call Australia; this place we call our home.
Everybody needs
A little love and care
A friendly hello, how are you dear
A little smile
Can go for millions of miles
To make rainbows out of stormy skies
You don't have to be
Extravagant
A little courtesy is sufficient
But what I have to say I can't hold back
I really mean it
And that's a fact
I want to hug you, in the morning
Before it's breakfast time
I believe my arms were made for hugging you
And yours were meant for mine
I want to hug you, in the afternoon
A sunny evening delight
I want to snuggle really close when stars are out
And hug you under moonlight
A gentle cough, a quiet word, a morning breeze, a waking bird,
Into her box her letters fall, soft flip flop slippers down a hall,
A radio plays yesterdays, and on the wall a clock face says
That sometimes time talks much too loud, like ego’s clashing in a crowd,
Her percolator’s gurgling rhyme told her that it was breakfast time
So she sat in her window seat, and drank her coffee black and sweet
While musing on the day ahead, so much was still left to be said
Yet life sometimes has many lanes, and some are losses, some are gains.
She stepped outside and locked her door, then slowly walked down to the shore
Deciding that she’d start her day by wandering down Sabre bay,
Where sunlit sea touched glowing flame, and whispers never meant the same
As those that fluttered through the trees, for these were whispers of the seas
And as she walked she seemed to hear, from distant waves though crystal clear
Those messages from long ago, brought back upon the ocean’s flow
From somewhere that they both had been, a distant day, a distant scene
Where time and tide were much the same, a picture in a wooden frame.
And then she sensed them back again, two lovers in the teeming rain
Both shouting at the boiling sea, so footloose and so fancy free
Like gulls in winds they danced aloft, where even storms felt cushion soft
And from the cliffs they watched their day meander off down Sabre bay
Both clasped together with their dreams, at least that’s how the memory seems
Yet soon he had to go again, for some things she could not explain
So many suns, so many moons, so many tear filled afternoons
Despite the fact that she still Prays, her radio still plays yesterdays…
My path beyond the shores of time
from life to there are maritime ripples.
Harrowing blades of rain
hammered from storm-clouds shatter puddles
of glass to rolling streams of echoes,
Misery’s trail towards cleansing waters:
A bloody throat gasping for water
is my alarm clock each day, it hurts all the time.
I drink and gurgle, but none of it matters, echoes
butcher my esophagus with hack-saw ripples
as knees tumble to drown in rusty puddles;
My lungs are a prison withered by the warden’s reign.
This morning I woke to the 13th straight day of rain
in Houston. From my condo overlooking the water
Clear Lake slept like a sidewalk puddle.
In July, humidity is a visceral sweater, sweltered by time
stitched in ‘X’s and needle-strung ripples
suffocating ragdolls in sweat-stained echoes.
I took my coffee on the balcony. Through iron-rods came an echo
redolent the voice of an angel; “Why’s it gotta rain
all the time, daddy?” she asked in wavy curls and golden ripples.
More clever then, I quickly responded, “Because god has to water
his plants, Ava, that’s why it rains all the time.”
It used to be I smiled as she twirled through puddles.
The morning sky darkened as shadowy thorns continued to puddle.
Nearby lightning cracks hid from thundery echoes.
With each explosion my locomotive doubled its time;
Faster and faster screaming and taunting the rain,
inebriated veins screeching “Ice-water!” -
…and then a stillness overtook me. The warden sighed a calm ripple;
From a dream my eyes bathed in tranquil ripples
of shimmering obsidian disguised as puddles.
Behind me were footsteps painted with water.
A song I knew from Radiohead was echoing
a muffled chorus through sliding glass doors; “broken hearts make it rain,
broken hearts make it rain” and I remembered a happier time.
Then ripples staggered down my spine. Tingling echoes
were empty puddles violated by rain in my fingers and toes.
I again looked down at the water and thought, “Better get movin’, it’s breakfast time.”
8/11/2016
2nd Place in contest "Rain" judged 9/10/16
Refreshing drink – there’s nothing finer,
When you’re parched and really gasping –
Darjeeling tea in fine bone china,
Mark the subtle, fresh aroma
Spiralling up in wisps of steam.
It wakes the brain, assists with thinking
At breakfast time when spirits flag,
It equals good champagne for drinking,
Just when you need a morning lift.
So sip the amber liquid, slow
And feel the warmth of Asian suns.
That tannin bite will make you glow,
Awakening sleepy spirits, fast.
It’s full of life and constancy,
This British institution, TEA.
i remember so well
The scrubbed farmhouse kitchen table
where all activities were held
From eating to colouring in,where jigsaw puzzles were made.
I remember the large open range fire
always burning, am sure it burned for 12 months of the year.
I can still smell the bacon, oh what a wonderful smell
as Mam cooked it on the big range cooker.
At exactly 9 am the farm workers would come in.
Breakfast time, they had been working a few hours already.
Can remember the piles of bacon, eggs and fried bread
Looked like enough to feed fifty not just the five,
the smell still lingers in my nostril
fried bacon, I salivate remembering it.
I laughed when I saw the doorstep chunks of bread
For mopping up young miss they would say to me.
Their plates would be so clean looked unused.
Blue sky, the bleating of the sheep,
Birds flying in formation,
Geese off to the lake for the day.
Only to return at night.
The smell of honeysuckle,
brings back the walks in the lanes
blackberrying in season, the pies and jams
*Mamgu used to make.
Conkers from the mighty tree in the middle of the field.
Mostly the clean smell of the country sticks in my mind
So much for a child to do in safety
You learn at an early age about staying back from machinery
Cos even the most experienced driver can overturn in a field.
Bedtime came and you were so tired you slept,
No tv’s in the bedroom you went to bed to sleep.
Maybe a line or two of a story, tiredness would take over.
Gentle zzzzzzzzs could be heard
As a child in the country it is a joyful time
Freedom, no traffic, healthy food,
Doing things together as a family should.
These idyllic time are firmly written
in indelible ink, in my mind.
* Mamgu - Grandmother
Penned 4 September 2015
Good morning children! Rise and shine!
15 minutes until breakfast time.
Hurry up or you’ll be late.
David!! Do not say the word hate.
BECAUSE, it is not a nice word
No Sierra, we are NOT getting a bird.
BOY, you are pushing me.
One more time and I’ll put you over my knee.
Sierra!!! ShyAnne! Get out of bed!
Get dressed and brush your head!
No! Not five more minutes!! Now!!
Come on you guys, get in here and eat some chow.
ShyAnne that doesn’t match, well at least change your shirt.
Sierra! Stop! What do you mean your leg got hurt?!
So it just mysteriously hurts for no reason!?!
David no teasin’. NO TEASIN’
Are you dressed yet?
Why is your shirt wet?
Boy, you have toothpaste in your hair.
ShyAnne. Stop whinning. What’s not fair?
Breathe. Breathe. Big and deep. Breathe.
Sierra! Give it back! What ever it is…. Just. Give. it. Back.
What do you mean you can’t find your backpack?
ShyAnne, get dressed you’ll miss the bus.
No .. I’m… not… gonna… cuss.
Brush your hair. Well do it again, you didn’t get the back part.
No!.. No!…. No whinning. Don’t start.
No you can’t wear skates to school.
Idon’t know it’s just the rule.
Sierra quit jumping on the bed, what happened to your hurt leg?
NO! no skates at school!! It doesn’t matter how much you beg!
David! DAAAAAAAVVVIID!! Where is your other shoe?
Well son, I don’t wear them so I don’t have a clue.
Well ShyAnne, if you would have went to bed when I said, you woundn’t be sleepy.
What ? Who ? Who went pee-pee?
Sierra, you look like a clown, get that make up off your face!
Come on guys pick up the pace.
David go change you clothes.
It doesn’t matter which pants, just wear those.
15 more minutes, miss the bus and your gonna walk.
Child! Where is your other sock?
Yes!! You have to wear a jacket! It ‘s cold outside.
Well wear the pink one and don’t leave it on the slide.
Kisses. Bye guys. Have a good day!!
I love you!1 Be good. Learn something today.
Stop pulling your sisters hair and get to the bus stop.
Hurry up you guys! Chop! Chop!
Well Thank God there they go!!
I miss them already though.
Sarah Comstock
1-25-2010
Not fully wakened till I have a sip
of what that sweet aroma leads me to
our breakfast table where he pours for me
my coffee cup filled up with fresh ground brew.
That sip embraces every sleepy cell;
awakes my heart with a new morning hope;
alerts to meet the goals the day lays out
and lifts my spirits to triumph or cope.
For me, this is a waking ritual
not pursued just any time of day;
a morning gift alone at breakfast time-
just us together with our prized cafe'.
~1st Place~
Contest: Wake Up With Coffee Or Tea Contest
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Judged: 12/11/2016
( ORDER UP )
Its time for breakfast, time to move my legs.
So I look in the frig, and pull out some eggs.
Scrambled or poached, whats for the taken.
Have it with toast, with a side of bacon.
Snack time is rolling in, lets take a looksie.
Maybe have a brownie, or a chocolate chip cookie.
My tummy is a growling, its saying toot toot.
Lets invade the kitchen table, and eat lots of fruit.
Its lunch time again, and my hunger is a kickin.
Time to hit KFC up, and eat a bucket of chicken.
Maybe even Mcdonalds, Wendy`s or the king.
Pizza Hut sounds good, to end my hunger sting.
Supper is in making, slap the face and shake.
Lets go out to the grill, and throw on a steak.
With a baked potato, to add to my balad.
Then finish it off with a ice tea, and a side of salad.
At breakfast time, don’t give me eggs
Or pancakes or French toast;
Some coffee and a cheese-topped bagel
Is what I like most.
Gouda, Muenster, Edam, Swiss,
American or Brie;
Jarlsberg, Asiago, Jack –
They all work fine for me.
I’m not a fan of smelly ones,
And blue cheese I despise;
I guess I’m more pedestrian
And not so worldly-wise.
But still, I’d like to offer praise
To every type that pleases;
The world would be a sadder place
If it did not have cheeses.
I shall be Monday and blue.
I’ll be a morning with a greyish hue.
I’ll be a short spell of afternoon rain.
I’ll be all rubbish on telly again.
I shall be Tuesday and cream.
I’ll be a quick wake-up from a long dream.
I’ll be the breeze on the evening run.
I’ll be the washing-up not getting done.
I shall be Wednesday and yellow.
I’ll be that breakfast-time radio fellow.
I’ll be that tennis match out by the hill.
I’ll be an evening, peaceful and still.
I shall be Thursday and puce.
I’ll be a third try, still no flippin’ use.
I’ll be a warm spot of afternoon tea.
I’ll be another poor night on TV.
I shall be Friday and black.
I’ll be that girl with her hair tied back.
I’ll be the nightclub that chucks out at one.
I’ll be the time to relax and have fun.
I shall be Saturday and brown.
I’ll be a headache and all-morning frown.
I’ll be a coffee and straight back to bed.
I’ll be the day nothing ever gets said.
I shall be Sunday, and green.
I’ll be late morning, wound-down and serene.
I’ll be all day without one thing to do.
And then I’ll be Monday, and naturally blue.
Mornings are a time for me
to ponder dreams I have seen.
With coffee cup and pen in hand,
I answer to my soul's demand.
Seizing thoughts which come alive
inside the eye of my mind.
At half past nine, it's breakfast time
and with my love, I gladly dine.
Then I'm off to do some loads,
washing dishes, washing clothes.
I crack a book to take a break.
perhaps the chores will have to wait,
When I'm wrapped up in a story,
I forget my cares and my worries.
But before I know it, the clock chimes noon,
and I realize morning's gone, much too soon.
TLH © 08-05-2012
For: Morning Contest
The day began as normal - breakfast time.
I staggered to the café ready to dine.
And yet, what did I see?
Two giraffes drinking tea!
I knew it! Last night I drank too much wine.
(picture prompt, two giraffes drinking tea
through the window)
I remember when I was thirteen, I just love tea sets and Raggedy Ann,
Not to forget my imaginary friends to join me at breakfast time.
I ran after butterflies in the heat of the sun, ignoring shouts from my mom,
All what mattered was just to have some fun!
I remember the late night phone calls with my best pal,
To talk about the cute boys in our class.
How I giggled without end when I answered a question on a slum note,
Asking about who was my dreamboat?
Oh, how crazy were the days of old,
When I was just carefree and not so bold.
Then I noticed my teenage years are almost over,
A new page in my life covers the other.
I know that in a few years things will unfold,
I need to be ready, lo and behold!
All my mother’s words will be my guide forever,
As she reminded me to take care of my future like a four-leaf clover.
She said that not all things that glitter are gold,
Use my judgment as I was told.
Create a future that I can be proud of,
And be a role model to the young and the old.