Plop! The fly falls home
just north of the hole. Brownie
spouts, "Breakfast is served!"
If my cat could find her voice,
What would she choose to say?
Would she talk about the birds outside,
Or the sunlight on her favorite place to lie?
Perhaps she’d mention breakfast time,
And how she loves treats.
Or tell the tale of midnight zooms,
Racing silently on invisible feet.
Maybe she’d ask about my day,
Then curl up on my knee.
Her gentle purrs a question mark,
“Are you as happy here as me?”
So, until she learns to speak aloud,
I’ll listen as best I can.
In every nuzzle, blink, and meow,
My cat tells me she understands.
Days to weeks to months to years
As time goes on it dries the tears
A tissue for a heart that weeps
Less sad dreams and better sleeps
Though waiting for the time to pass
Can take so long, a minute lasts
An hour, and an hour's like
Fourteen days and thirteen nights
The weight comes off, no appetite
The beard gets long, you're quite the sight
While going down heartbroken street
The key is just stay on your feet
Keep on walking, don't turn 'round
Time and you will cover ground
And then one day the sun will shine
The birds will sing, the weather's fine
And when you shave off all that hair
You'll realize those were always there
You hadn't noticed the sublime
Sit down to eat, it's breakfast time
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)
Those small drug holders!
They have numbers on them.
They reminded you when to take four pills:
one at breakfast time,
one at lunchtime,
one at dinnertime,
one when it's the hour for bed.
Those small drug holders!
Are those numbers fading?
They try to remind you what the time is,
when to have some breakfast,
when to eat your lunch,
when to consume some dinner,
when the hour for bed has arrived.
(11 Dec 2023)
Mountains of pancakes
Streaming honey
Berries avalanche down,
Breakfast time.
As a young child
breakfast time was my favorite time of day
Mommy hovered over the flaming stove
as she sizzled a bundle of my favorite meals
tuna, corn beef, sardines , and steamed sausages
served with a side of white grits
dashed with warm butter as gold as a coin
I sat at the table and gobbled down the meal
like a contestant in a pie eating contest!
Fast forward to the present day
as I matured into adulthood
I no longer have the craving desire
for this type of cuisine,
eating grits now gives me
the feeling of indigestion
forcing my stomach to spew it out
like lava from an erupting volcano!
Now I just stick to enjoying
a cup of brewing decaf coffee as hot as the desert
with sprinkles of succulent sugary powder
and a bowl of chicken souse seasoned in high sour lime
and bird peppers as spicy as chili
with light floured coconut Johnny cake!
Every day I make my bed
And, with my texts and emails read,
I take my walk, which terminates
At home, where breakfast time awaits.
Every day I read The Times
And, once I’ve passed the news and crimes,
I do the crossword, then prepare
To face what comes, no matter where.
Every day, as music plays,
I clean or at a screen I gaze.
By phone or Zoom I chat with friends
Or relatives – it all depends.
Every day I watch a show
Or maybe two, you never know,
And have a meal my husband’s made,
His culinary skills displayed.
There are some days with added fun
Or obligations to be done,
But every day, away or home,
I always get to write a poem.
Looking after this dog for a couple of weeks,
he seems nice enough.
The problem is I have no idea how much food and water to give him,
How the hell am I supposed to know about a dog's eating habits.
As breakfast time came around, I just had to wing it.
"A couple scoops will do you" I apprehensively said.
As I served him his meal, he turned to me and gave me a sickening look,
Almost like I'd killed his family member or something.
I think I'd given him too little.
Having been brought up in the country
living close to a farm we got our milk
being always available on every night
so lovely to drink tasting like silk
Remembering early days at primary school
there you got a carton of milk each day
all was very good for your potassium level
having a love for this on your milky way
Breakfast time having cereal with milk
the right buildup to start your morn
a pudding and custard is such a sweet
your taste buds feel just been born
So much gets made from dairy milk
cheese, butter, yoghurts to name a few
think where would we be without it
missing so much our colours be blue
Dwell on the value of milk
so very smooth ever so white
go on drink deep a pinto
keeps you strong through the night
Arise in the dawn hush,
Everything moves, ask the toilet brush,
Then a morning offering to God,
On with the routine I do plod,
I think to rise and smile,
And send each one positive vibes,
To my cyber buddies across the miles,
To my pen friends in the USA,
Hope you dodge hurricanes today,
Then it is breakfast time,
Compare our statins in a rhyme,
I have learnt this yet, you see,
Aging is really not for wussies!
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
You might not know it, but my spirit trod your footsteps,
thankful for the realm of virtual reality.
The sun, resting on the horizon, waiting on your appreciation, now moves on.
The gulls, the shells, the crashing of the North Atlantic Ocean, oblivious to all but you.
Like walking down a crowded street, you feel and see what others cannot,
the lonely weed surviving, all the unnecessary chiding, just thoughts.
In real time your on the beach, delighting in the sounds, the views of nature!
Solitude, broken by a smile, a hello, as a jogger passes you by.
Your phone, your daughter beckoning, breakfast time,
you look back as you leave the wonders of the beach,
knowing you have again imbibed of natures libation, you walk home...
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.
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
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.