Long Breakfast Poems
Long Breakfast Poems. Below are the most popular long Breakfast by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Breakfast poems by poem length and keyword.
The storm of the decade
The news declared.
Snow fall was heavy and deep.
Schools closed their doors
And the snow beckoned me.
There is such a beauty
When the world first turns white.
Snow on the branches
Drifts deep and high.
The world stops its chaos
and breathes a peaceful sigh.
I pulled on my boots
My coat, gloves and hat
Out into the frosted world I ran.
Heaving plows were fighting back.
Pushing snow off the roads.
The rhythmic sound of many shovels
Would clean off the snow.
For one precious moment
There was white all around.
A stillness, a quiet, as I walked toward town.
Then I saw him,
An old man,
Walking barefoot down the road,
Ragged and torn,
His head bent in sorrow
Eyes filled with pain.
Leaving naked footprints as he walked.
The sight of the man’s tears
Marked on his unwashed face
Disturbed me,
distressed me
Shockingly, somehow changed my perception of time.
Shattering my illusion of beauty all around.
I wondered at the wounds
That had broken the man
Why was he walking unprepared for the cold?
We passed without speaking
The moment was lost.
I’d rendered no comfort, no warmth
No care for his wounds.
He had cast a quick glance,
Then continued on his way.
Spring came early that same year.
The image of such need lingers still,
Haunting my memory.
John 21:15-17, ESV
“15When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, 'Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?' Peter said to him, 'Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Feed my lambs' (John 21:15, ESV).
“16He said to him a second time, 'Simon, son of John, do you love me?' Peter said to him, 'Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.' He said to him, 'Tend my sheep' (John 21:16, ESV).
“17Jesus said to Peter the third time, 'Simon, son of John, do you love me?' Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, 'Do you love me?' and he said to him, 'Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Feed my sheep'” (John 21:17, ESV). (Graham, 2015)
This conversation took place at Tiberius (lake Galilee), after Jesus had risen from the dead. Peter and other disciples were fishing. Jesus appeared, caused their nets to be filled, and invited them to add some fish to the breakfast he was cooking.
I ate a salad for likes,
and cried over my phone,
because no one loved me without a filter.
I danced in reels
with a smile stitched from sponsored teeth,
while my soul slept hungry
in the drafts folder.
They called me radiant.
I was rotting.
Each post—
a polished gravestone
for the girl I buried
behind ring lights and sponsored skincare.
Once, I laughed for real.
Now I schedule laughter
between #MondayMotivation
and #SelfLoveSundays.
I pixel my skin
into porcelain lies,
erase my thighs,
airbrush my loneliness,
and post it all with
“Grateful to be alive.”
Alive?
I haven’t felt my breath
since I traded my breakfast
for green tea and DMs.
Fame tastes like saltless rice—
every bite familiar,
yet forever bland.
There is a hunger
no brand can fill—
a craving not for followers,
but for someone
to see the mess beneath
and not scroll past.
I want to bleed
without hashtags.
I want to mourn
without monetizing my grief.
But the algorithm is a god
that punishes silence.
So I post.
And post.
And post.
Until my mother forgets my real laugh,
until my dog looks confused
when I cry off-camera,
until I am just a caption
on a body
no longer mine.
Most of the night
He had sit home
Waiting
Begging and pleasing
Reneocating
She had promised her time
With another
He had been seen as an
Alternative
She wished to be with
another
The evening came which
He had been seduced
Morning of soft crab breakfast
Where the creams
Had been reduced
Months later they spoke of
that night together
She was pregnant then she
Thought he'd say whatever
Of them together he asked her to
Stay
Maybe us together we should start
To pray
He wished her the marrying type
But was to fool to ask
She just played alone like
She was part of a cast
Emotions ran high
He was wise enough to ask
Said "marry me the foolish one
we can do it fast"
Slow down hell no, but will marry you
Than the awkward foolishness
Would all be through
Exhibit tails
A day to day my baby princess
wait not to close her eyes not mean
for chocolate not mean to
delicious breakfast to lunch not
for me to tell where is the bears today
are they eaten up the food grin on her
face and softly Kiss on my cheek and
smiles tell na how would I look today
when I wear my new dress is that color
of many or something new cuts off pattern
my kiss is to you for only daily new dress
and my thanks is always to keeping it in exhibit......
Feeling low when my last but not the least tail by me for her
Thanks
With love all
Jagdish Bajantri
We'd leave just after breakfast
Play hard all day
There were no cell phones or play dates
We would gather up our friends
take off down the monkey trail
running wild in the thistle fields
chased fly balls on the baseball diamond
collected pop bottles for a nickel a piece
lunch was gulps of warm hose water
a palm filled with stolen plums.
Then off to the train trestle
slinging rocks at muddy beer bottles
flattening pennies on the rails
there were no clocks to tug at our tails.
Dusk was the cue for us to move things along
5-speed banana bikes slicing the monkey trail in the half-light.
Mad little monkeys and scratching the back of our minds
The trail ogres and perverts never dare touch us.
We had the numbers and were armed with Louisville slugger bats.
We were trail-toughened little bucks
the warm hose water didn't kill us.
We were grimy little dust devils
on a lightning streak of good luck.
Starts with the morning rise
Breakfast to energize
Head straight to the Post Office
The day begins with sorting the mail
Daily without fail
Preparing to deliver
The creed being neither rain, snow nor sleet
A Postman documentation to keep
No matter what, the mail is always a proceed
Eyes on residence and business
Everyday being the postman’s witness
Mailbox leverage
Mail and packages
Delivery precise
Chased by dogs
Working even in outdoor fog
Day in and out
Deliver mail until done
This is the Postman sound
Back to the Post Office bound
Days end
Same routine the next day once again.
We’re having a little break from home
and had planned a busy day,
after a leisurely breakfast
we would soon be on our way.
We sauntered down to the restaurant
and were shown to a window table,
I fetched a bowl of blueberry yoghurt
whilst my hubby got a ham bagel
Before a morsel reached our mouths
the fire alarm began to ring,
we hurried to vacate the room
and we hadn’t eaten a darn thing!
A stream of hungry hotel guests
were ushered out of the door,
my tummy started grumbling
I could hear it gurgle and roar
We stood out in the freezing cold
thankfully there was no actual fire,
and we subsequently discovered
it was caused by a faulty hairdryer!
We crossed the road back to the hotel
and returned to find our original seat,
but hubby wasn’t starving hungry
on the way out he’d grabbed a sausage to eat!
5th April 2017
I did not post a poem yesterday…
I’m sure some of you were concerned…even though nobody inquired….
to set your minds at ease…I didn’t forget…I am not sick…nor have I retired…
It wasn’t from lack of inspiration or a dearth of creativity…
It all comes down to sleeping in…a biscuit…raspberry jam…and the legend of a tree.
On our way to North Carolina we always stop in Athens, Georgia
for the opportunity to enjoy
A breakfast of our favorite biscuits topped with raspberry jam…
at a restaurant called Momma’s Boy.
We have to get there early…or in long lines we have to wait….
and after driving 10 hours the day before…we slept in…and were running late.
And what would make us even later…was our desire to stop and meet
‘The tree that owns’ itself which stands at the end of the last Athen’s cobblestone street.
We stopped at the tree and still made it to Momma’s Boy on time…
just like we diagramed…
we had the first 2 biscuits they made that morning
topped with their delicious raspberry jam…
It wasn’t till we were on the road headed for our North Carolina home
That I thought about then remembered…I hadn’t posted a poem.
How I had somehow upset the balance of nature…disturbed its symmetry…
by allowing a tree, a biscuit and some raspberry jam to take precedence over poetry…
I’ll try to get back to writing a poem a day…that is my goal…what I’ve always planned….
unless there’s a Momma’s Boy in North Carolina…in which case…
I hope you’ll understand.
Awaking to painful swollen hands, feet, and legs
Thoughts fill head of what to prepare for breakfast_some eggs?
Go to prepare me some coffee to sit on porch
Just few minutes to linger in God's love before sun scorch
Wonderful foggy morn glad I am not driving
Thick fog could cut with knife for me fog reviving
A golden sun sends beams radiating through fog
Doves coo for a long while other birds chip_no crickets_frogs
Slowly reality sets in my morn begins
Some breakfast has to be prepared life's tasks start once again
Thank you for a time on the porch of peace quiet
To jot down few thoughts before the days noise unquiet
Something called poulter's measure
12/14 syllables per line in rhyming couplets
Inspired by Francine's contest not an entry
some time in the morning
i rise above the petty and smell the flowers
i take a walk and become lost in the flow of the water
the sun is young and smiling
the breeze is free and swaying
the birds are feeling more melodic than usual
the day is moderate....the feeling is serene
some time in morning
i accentuate the positive and kiss the lips of the spiritual peace
the skies are swimming pools perfectly maintained
the clouds are cotton with a softness that transcends the zone of comfort
the day is carefully moving
i myself am feeling more energetic than normal
the day is trendsetting....the feeling is breakfast without major thought