"breakfasts" poems
Will it be all the nights of your bed empty when I couldn't sleep?
Are you going to choose instead, the moment
I put underwear on my head and asked in a horrible Russian accent,
"Would you like some bread?"
(--Look that wasn't entirely all my fault I...
had a lot of coffee and had been awake two days in a row.)
I'd prefer--
the flash of my mouth at your belly,
the way your cold feet shock me awake and
the run-on-wheezing-snorts
from you making me laugh so hard I cried.
Actually, I'd prefer
every moment of every day I said I loved you in cups of morning coffee.
Bacon and egg breakfasts.
Hanging out of cars and making Wookie calls;
the moment you taught me about Baba Yaga and I said
you were the smartest man alive.
I'd prefer if you remembered me when I go,
as the sun on your face in the morning after you get to sleep in.
(because I know how work, life, goes for you.
They never let you sleep in.)
As the lips on your closed eyes,
as the love that men and women fight and die for--
wrote legends, penned scripts and made movies about.
That love, our love.
I'd prefer if you just remembered me
as love.
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 7:46 PM UTC
i don’t want to sit around all day
impatiently waiting for him to call
and when i finally hear his voice
i don’t want to feel like he’s
the air in my lungs i need to breathe
and when it’s time to say goodbye
i don’t want to fight over
who should hang up first
i’m not looking for someone
to make me feel whole,
because i already am
i’m not looking for someone
to save me because
i’ve already been saved
i don’t want to be holding
hands at the wrist so if (when)
he lets go, i’m still holding on
i don’t want in-between
fake promises from prince charming
i want diner breakfasts
at 3 in the morning and
long car rides with broken radios
and handwritten letters with
nothing scribbled out because
he doesn’t care about perfection,
he cares about being real
when it’s time,
i want to be in love
not in love
with feeling loved
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
What is it that you're thinking
tell me what you
ponder
while you watch me
doubled over.
As you watch me doubled over
heaving
bile
and spit
and breakfasts meal.
Does it disgust you when I choke
and cough
eject
half digested
----not even fully digested----
nutrition from my
acid scarred throat?
Or do you just stand there
feeling nothing.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
There is a certain mystique about Essex County where Wiccan boutiques smite the eyes with linguistic confusion.
Salaam reminds me of cold meat and Shalom reminds me of Welsh breakfasts even though the 1700s knew nothing of peace.
So, now that we almost reach the threshold of Spring Aequus Nox, I commend Julius Caesar for his respect towards atmospheric refraction.
We need to talk.
Come on, and let us delve into classical and mythological philosophies where games of death are an aphrodisiac with a sprinkling of risqué.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
fueled by alcohol
swollen emotions,
the age of consent
and mistakenly stuck doors
the mutual understanding that comes with a singular passion
singular desire
just one time
but when the clock chimes
1:45
and curfewed kisses are few
you take my hands and sing
"i want to know you"
my fingers weave along my glowing screen
praying your given digits will be well received
and when my phone buzzes
i sigh
for i had tried to not let doubt cloud my mind
but i did not know you yet
and it rarely happens like this
when the clock chimes
6:00 Am
my rosy cheeks wait in the cold mist
a note on the table excusing my absence
a pale faced taxi driver goes through the required motions
to take me to your warm lips
with two hours of sleep
your makeshift bed is the port in a storm
and your slight frame is the sort that initially misleads
but it is powerful and exceeds expectations
the sweet sharing of bad puns
disney songs
and the unexpected "i love you"
the "you have beautiful eyes"
and the mess that is my hair do
i wake you with a warm hand to the hip
and a quick kiss on the lip
reassures me it was the right thing to do
the twang of ukulele
and its warm wood brush over my breast
its hard form against my warm chest
you sing for me
and the poetry that traverses your lips is magic
though slight
you have no trouble maneuvering through my wide rivers
and hidden valleys
my small forests
you flip me with ease
a playful tease
tracing racing and running
soon warm water runs over our shadowy forms
because though forever may be spent in bed
the real world obligates us to move
to shower
in our travels we find ourselves caught in drizzly public transportation
making our way to the place of your occupation
though we are eating for two
you order three breakfasts
making up for the meal missed
replaced with loving
surrounded by kissing
you drink coffee
a quick pick-me-up
i drink a london fog
to remind me of the sleepy morning
and a quick peck to the lips reminds me of the rest
a test of my willpower
my power to resist taking you then and there
though that may have resulted in your termination
so i resist my considered temptation
i take a slight deviation
for every story must end
every sentence
no matter how much love
we must wait for blood
because every hook up,
every sentence
must end with a period.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
Come every morning you're up with the sun
with hundreds of questions before breakfasts done
like what is a rainbow and where is the dark?
what's that? and why's? can we go to the park?
the beach? the woods? as I sit here and dream
must we have cereal? I want ice cream!
You sit at the table, eyes wide, mine half shut
and chat to the cat about dinosaur stuff
how you like pterodactyls but school, not so much
you rummage through cereal in hope of a toy
one way to amuse such a curious boy
the cat swipes the box, makes it fall to the floor
"there goes our breakfast!" as sweet laughter roars
you slurp at your juice as I sip at my tea
so it's ice cream for breakfast for you and for me.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Tasting the cold rain
of her lullaby dreamscape
I floated through
her open streets
like open veins
where we carried out
our transfusion of love
such was
the umbilical cord of trust between us
such was
a long night's passions
not a drop wasted
she swallowed
the waters that were spilt in open corridors
rivers wide and winter white
ever fluid as they wound their way
into her dreamscape
spinning webs of reality from potential
and on nights
like this
I dream of who would have become if she loved me
but she dared not
and the cobwebs never spooled again
never cast their wide net
out into the hungry world
where babes go to die and ne'er do wells
eat breakfasts with smiles
I waited for her
and she never came
it was then I knew the brutal cruelty of the world
how
promises age
like foul eggs
wherein one thinks oneself soon to be fed
cracks open the vault of life
and goes mad
from the sight of the bitter truth
that all men die of heartache
long before their bodies give out
long before they never heard "I love you"
from tongues not forked
and lips not peppered
with the winter wonders
of myriad men
to whom love was also promised
and never made manifest
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 12:24 AM UTC
Halfway up a mountain
on an ice-bound January day,
I sought to reliquify
a few calorific assets.
I am no fool -
I had been carefully investing
a portion of each meal
in certain holdings
(mainly around the waist).
Of course, I knew the safe route:
balanced diet, carbs, fruit, veg;
but a venture nutritionist such as myself
pays little heed to such extravagant prudence.
Fried breakfasts looked like offering
a quick and reliable payoff
and sure, for a while it worked.
But guess what:
Just when I needed the big windfall,
nothing.
Not a sausage,
if you'll pardon the pun.
"Sorry," a regretful body explained,
"I know you'd think you could call on your investments
"at the drop of a hat,
"but actually they're kind of clogged,
"a bit like your arteries."
Wheezing, waiting
for the mountain rescue helicopter,
I spared a rueful thought
for the taxpayer -
the reluctant buyer
of my safety.
You might imagine I owe something in return,
but I watch the news
and I reckon
I'll get away with it.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
Back we go, again and again
into that void of
hangovers, bitter-sweet,
and bruised arms and legs.
Melancholic, involuntary smiles
wash away in the shower
with sleep dusted eyes that
barely caught a doze.
Headaches that make walls
quake and rooms spin
whilst cooking greasy breakfasts
and shaking heads.
But back we go again,
how many times now?
Hoping to forget;
dive into that beautiful void.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
Right now it is currently lunch time
Though how could it be lunch at 12:20 pm?
Well listen here brother
There are more than a thousand breakfasts
That could be missed
But you must never forget
The middle
Unless it is a brother
For Lunch is in between Breakfast and Dinner
Proving everyone wrong
Is what I would like to say
But alas there is a fault in this reasoning
For Lunch is only important
For the fact that you get to hang out
With the
B O I S
now you must accept this flawless foolish reasoning
and turn yourself into foolish wise men
since we are but the
Gaia's Children
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 1:22 PM UTC
forgot to button up
veils,scales, umbrellas
see this dragon rained
couches where dreams are cats
no body
just discarded fur and echoes of purrs
after reading the label it rubbed off
maybe its tasty
pretend until the last drop
apologies repeated sound like dogs barking
attention slowly goes missing
a chair to block anyone from entering
holidays celebrate themselves easily
the grocery aisles let them be known
No wristwatch no calendar
window dressings tell parking lots their stories
faces bloom less then flowers
secret coffeehouses for shameful breakfasts
phonecalls peppered with obvious lies
surprise its your turn
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 10:09 PM UTC
I always feel
Like a sheep
On friday night
3 beers deep
When I was young
I always thought
When I'm an adult
I'll have my shot
To do the things
I always dreamed
Like classy ******
Star Wars themed
And ice cream breakfasts
All the time
With rock star friends
And no bedtime
And punching sharks
With the president
And drinking coke
In my own tent
But instead of living
The ultimate dream
I'm drinking with friends
Being way too mainstream
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
Ham took you to a cafe
on London Road;
he was meeting
Bernard there.
Sit there,
Ham said,
indicating a table
by the wall with wallpaper
with a flowered pattern.
You sat; stared
around the cafe;
frowned at two men
at the next table.
Who's there?
You say,
pointing towards them,
wondering where
your Lord Hamlet had gone,
and these two jesters
at his court.
What's the matter, love?
One of the men said,
smiling, eyeing you,
taking in your hair and eyes.
Nay, answer me,
you said, stand,
and unfold yourself.
Ham came over
to the table:
Hush, Ophelia,
he said.
He apologised to the men,
twirling a finger
at the side of his head.
You gazed at your lord;
he contested
with these jesters,
you surmised,
eyeing them.
They looked
away from you;
conversed between themselves;
sipped their mugs of tea,
ate their breakfasts.
You sat gazing at your lord
bargaining with a rogue.
He brought
two mugs of tea
and bacon sandwiches
and sat opposite you,
his back to the jesters.
Bernard will be here soon,
Ham said, gazing at you,
behave yourself.
Bernardo?
Yes, Bernard,
so keep your voice down,
Ham said.
He began his sandwich;
you began yours.
Bernard came in the cafe
and ordered a tea,
and waved.
Bernardo,
you said,
you come most carefully
upon your hour.
Hush, Ophelia,
Ham said.
Bernard smiled at you;
he tried to understand you
and your vocal expressions.
Bernardo,
you said softer
and waved.
He waved back
and paid the rogue
and went, and sat next you,
facing Ham.
Unfold yourself,
you said.
Ham raised his hand
to hush you.
You sat and ate
and drank.
Your lord was speaking
with his minister;
he spoke of battle,
you assumed,
and jested of wounds
of war.
You felt your ***
beneath your dress;
it felt so sore.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
*I fell in love with the mornings
and waking up to breakfasts in bed
drinking coffee only you would know how to make
I fell in love with noon
and the lunches we had together
talking about the latest news over takeout
I fell in love with the afternoons
and the times we spent reading on the couch
eating every word interrupted by coffee stains
I fell in love with the nights
and our stupid little adventures
driving aimlessly and getting lost on the highway
I fell in love with the midnights
and talking to you about anything and everything
watching you stare at my mouth listening to every word
I fell in love with the moments
and everything in between the beginning and the end
wishing I could still spend them with you
I fell in love with the sound of your voice
and the feel of your existence
but I am not in love with you.*
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
Lie to me.
Please for the sake of my sanity.
For my delicate beating heart.
Tell me that you still love me.
Even if it’s a lie, I don’t want to lose you just yet.
Reassure of me of your undying feelings.
Of your beautiful soul that still cares for mine.
Please, please tell me you still love me.
Just one more time, just for one more night.
Meet you downstairs right?
For Friday night adventures, and Saturday morning breakfasts.
Where did it all go?
How did it all vanish like smoke drifting upwards from a tear in the hatch?
I thought that maybe in some alternate timeline,
That we were going to be the perfect match.
I refuse to believe that I’m mistaken, I’m afraid to be.
Terrified really.
My stomach falls to floor, as I sort through the letters
That you sent to my hotel.
Where did that love go?
Say something, or don’t, I suppose.
Is it really that hard? I’m not quite sure I understand.
How is so easy for you to deceive me
and leave me completely stranded and lonely?
I thought you were so gorgeous when
Those words fell from your mouth.
I knew that every single one was
Dipped in deadly poison.
But it didn’t matter in the slightest.
I was determined to interpret your words as truth.
I would believe in whatever you were to say to me,
In some ways it was dangerous. I agree
The way that I was so toxically
And completely dependent on your existence.
The person I used to be,
No longer needs your false histories
But lies cold and empty
Alone, but looking back,
Honestly, it’s preferable
To the company
Of someone like you,
Someone who’s callous and heartless
And above all
A liar.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:32 AM UTC
The whole thing smells like chlorine, which is extremely unsettling because chlorine always tastes green and a lot like hereditary paranoia. These pants were only two washes removed from brand new, and now there's a slit in the knee, a slit as precise as the shape my eyes make when I'm suspicious of wanderlusting newcomers who moonlight in my former prison cell. And I'm unsure if I should call it like I'd like it to be and say the **** things were defective or if I should investigate further as to where I placed my legs while hacking bits of plastic.
I'm TIRED of hacking at bits of plastic. I daresay if things start looking up, I could get there. I'm desperate, while this pumpkin-leaf hole grows in my chest, I'm realizing I'll never get to Lancaster at this rate. Sure, sure, I'm obsessed. I also have a blonde tail hanging from a tack on my shelf and a lot of cards tacked to my wall. They either resemble a quilt, a window or a complete mess.
I'm relying on plastic cups and the Internet to continuously foster this false sense of belonging. And I don't want to shatter it, but I'm terrified by the threat of a midterm and I feel trapped by my own sky. I mean, have you SEEN the prices for quaint bed and breakfasts? But the sad truth is, I would be haunted by insurmountable guilt at leaving her behind. The cash flow isn't flowing, either. I'm thinking I'll have to forget about it and sit at my shiny laptop on an empty desk, staring at the cottage cheese ceiling and wondering if God is looking back.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
Morbidly we wait
drool drops
Hydration for insects
They gag on the taste
The eyes need illumination
conclusions by way of structure fire
Ash covered and mechanic
These minds crave the edge
purveyors of our time
We breathe easy
glass separates the chaos
Structured and correct
rather observe than interact
When these walls shatter
and we gaze into that abyss once so distant
We finally see the irony of our curiosity
It touches the skin in numbing complexity
A malfunctioning brain spins dizzy
nerves become alien
No control
Still we deny
asking why?
Muscles go slack
eyes glaze for the fun house
Ink filled pages
Tell nights tragedies in the boldest of detail
More looks of longing
coffee over obituary breakfasts
Eyes slightly gleam with glee
victorious in an insect existence
We crave the ***** and the depraved
Even the healthiest of minds stops for the strange
So we wait for the new downfall
Never thinking we could be the ones next observed with primitive pleasure
One billion hungry souls screaming for more
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
she never complained
about how long my hair was
or that how it reeked of
cigarettes when she kissed me
good morning,
she never painted
my skin grey
when the sun
shined,
she never told me
that my
breakfasts of
turkey sandwiches
and pepsi weren't healthy,
she told me once that
I should quit smoking
because she did,
I never did,
she says I drink to much,
she told me that
she loved me
when I made her laugh,
her legs were always warm
and I told her she could start a fire
when she doesn't shave,
she laughed,
she told me that
she loved me when
my friend died,
she never told me
why she loved me,
she never gave
me a reason to leave,
I never told myself why
she loved me, I never knew,
so I gave myself a reason
so through tears
she then told me
to go **** myself
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
returning
to the place..
to remembered beds
and nourishing breakfasts..
home of
our growing years..
this one nestled
in imponderable
Animas mountains..
these reflections
of an autumn retreat
now daily receding
into November bleak..
a white bench
vantage by streamside
afforded absorption of
the stream's flickering lights..
and later reflected
by a ridgeline full moon
decorating the dining..
life friends together
celebration and renewal
of many good years..
a white bench
also gathered reflections
from distant heights
where nighttime chills
painted evergreen and aspen
setting lanterns aglow..
the glow casting shadows
on the valley's red cliffs
those red markers of our
formative days..
a white bench
now gathered the sounds..
an old train's
whistled announcements
evening and morning..
a reminder of time
enclosed in this
valley of stillness
which we were favored
knowing once more..
a white bench
gathered the guests
from distances afar..
their life glows
and shadows
in conversations revealed..
overlaying past
with present..
end and beginning..
Logwood
we returned...
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
there we were
in a café
enjoying each other's company
I looked to my right
and saw a Filipina lady
and a white man
eating their breakfasts silently
"she seems unhappy
and anxious"
I thought to myself
**********
I asked my mother.
she says yes and nods.
I hope that one day
that lady won't have
to sell herself
to make a living.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
I look out the golden window to see the grasslands full fleshed and full breasted ripe trees bearing oversaturated fruit O yes and perhaps It is the fruit beholding the shine and plump perfection that looks of Grand artifice O apples so crimson I could barely touch it and the rich roots and Ra hangin'a'bove, it is a delightful Saci's-cap-red and each apple seems to be aligned in various patterns of crisscrossing and interconnection, bordering on random but almost calculated I look down at the breakfast table I am seated in capped with Irish breakfasts for all O It is the bare Nature herself and her youthful manifestation, strong and deep into the ground, it makes me feel no turning back, no regret from the small passionate days of pleasure, feeling that beautiful girl Marie, like Nature herself toned to the rivers and mystifying like from the clouds to the depths and our lips jamming brushing feeling against mine O I felt guilty I felt I was taking all the sound and the fury for myself I was eating ll the fruits in the garden, fearing a mistake, being caught, not giving chances and only wishing to please my immediate soul; as the great Wilde said, "I confined myself so exclusively to the trees of what seemed to me the sun-lit side of the garden, and shunned the other side for its shadow and its gloom." but yet I feel between us a growing, a yearning that is blessed and twisted; graft of Love, starting roots of naked Love sweet connection, Big Time Sensuality; buds in our hearts--the ****** soil has been sown yes O this new Spring is coming and a rite of passage passing finally we have made it past restriction and now a new Spring has finally come! the foggy marches of April lose track and pace, and my exuberance comes swiftly but my prayers and wishes for a beautiful quiet life come with the best intentions of grace; hopefully, surely, wonderfully. Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 7:42 PM UTC
Your grumpy face in the mornings,
Your exhausted sigh in the evenings
Every late night until late breakfasts,
Every sunset that makes us whisper "at last"
All that makes us ourselves, all that's true
are all the reasons that makes me love you.
Catching the sunrise, breathing in the ocean breeze during the heat of summer.
Watching the snowfall and embracing the freeze during the hell of winter.
Our hands are locked through it all
These are the daily, mundane moments
I don't mind living with you and leaving with you for every rise and fall.
Please intertwine your routines with mine
Won't you spend sunsets with me
in the summertime?
I am not one to believe in forever after,
but I am one with you
for all seasons and weather.
Apr 26, 2023
Apr 26, 2023 at 6:27 AM UTC
It was 2 a.m, as usual.
The doorbell rang and I knew right away
who would be slouched against the rusty gate
stuffed with cylindrical flyers full of food i'll never buy.
Hunched over in a hand me down coat
with that strange scarf I never liked tied around your throat.
You flashed a smile, a brief “hey” slipping through it's lack of authenticity.
and I mimicked you, as babies do, and stepped barefoot onto the
cigarette littered leaf scattered stoop, a bowl of knock off cereal cupped
in both my hands, my hair still wet, my mind still drunk.
I fumbled to the stairs and placed myself atop them
and you mimicked me, as babies do,
placing your fragile frame beside me, a few more inches away than usual.
Without hesitation you slid through your speech
and I nodded and smiled and continued to attempt to attract you
despite circumstance, despite that glowing ominous ornament
dangled high in sky, distracting my eyes and passing the time.
We agreed to demolish whatever was left standing from that wall we built,
of awkward breakfasts, yearning eyes across parties, anonymous hairs on jackets,
make out sessions on tattered couches, greetings with waves.
All the details deleted, left unfinished, perhaps one day to be returned to.
As unlikely as I figured it to be.
I rose to my feet, the wind whipping down 21st street,
my tar black makeup still loosely lining my eyes,
I gently rested my head on that shoulder I so briefly admired,
and admitted to my early infatuations; the poems I had written but would never share.
You protested, said you were curious of them.
I denied you, and you didn't ask again.
But if you would've- just once more.
I would've read you them.
Maybe even this one.
But you didn't,
and much like babies,
we mimicked each other
and crawled away.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 10:22 AM UTC
We used to like to stay up all night
Drink from sundown until it shined again
******* inthe morning dew with whiskey tainted breath
Smoking cigarettes until our lungs blackened
We all knew, in the backs of our heads
That we were having a little too much fun
Coming home drunk and stumbling up stairs
Is only satisfying until you realize that people care
We liked ***** whiskey and ***
Irish breakfasts were the only ones for us
Getting ****** up was the only constant
Going to school hungover and not caring if we bombed it
We were in for that rude awakening
We never knew how far we had to run
Those fateful, wilderness years
Very well could've been the best time of my life
Underneath the alcohol, blood and tears
You could cut the immaturity with a knife
It's really all kind of sad to think
About all the things I can't remember now
Lost in the cosmic consciousness
Innocent brain cells killed in the name of cowardice
But now I couldn't be any more thankful
Those years taught what no person could
I was only nineteen but now I know
That if I want to drink, I should double think if I should
I'm only human, despite the previous display
Of thinking foolishly or immortality
The weird thing is that I regret nothing
Everything progressed as it would, naturally
After all
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 11:36 AM UTC
im hungry ,
not because of meals...
not because of dinners...
not because of breakfasts...
im hungry to honest people...
because i felt disappointment about lies
im hungry to indulgent people
because i felt pain about obscurity
im hungry to generous people
because i felt gullibility about requests
im hungry to brave people
because i felt loneliness about cowardice
most of people going to starving i know
i wanna tell something about that
feed yourself with your pains,experience
search sincere people
because they're livin somewhere
life goes on...
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC