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Sarah Mann Mar 2018
This morning I woke up before 6am.
Too early for most people, myself included.
My brain was running wild last night.
I laid restless in my bed for what seemed like hours.
I tossed and turned and my thoughts were overrun with nightmares and horrors.
Turmoil took over my mind and stressed my heart out. I simply couldn’t sleep.
I took deep breaths, I counted sheep, I even drank a cup of tea.

Nothing worked. So, I continued to lay there too tired to move, far too awake to fall asleep.
Such a terrible state, caught in between two extremes each one refusing to give in.
Life had exhausted me and yet I still wasn’t allowed sleep.
I felt trapped, I felt powerless, I was defeated.
Somehow amidst my worrying, I had drifted off into slumber.
And that leads us to this morning.
This morning I woke up before 6am. Groggy, vision foggy, and most of all still tired.
I mean, could you blame me? I had gotten barely more than half
of the prescribed amount of sleep for someone my age.
I packed a bag for the adventures of the day, which for me meant about 30 pounds of textbooks.
I made a list of the work that still needed to be done.
Another list for how many minutes I had before the sun.
One by one, we loaded into the car, like soldiers preparing for war.
In some ways, we were readying our armor, but ours was metaphorical rather than literal.

My dad is always the first to the car. He likes to get ahead of the current.
My sister is second, she’s grumpy and doesn’t understand what’s going on.
Then myself, I’m tired but still excited for what’s to come.
We drive through the sleepy city, everyone’s preparing for their own day.
The sun itself has just risen and we watch the world awaken.
We have arrived, and it’s about 6:30AM.
You guessed it. It’s time for breakfast.

Scientifically speaking, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
Personally speaking, nothing chooses the course of the day more than that first meal.
A cold unforgiving bowl of cereal doesn’t bring me happiness,
Like a warm bowl of fried rice does or like scrambled eggs with just a hint of cheese does.
Perhaps I am looking too far into the way certain breakfast foods makes me feel.
Regardless, we walk in and the environment shift affects all of our moods.

We made it to the front of the line and we order.
For my dad, eggs, bacon, and link sausage, a trio.
For my sister, in a state of dazed, orders the same.
For myself, the only one with originality deliberately chooses blueberry pancakes.
The warmth and comfort found in hot chocolate is exactly what I need right now.
So I order that too.
Sleepy and unaware, we trudge back to a table as a unit.
Our table is split between booth and chair and it’s located next to the window.
There is something poetic about the scene.
Maybe it’s the early light breaking through the glass.
Or maybe it’s rarity of the event, we usually eat breakfast at home.
This is a special occasion not for any reason other than it’s happened.
Moments of solemnity are interrupted by our waitress who brings a new day.
Found piled on top of flimsy paper plates is a sight of pure beauty.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, people tend to experience life more deliriously during this time.
But the food looks incredible. The pancakes are lightly coated with powdered sugar and
look like they had been pulled out of a magazine cover, as does the rest of the food.
My father and sister’s moods are lightened as food typically has that effect.
The hot chocolate is topped with whip cream and sprinkles something that I didn’t ask for and yet I’m endlessly grateful.
They bring a previously unexamined aspect of happiness to this already novelty of an outing.
Once the food arrives, I halt the instincts of everyone by forcing them to capture the moment.
I enjoy pictures because they are snapshots of reality, that can depict whatever you want.
They take time and turn it into moments, something truly innovative.
After the pictures, we eat, we make small conversation,
And most of all we enjoy each other’s company.
It’s similar to the breakfasts you often see out of movies, families living that idyllic lifestyle.

This morning I woke up before 6am
And only got 4 hours of sleep.
But despite all odds, this was a good morning.
Now I’m not sure if this change in mood is attributed solely to breakfast
Or other unmentioned factors but I do know this.
Physically, I feel tired.
Mentally, I feel better than I have in a while.
Perhaps, I can even persevere through the day.
I guess that’s just the power of blueberry pancakes.
2:33PM Wednesday, September 27, 2017
Jessica Jarvis Mar 2018
Days like today call for second dinners
Because days like today missed the one in the morning

Seconds dinners substitute one for the other
You get sleep, but miss the one
You miss sleep, but get the other
Though you hardly ever get the one,
You can still hope to get the other,
Because one bowl filled with satin glazed rings is just as promising as those midnight stars outside your window.
They both help you sleep
and the thunder begins to settle.
3/22/18

Late night contemplations over a bowl of cereal.
Sarah Taylor Mar 2018
I gather a lump of snow in my hand, compacting it into a small ball
You stand across from me, turned away and completely oblivious to the oncoming onslaught.
I pull my arm back, and launch the snowball at your back. It makes contact and you stumble forward slightly due to the impact.
You turn around and our eyes meet.
Then, we're suddenly laughing, clutching our sides in mirth.
You return the favor by throwing a clump of snow at my head while I'm doubled over. The snowball fight rages on.

We traipse back inside, exhausted from our icy battle. Our faces rosy and our arms aching, we collapse next to one another on the couch.
I grab a nearby blanket and wrap it around us, pulling us closer together. We bathe in the warmth of each other's body heat, and take comfort in one another's presence. I softly kiss your forehead and fall asleep in your arms.

I wake to the sound of sizzling, and the smell of sausages. You're in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. I sneak up behind you and surprise you by wrapping my arms around you and giving you a tight squeeze. You jump in shock, but quickly relax and continue cooking. I sit back down on the couch and savor the time we've spent together.
What will it take just to find that special day?
Alexander Mar 2018
Scramble, ramble... breakfast
These are activities when I enjoy breakfast

Crunch, munch... lunch
These are sounds when I eat lunch

Simmer, stir... dinner
These are the things that occur when I cook dinner

But in the end
Food is food
So we are all a winner
David J Feb 2018
I am not a fan of breakfast
I'm just never in the mood
Because every thing we have
It just looks like tasteless food
Although I get out some milk
And get out some bland cereal
Yeah trust me I am aware
That its not nutritional
Yet I get out civil-ware
And continue to prepare
Although something just feels off
Oh No, it's my greatest fear
6 a.m. on a weekend
Wait why am I here!
I went through this last Saturday, I wanted to write a poem, so I choose to write about that unfortunate event. Haha!
Sunny Feb 2018
A familiar scene is displayed before me.
A plate, piled high with an assortment of foods.
The smells, still filling my nostrils.
The bacon, crisp, and warm between my fingers.
The pancakes, drenched in hot syrup.
Scrambled eggs, with ketchup on top.
And me, seated before it all.
I pop a bacon strip into my mouth. Savor the crunchy taste.
I stab a pancake with a fork and eat it as well. The syrup is sweet.
The different flavors, each of them intertwining on my tongue.
My mouth is watering…I want more.
So I stand and take my plate with me to the stove.
Hash browns. Corned beef. And more.
Seconds, prepare to be devoured!
Sally A Bayan Feb 2018
Glamour, health and politics,
are ideal morning topics
blending well with hot coffee,
and, these early risers...share openly
their impassioned accounts, simultaneously
seething, with a dark and strong bubbling sea,
making the most, out of a few hours of bonding,
breakfasting, after morning chi kung
(sometimes, with family, reuniting...)
they have moved with the times and days,
subscribing to both old and acceptable new ways...
anger and dislike are voiced gently
no despair hidden...i believe, not a tad of ennui,
.......surely...

these ladies have no fancy hats,
flowered, feathered, or with colored tats
no jewels crown their heads...........just
plain hair: black, brown, long or bobbed,
no pearls grace their necks.....or gloves
that are trimmed, to hide overworked
hands, or wrinkled knuckles......they're
past their golden years, prim and proper,
their own sets of rules are flames burning,
steam rising, like those of coffee brewing
deep in their minds...their values, churning,
their inner beauty, transcending...

their mornings are like a coffee maker,
brimming with bubbles and dark swirls,
tamed, paled in mugs, when cream is added in twirls...
complex issues considered taboo,
sometimes, even plain tattoos
are discussed in hushed tones
voices agree or disagree...until froth is gone
and bubbles have simmered down...

the hours are fleeting, time passes so swiftly
one has gone...but these enterprising ladies
excitedly plan ahead, for their next assembly...

Sally

Copyright November 2, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(an old unposted poem about my breakfast group)
Cana Feb 2018
A sea of buttery happiness
Is home to the roundest of islets
Side by side they wallow.

Quite naturally, the islands,
Are covered in ham.
Ham? Ham!
And lazily perched
On the hams highest point
Sits an avian sphere
Perfectly poached.

Straining against its
White little straight jacket.
Pop.
I’d just finished cooking. Drinking my coffee. Dying for a smoke. Day 3
I may edit this more.
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