Best Flapjacks Poems
Mist rises from the valley floor
Sunshine peeks over the mountain top
silhouetting the Coopers Hawk
soaring in the southern breeze
I sit in my old oak rocking chair
drinking my dark black coffee taking it all in.
Mornings don't get any finer
I am one
one with nature.
The smell of flapjacks fill the air
Then out walks you
my heart skips a beat
as you smile
brighter than the clear blue stream
blending in beautifully
with the azure sky
your caramelized eyes glisten
each time you glance my way
I can't help but smile
for this is the perfect day
Categories:
flapjacks, love, nature,
Form:
Free verse
I fly on wing of song.
Twenty-three miles out of Atlanta
soaring like an eagle traveling from DC
thirty-six thousand miles high
Fly, fly away
Through the blue hues of morning
white fluffiness lie below towards earth
puffy white and gray cotton-like softness
gently moving on windsong
feeling like a Welsh princess
watching o’er her universe.
I see the world through a rectangle
looking out over the airplane’s wing
reaching outward and upward.
Soaring like hope
Moving like faith
Solid span of charity
Humming motor onward bound joyful sound
A higher plane than I have found;
Lord, plant my feet on higher ground
wind under my winged sails
I’m pressing on the upward way.
Arrows painted on wingspan
pointing left as we travel right
viewing “safety line attach point”
feeling secure way up here
three flapjacks adjusting the wind flow
reminding of Father, Son and Holy Spirit
pouring through keeping my soul.
Upward outward incline
continuous motion held by metal strength
while thin white clouds pass by.
Heaven’s sky still far far away
no matter how far up one gets God is farther still
beyond the blue somewhere higher.
Sitting assured as my mind presses on—
landing soon will come
back to earth world
where I belong.
@2011 – Evelyn Pearl Carpenter Anderson
Categories:
flapjacks, universe,
Form:
Imagism
"Bugger the "Group" mentality. I say burn it up with a revolutionary act, start your own Group. If you didn't exist, there would be no world. You are your own world, your own Cosmos, you are luminescent, keep on shining - the people who matter will move towards your light. Leave the other befuddled fools walk in the dark holding hands, following tails like sheep. This is a fantastic expression of your individuality. Always keep speaking your TRUTH." LLB
"Bedknobs, Bell Curves and a Broomstick"
Words of wisdom
sitting in bed
reading a story
from another person's head
A short story
titled "At the Edge of the Bell Curve"
registers ding ding ding
this is a mind
worthy to swim
Everyone has a story
some breathing fire
flying courageous
Majestic
saving people
outspread
Dragon Wings
Others are just
walking talking
milk and honey
Love-Ins
tap tap tapping
seeking numbers
for competitive wins
Heroic Acts
of pulling hidden
courageous minds
up from the road cracks
Now, that's pure,
GOLDEN
This is the true story
Blue Birds singing for
honey and flapjacks
hidden pearls
are the gems...
now there's no
turning back
ever again -
your REAL STORY
begins.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
Ref:
1. Short Story - "At the Edge of the Bell Curve", Poetry Soup.
2. Short Story - "The Legend Of Dar-Mok Luu", Poetry Soup.
3. "Smoke Rings" , Laurie Anderson.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyTBdPytCIk
"...Well I had a dream and in it I went to a little town
And all the girls in town were named Betty..." -
4. "Language is a Virus", Laurie Anderson.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sR-AojanEA0
5. "I'm no Betty". Quote, Leanne Lovejoy-Burton
Categories:
flapjacks, character, courage, imagery, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
When fragrances of candles and sachets
come wafting to me as I shop, I close
my eyes a moment, think of childhood days,
and smile. I loved the sachets Mama chose
to place in drawers—lavender and rose.
Preparing grandkids’ breakfast takes me back
to lovely scents of childhood. I recall
those sausages and yummy golden stacks
of flapjacks Mama fixed. Down our short hall,
I hurried to be served. I never stalled!
written February 18, 2018, for Sara Kendrick's contest
Categories:
flapjacks, childhood, memory,
Form:
Quintain (English)
Pancake Batter Bessie
She makes flapjacks so fine
Avoiding corn syrup
With Tabasco, liver and onions sublime.
We try to stop her
But she is obtrusive and a ghost
Where we make our own batter
We hide it with our toast.
For Bessie will take that batter
And add extra stuff galore.
Peanut butter and sausage
Corn, pickles, oranges and more.
Bessie empties our pantries in the middle of the night
And grills up inventive pancakes that fill every counter in sight.
Our mother has asked her to stay out of her kitchen.
Pancake Batter Bessy’s creative juices can’t for they are always itch’n.
Categories:
flapjacks, 4th grade, 5th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Grab a wooden spoon, and choose a mixing bowl
A breakfast that is piping hot is worth its weight in gold!
You can make them by the dozens, or one or two will do
Make them for your next of kin, or neighbors you have got
Even for those teenage boys, ...(the ones who eat a lot!)
Let's see you fry a stack of cakes that tower on the plate
The stack is high,...but folks will sigh with happiness inside
So get the griddle piping hot, and warm syrup too
And don't forget a pot of jam and marmalade is good!
Applesauce, gets an A+ ,.......and often gets applause!
Yes you can! Whip some up.....it's as easy fix to do
No need to go to I-Hop. Just make them on the spot
Wake them up to something yummy
Fill a tummy, make 'em happy, maple syrup needs some sopping
Buckwheat makes the grumpy jolly, just stir the lumps out 'til there's none
And someone's sour mood is gone, when sourdough is stacked at dawn
Flapjacks wake the sleepyheads, before they run straight out the door
They'll turn right back to have some more .....three or four, or five or six
Butter oozing down the sides, sticky syrup glazing eyes.....mouths will water
hear the laughter.....add some nuts, or raisin eyes, make a face a big surprise
Yum! Yum! Yum! M & M's add some fun, and add a chocolate prize!
And if you dare, to be so bold
Flip your flapjack, pan-fried gold.....Just grab and hold your frying pan
It 's in the grip, ......then flip ! You can !!! And if you're lucky it will land
upon the plate........not on the floor, across the room,......
but one mistake......, just mop it up, and try it all again!
Practice tennis while you're at it,...Ping pong too...., and batter-up.....
Up it goes........and down it comes........Something yummy for your tummy
Pancake's, flapjacks .......hotcakes, hoecakes..
Pick your favorite, flip them high........ make them small or any size
Make a ton........!!! It's worth a try !
__________________________________________________
For Didactic Food Contest: sponsored by Tammy Reams
10/5/15
Categories:
flapjacks, food, fun, funny,
Form:
Didactic
To Commemorate My 300th Poem Here On The Soup
300 Solomons
300 Beacons
300 Spartans
300 Martyrs
300 Tales Done
300 Threads Spun
300 Heartsongs
300 Touchstones
300 Scheherazade
Only 700 More, GOD
and Wherever YOU Beam Me
10,000 More, Gleam Me
- - - - - - - - - -
… I Have Lost 200 Poems
But Here Are 300
Because I Open My Arms
To Inspiration Undaunted …
“ Pancakes, Preserves, Poached-Egg & Pork
Maple-Syrup, Milk and Sun-Motes In The Morn
Calling My Name, Just Like Flapjacks To A Fork
Psyche Is Picking Up Poems, Like Babies Just Born “
- - - - - - - - - -
A Childhood Poem Remembered …
I See The Moon
and The Moon Sees Me
GOD Bless The Moon
and GOD Bless Me
… and Long Live, The Love Of Poetry …
The MoonBee
Categories:
flapjacks, allegory, devotion, faith, friendship,
Form:
Light Verse
Fearless flames licking the night
as the glow flickers fire in their eyes
ah the tales round campfires light
of Sasquatch shadows and cougars demise
When sleepily those embers to ash burn down
like marshmallows slipping to the ground
lanterns cast their final shadows
In exchange for adventures awaiting tomorrow
A final gaze at a zillion stars
shinning their sign of specked hope
for a soul to know peace is only so far
as blackened woods against constellations cloak
As I lay me down to sleep
not a care in the world can persuade me
to take for granted my humble retreat
safely bunked with my horses by the creek
Sunshine flashes her brilliant stare
like diamond wings playfully fluttering
over morning rivers greeted with prayer
while wee ones still in tents lay slumbering
Until the hunger fails to quit
resisting whiffs of luscious scent
hash-browns and bacon crisp...
with flapjacks bearing the final lament
Here they come sleepy and wistful
cocoa for the kido's hair in a muddle
and coffee for the men now donning stubble
the ones bearing tissue and the O'l faithful shovel
The slightest breeze sweet smell of earth
shooting, hiking, splitting wood
traditions passed down again to preserve
laughter in a still frame subtly procured
Camping is the life, simple yet rich
meadows of wildflowers by the lake
kayak drifts near wild lavender I pick
with a wave saying thanks to the boaters wake :-(
Of all the trips money can buy
exotic lands, places to fly...
there's no place better to spend a summer
then camping where the wonder comes uncovered
Categories:
flapjacks, fire, holiday, nature, stars,
Form:
Quatrain
Kublia with his laughing smile
Whoever has food is his best pal
His sad eyes as big as saucers
Tail wagging anticipating offers
He'll eat whatever you eat
People food is always a special treat
Genghis cautious ears fold back
If it ain't meat he wants none of that
Sniffs the air trying to decide
What it is Kublia can't be deny
Pancake breakfast and Kublia explodes
Flapjacks his nose glows
Mouth waters and dance in place
Pancakes make an happy face
Throw him a piece and he snaps it in the air
Swallows it whole no time to spare
Toss two bits he catches one then the other
Little Genghis confused by his brother
Hand Genghis a piece of pancake
He sniffs it once and his head shakes
Put it down on the ground
He licks it once and seems to frown
Kublia with long snot
Flips Genghis from behind with clout
Eats the pancake in a second clear
Genghis hurt treated unfair
Give Genghis a second piece
He stands his ground for his feast
Growls and stares as Kublia advances
There will be no second chances
Kublia eager slides around
Genghis worried gulps it down
Head up he struts and turns
Kublia late he got burned
Now feed Genghis food he doesn't like
He'll gulp it down out of spite
To keep Kublia from a treat and a grin
Genghis eats to defy him.
Categories:
flapjacks, dog, food, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Forever
Feasting famished,
Flapjacks, frankfurter's, fajitas
Flavoursome food, favourite feast.
Foreboding, forbidden, feeding
Fruitless, fearful
Fat!
2/5/2021
Categories:
flapjacks, food, funny, lust,
Form:
Diamante
Pt. 2
with her a tray of stack flapjacks, crisp bacon, and a foam cup filled to the rim with apple juice. I remember that she came once before, and I was glad to see her again. Her face was without concerning lines, and she had a pleasant aura about her.
I was exceedingly voracious, and so she didn't need to encourage me to eat.
She too disappeared through the steel portal, but this time dolly and I followed her.
On the other side , there were large and small numerous forms of peculiarity.
The brightness of the sun penetrated through a large window and freely occupy the rooms.
The populace was shepherd by stiff characters.
Dolly and I felt out of sort, yet flashes of memories of this place stole into my encephalon.
One of the stiff characters rushed towards me and ushered me to another large peculiar room. I was frail against her strength. She placed dolly in a wet chair in the room. Dolly gazed at the floor, and I could not see the pain in her face, but felt her misery.
The stiff character, who had the shape of an immense melon, removed my clothes and shoved me under a shower head. The pressure of the tepid water soothed the long raw abrasions on my body, in which I had no memories of how they came about.
With fresh raiment and dolly in my arms, I felt anew and I willingly let the stiff character lead me back into the population. With the stiff character at my side , I walked the grounds and fed the geese that waddled onto the thick lawn. Greedily I inhaled the scents of magnolia trees and azalea bushes.
The events of the day were quick and hearty meals. The tear of the day came when I was swept back into her world.
*****
I clawed at my arms and struggle against the unwanted phantom of my despair.
He called himself my originator, the ruler of my existence, and he proved his power over me routinely. I am ignorant to the start and the reason of his savage encroachment of my body and mind.
As far as I can remember this world that I lived in has been an eternity.
Categories:
flapjacks, mental illness,
Form:
Narrative
TWO COUPLETS ON “ FLAWLESS vs FLAWS “
POEM 1
I had no idea what he meant :
We bought a small one-roomed unfinished apartment.
He said I was too critical, always looking for flaws.
This apartment was 16 floors up but had no floors.
16 floors up, this room has its floors up. As I speak,
The floor’s up with guys looking for water leak.
Looking for flaws ?!
Damn right I was I was looking for floors!
This place wasn’t flawless, it was floorless;
As well - by the way - as doorless.
POEM 2
What is the real story with Aunt Jemima’s pancake mix?
You gotta add egg, sugar, and milk, before you can fix
A breakfast or lunch pile of flapjacks,
And sit back, eat, digest and relax.
Our Aunt’s eggless, sugarless, milkless, but not flourless.
Her packets of stuff are certainly flawless.
Let’s hope she continues with at least her flours,
For if her stuff is flourless : and then it will have flaws.
Categories:
flapjacks, funny
Form:
Couplet
I was out walking on a trek
through forested Adirondack hills,
looking for a good place to camp,
to drop my pack and just chill.
It was a weekend excursion,
and I’d already done eight miles,
seeking out the kind of peace
a man only finds in the wild.
Summiting a gentle knoll,
the forest dropped by the wayside,
for a moment I couldn’t register
what lay before my eyes.
There stood a sprawling logging camp,
hewn from rough, fallen trees,
and a beaten path where horses
had trod upon the scene.
I stood there in stunned silence,
how could this all exist?
How could they be profitable,
and in this modern world persist?
Maybe It was a niche thing,
some sort of nostalgic deal,
or a camp of recreationists
who wanted to make it ‘real.’
Just then one of the ‘jacks waved,
and I walked into their camp,
He smiled, saying,”You look like
a right regular deep woods tramp.
“Cookee’s serving up chow soon,
why don’t you come and stay,
we can always find a spare bunk,
you won’t get in the way.”
Now a hot meal in the deep woods
is not something to turn down,
so I went inside and feasted
On beef, beans, and bread brown.
After eating I settled on in
to the spacious, if rank, bunk room.
The men told stories of their times,
of log drives and forest gloom.
Their names were Dutch, Red, Albert,
Guillame, Flash, and Scotty,
They frowned but once, when they said
they sure missed their friend Guy.
We all played cards to pass time,
and a few smoked long pipes,
one by one we all dripped off,
and slept a quiet, peaceful night.
The next morning after flapjacks
I set back upon my path,
and waved to the fellows true
who’d recreated the past.
They were such a friendly lot
that I went back two more times,
a fine summer, I do say so,
but something itched in my mind…
That itch came to the forefront
one chilly, October morn,
I was talking with my good bud,
local historian Nick DeLorn.
Nick had a brace of posters,
pictures of old logging camps.
He was putting them up above
the town museum’s wheel-chair ramp...
CONCLUDES IN PART II
Categories:
flapjacks, confusion, history, lost, mystery,
Form:
Narrative
Back in nineteen hundred and three
I working with a logging crew,
cutting and limbing mighty trees,
be they hemlock, pine, or spruce.
We worked for the Nowell Paper firm,
in the shades of the Adirondacks,
spent all winter in Camp Seven,
sending full sleds down icy tracks.
One morning in late December
we got up before the dawn,
that was just par for the course,
our work days were rather long.
We made it to the cook-house,
where waited the salt pork,
with flapjacks and potatoes fried,
we ate until enrgorged.
Then with a nod to the bull cook,
to let him know he’d done good,
we grabbed our axes, our crosscut saws,
and headed out into the woods.
By noon we worked a stump garden
we’d cleared back in the fall,
when we’d cut down the spruces
though a few still stood tall.
Those ones are the seed trees,
to make sure it grows again,
but the ones we felled we had cut
into fourteen-foot lengths.
Now in that deep chill of winter
we worked with our pike-poles,
hauling the logs to big sleds
drawn by horses, rather cold.
We stacked them for the ice road,
in air that made all shiver,
the teamster waited to haul it
all the way down to the river.
Now lumberjacks always work in pairs,
and my partner was Guy Montreaux,
a Quebecois better with an axe
than any farmer with a hoe.
He was quite an entertaining man,
lifted spirits in our shanties,
and knew the words to every bawdy song
ever sang in the north country.
On that grim day he huffed loudly,
having been put through his paces,
as he loaded up the last big log
a horse jolted back in its traces.
The equine kicked, the pile shook,
the teamster cried,’Get clear!”
Me and the boys all dove away,
filled with a familiar fear...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Categories:
flapjacks, death, history, loss, nature,
Form:
Narrative
Knick Knack Paddy Whack
Can’t take back a wisecrack
If you wanna be a crackerjack
Earn a greenback from blackjack
Gotta buyback your backpack
Need to blister pack your flapjacks
Evident ebbing of drawbacks
Raises the bar for the sad sacks
The good life, so Kodak
So long as you don’t sidetrack
Selfie people hide in haystacks
Hoarding their golden tie tacks
Shall we ponder how to give back
Go beyond the dusty knickknack
Respect deserves a worthy payback
Not a flimsy whimsy kickback
Society requests a comeback
Categories:
flapjacks, confusion, humor, society,
Form:
Rhyme