Let's bring it back; let's go back
To that sweet, old thing we now lack
Make it great again, go back again
Let's start right away; let's begin
Back to organic maple syrup over Mama's hot, buttermilk flapjacks
And Daddy's Saturday morning tutorials on how to change the oil and how to use a scissor jack
A return to strangers saying 'hello' to strangers in passing
Souls offering sincere pleasantries that are warm and long-lasting
Let's take a trip back to Mayberry
With some good old-fashioned Andy, Aunt Bee, and Barney
Back to decency, respect, kindness, and hospitality
A good, wholesome place; a good space of love and integrity
Let's go back far away from the masks and the distant, cold stares
Back to sharing a sandwich at lunch and car ride shares
For too long, we've sat lonely in a sunken place
Such a cold, dark, and constricted space
Let's go back, let's revisit, let's taste that lost sweetness
That wholesome, rich thing that's bustling with goodness
You can call them flapjacks.
and you can call them hotcakes,
You might call them johnny cakes or griddle cakes or crepes.
I don't see the difference that it makes.
They come by many a name,
but a pancake is a pancake
just the same.
We arrived early at the Fairmile
We’re welcomed by Jason’s warm smile
He made a pot of tea
For my hubby and me
I’m happy we’re staying a while!
Our bedroom was spotlessly clean
And as for the breakfast cuisine
The huge choice was amazing
(Overnight oats I’m praising)
We feasted like a King and Queen!
The pre–order system is great
It ensured the food on our plate
Was ready on time
And it tasted divine
One downside I’ve put on some weight!!!!
For treats you need not travel far
The lounge has an honesty bar
Drinks and tasty snacks
Like yummy flapjacks
This guesthouse should rank a four star!
Hosts Jason and wife Melanie
In tandem, they work seamlessly
I can truly attest
They look after each guest
Shame Fairmile’s not closer to me!
There’s plenty more that I could say
But sadly I’ve not got all day
If it’s in your plans
To visit St Anne’s
The Fairmile’s the best place to stay!
The door rings,
I look up,
someone with someone else,
back to my eggs and hash browns.
The door rings
Spatulas knell the griddle.
The skinny cook yells in Kentucky Yiddish.
Flapjacks slap in midair,
syrup dongs in jug and jar.
The door rings
I look up
then
back to my eggs and hash browns.
The door rings
I look up
nobody I know,
my first time here
why should I know anyone!
Back to the eggs.
Two sunny-side-up,
the busting of yellow yokes
with a tip of toast --- O Lordy.
I look up
the waitress has bodacious tats,
a phone bursts into song
another vibrates
as loud as a sleeping panther.
The door rings
creamy salutations
of comfort and grease.
Spoons jangle on tinkling handles,
spatulas knell upon the griddle.
A buttery booth crush
a flush-faced coffee klatch.
The skinny cook yells in Kentucky Yiddish.
I look up
flapjacks slap air
syrup pours and dongs in jug and jar.
The door chants and chimes -
Hallelujah for this ring-a-ding diner
and our Waffle House hunger.
Up with the children at seven
For blueberry pancakes and ham.
Flapjacks enough for eleven -
How many will fit in the pan?
Lay out some slices of bread.
Spread with egg salad maybe,
Some tuna and celery for Fred,
And a “p,b and j” for the baby!
Fetch from the line all the towels
And swimsuits hanging to dry.
Ignore the grumbles and scowls
About sunscreen you have to apply.
Stack the pop in the ice chest.
With sandwiches, yogurt and fruit.
Pack napkins, chips and the rest
In the picnic basket to suit.
Pile out, and head for the seashore
With picnic, umbrella and chairs!
No room for anything more -
But then, nobody really cares!
Oh, joy! What a day at the beach!
We swim, jump the waves, and tan,
Drink our soda, eat a peach,
Its edges trimmed with sand!
Alack! Alas! It’s time to go!
Our homeward way we wend,
Not sad because we know
Tomorrow we’ll do it again!
Forever
Feasting famished,
Flapjacks, frankfurter's, fajitas
Flavoursome food, favourite feast.
Foreboding, forbidden, feeding
Fruitless, fearful
Fat!
2/5/2021
verdant grasses in a gorgeous April meadow
dew fresh on delicate apple tree blossoms
red buds parade their mystical prettiness
refreshing country air which rejuvenates and revives
daybreak's shy glances peek over the hills
barn standing in as a witness for five generations
dainty daffodils sprinkled with purple violets
a fabulous day for a bit of pond fishing
bluegills and bass will be biting
handsome farmer stares at the glowering sun
appreciating God's fresh new day
loving the canvas of his verdant meadow
he can smell the warm flapjacks now
his wife waves through the kitchen window
he waves back, so glad she is his!
no hurry to get inside,
loving the April meadow,
his overalls itch to head toward the pond
after our chores, he thinks
Taking another long breath of God's country air
Mountains survey checkerboard acreage
Valleys squint at lonely peaks
A storm is brewing, black nimbus gathering
Could the earth speak, it would shriek
A forlorn, gray cottage, streaked with the first slants of rain
Joints creaking, grandpa battens down the hatches
He secures the shutters, lights a welcome-warm fire
Then he bolts down every door's latches
Ready at last to sink into his chair, Grandma's voice startles
'Look up!' He sees he's forgotten the roof
Up the ladder he races, just in time
before his flickering candle goes poof
Safe from the storm, eyes tightly shut, Grandpa leans back
His dreams serene ~ in the morning, flapjacks
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.
Ask no more
Summer has mellowed, gone are the thrills
autumn beds down for winter’s chills
spring will bring on the cheers
same old, same old all those years.
pull up my pillow and pull over my cap
settling down by the fire before I nap
wood box filled from my cutting
life is simple here, no golf putting.
old box radio spills out the jive of the fiddle
aroma of flapjacks hot off the griddle.
time has sure burned away my days
but my blessings shine from the morning rays.
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
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
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
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.
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.