Bagels butter biscuits with
Raspberry Jam
Eggs
And
Keep the mystery meat Spam
Fruit
Apple Pancakes
Syrup hot
Tea ready to eat
Buttermilk pancakes made with love
Bring back childhood memories of Christmas morning
The joy of being together
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 1st place 2025
Blueberry delight in discs
of golden brown. Each
bite, berry delight. Smothered
in melted butter
and maple syrup.
Taste summer
bliss.
Pancakes are so delicious
with maple syrup.
it's made of all- purpose flour,
kneaded into paste,
with baking powder.
it's fluffy.
yum!
My stomach growls but I don’t want to eat
I rather create consume popcorn poetry
I ate yesterday one meal at like four
Why does my body want to eat more
I’m told by my doctor eat more meals
I don’t have a lot to eat for real
Not that I can’t choose to shop
I prefer to pay artists and give gifts with thought
Oh boy here again on the rhyme train
It isn’t a sin and I’m not vain
But my mind is trying to grow and change
Hmmm maybe pancakes will do the thing
after taking classes
to make pancakes with molasses
we must move our asses
(while making advances)
(we were all aghast)
(were burned to ashes)
(against head bashes)
(have been on branches)
(cooked in clay by Cassius)
(we made mad dashes)
(elegant and enhances)
(eaten by Erasmus)
(received from a Fascist)
(found by Pope Francis)
(get to see the gashes)
(stuck with long lances)
(on them all passes)
(head against smashes)
(seen flying through sashes)
(they left you in long trances)
(found in famous people's trashes)
(when talking trashes)
(terrible thrown in trashes)
Mama Bear is not their choice to bake
She tries to make pancake, but they flop
If you want a delicious golden pancake
You wake up Papa Bear, whose batter is the top!
He adds all this crazy stuff like cinnamon, sugar too
and it is super scrumptiously delicious when he is through!
Baby Bear follows along behind his Dad catching the ones he flips
So far he has not dropped one, it is a fabulous trip!
very morning i hear her cycle chains clanging,
changing gears on the curvy corner down the street,
it makes me wonder if she has wavy brown hair,
matching chocolatey eyes full of summer hormones,
i stuff my mouth with pancakes
chewing on the fantasy of us cycling down the beach,
tyres sinking in the sand, dancing in the sunrays,
my blue summer dress flowing like the waves
that caress the seashore &
her yellow hat with mellow tinges of the sun-
i wake early the next morning to see her,
cycling down the street but all i see is
an old mail car rattling & tattling across,
i return home feeling like a yak, buried
somewhere under the piles of fury thoughts on my back,
but i like it this way,
the way the summer girl with her yellow hat
will just pass by my house every morning &
yet again I will just imagine meeting her,
finish my pancakes and nod my head to
the loneliness sitting on the couch.
The Restaurant Menu has a picture.
Three golden brown Pancakes
A large corn colored slice of butter
Melting on top running over the sides.
Griddle Cakes doing a Nathalie Wood impersonation
Drowning in a sea of thick maple syrup
Cartoon like ribbons of aroma rising upward.
The old man made them every Sunday morning before church.
Which he never attended
Black hair slicked back
Partially stained white Dago-Tee
Cigarette dangling from his lips.
The ash worming longer with each Popeye exhale
From the side of his mouth
Large bowl on his left hip
Attacking the batter with grunts of enthusiasm.
Tattoos on his arms flexing larger then smaller
Giving the appearance they were dancing.
Tatted when he was a Cook in the Navy
During World War II.
I imagined him storming the beaches of the South Pacific
With spatula in hand
"Don't need to cut'em with a damn knife.
Use your fork "
He'd holler wrestling the knife from my hand
Then throwing it into the sink.
Slapping the back of my head in anger
No Waitress wait!
I'll have the Waffles instead
With strawberries if you have them.
Yes, Waffles
We never had a Waffle Iron.
I did not think I was hungry until I wandered into Grandma land.
She had a stack of light fluffy homemade pancake a mile high.
Already stacked on my plate, oozing in warm tasty butter and syrup.
I started to beg off, but then I saw her crestfallen look.
I picked up my fork and took a tiny taste, which was not enough.
You added corn! I shrieked, delighted.
I had not had corn pancakes for years.
Grandma knew they were my favorite!
No one made corn pancakes like she did!
Just the top two, she told me. Wait until you get to the second layer.
Pancakes three and four were peanut butter pancakes.
She watched me devour them.
I was gobbling my food so fast, it looked like I was in a pie eating contest for a new car.
Grandma, you spoil me! I said.
She was smirking and happy and so was I.
This was the best day of my life so far, eating with my grandma,
hearing her stories.
I cannot look at a warm stack of pancakes without thinking of my grandma.
And how thrilled she was that she had gotten me to eat.
I had been worrying my mother, with my starvation diet at the time.
I was twelve, and thought I was “fat” when I was actually merely healthy.
Give me blueberry pancakes any day of the week
I love how soft and fluffy they are at their peak
Give me delicious fruity cakes any day of the week
A little sugar coating to make them sweet
Or a simple pat of butter to melt as they steam
And a pile of chocolate chips to sit underneath
Give me blueberry pancakes any day of the week
I love how soft and fluffy they are at their peak
Give me delicious fruity cakes any day of the week
Syrup is a common thing to share with this fav
So hit me with a shot of that natural brown haze
Let’s find something sweet to curb my sugar craves
Give me blueberry pancakes any day of the week
I love how soft and fluffy they are at their peak
Give me delicious fruity cakes any day of the week
I used to think they were just a Sunday treat
But now that I’ve decided that they are so neat
I’d eat some blueberry pancakes every day of the week!
Give me blueberry pancakes any day of the week
I love how soft and fluffy they are at their peak
Give me delicious fruity cakes any day of the week
*And if there’s no syrup then I’ll take the brown sugar please
*spoken not sung
A Pancake’s Two Sides
(Young & Old)
Haiku: By Miracle Man
1/28/2021
A young persons world?
Too bad one has to grow old,
to realize that.
I believe the world belongs to the young,
but we can’t see the other side of that pancake
until we become old.
Tom
Encamped in the local IHOP patio
Doing reconnaissance on the butter pecan syrup
I discern its malicious, aggressive intentions:
To march defiantly down Mt. Stack
And wage a ruthless attack on
Defenseless over-easy eggs
Acting quickly, I wield my fork
Digging trenches in my pancakes
I flank the enemy, staving off
This unprovoked act of aggression
Victory!
Only in that moment do I lift my eyes and notice
A brood of young sparrows
heralding their hunger
The chevron of hang-gliding geese silently
sailing to destinations unknown
Majestic Monarchs flitting
stoically southward
And rival suitors:
An iridescent hummingbird and an industrious bee
Romantically pursuing myrtle blossoms
The canopy of cerulean blue
And all the life within its realm
Resolves my thoughts from war to peace
Note to self:
Don’t forget to look up
We have in our possession an old and weathered griddle
that’s been making pancakes in our house
since our children and grandchildren were little
Every Saturday morning at a slow and steady pace
we’d stack pancakes on the table…some with a happy face.
As we got more creative we found a way to play.
We added colors…we made flowers into a beautiful pancake bouquet.
We made pancakes in all shapes and colors and sizes
I believe our Mickey Mouse was the best!
And as we grew in confidence we began taking their requests.
No request was rejected..no matter how big…or little
for we knew despite our lack of artistic talent…
there was magic in this griddle.
The children and grandchildren are all grown now
and yesterday with just a little fanfare
We decided to make pancakes for our dinner
And were delighted…because the magic was still there.
All the magic of all those Saturdays…
All those pancakes made when they were little…
All those moments made more memorable
by the magic of the griddle.
Pancakes
My wife, I remember makes the very best, or she did.
I have to get that through my head.
She is back at the hospital, laying there, not moving.
How did that happen,
I don’t know.
We were at breakfast talking, just talking.
No. She was talking, I never did. I listened.
I wish that I could hear her talk now.
I wish that she would nag at me.
Tell me to do something, anything…
That I do not want to do,
Just so that I can say…
I have done it,
for you.
For you my wife, of many years, numbers illusive with time.
Passing us by faster than we know, that they go.
The ones we love.
They leave us here.
They go where we can not follow.
To their God. To their place.
They depart.
A place called heaven… sounds far…
I want to go.
I want to be with her.
She said He loves everyone,
even me.
She was beautiful, I miss her.
She was everything, God give her back.
Please, … hear me.
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