Short Flapjacks Poems

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.
...

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Forever
   
                   Feasting  famished,

           Flapjacks, frankfurter's, fajitas

       Flavoursome  food,  favourite  feast.

          Foreboding, forbidden, feeding

                   Fruitless,  fearful

                             Fat!



2/5/2021...

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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...

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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....

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