Were the pancakes,
is the syrup
lets spread it like
we eating out..
And were lungs are burnt...
I'll never eat out...
But ill wash my hands
every time your
cough pops up...
I see love.
But I think they are just married.
With their piled plates and their.
Squeezed faces and head flicks.
Head flicks away from the groom's groomed hand.
This doesn't bode well.
Despite the pancakes.
In the value hotel with their soft luggage.
Eating pancakes as they check their phones.
7/10/2018 - Poetry form: Footle - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018 - Alrighty then..."And so it ended, not with a burger, but with a whimper. The International House of Pancakes is once more all about the flapjacks. The restaurant chain famed for its breakfast menu upset and entertained fans in June when it (IHOb) to promote a new hamburger menu. The publicity stunt/experiment wrapped up on Monday. IHOP posted on its @IHOb Twitter account, which completely took over for @IHOP during the name change, that it's now returned to its original moniker: ' (Excerpt from https://www.cnet.com/news/ihop-flips-back-to-pancakes-drops-ihob-name/)
I'm glad they cleared that up! :)
You take care of the pancakes
I'm not hungry
But I'm gonna order some pancakes
Because I want to get to know you
The alarm got us up before the sun fully awoke
we pulled our sleepy bodies out of bed
got on our grungies not even fixing coffee yet,
got our gear together in the pickup
and headed for the peninsula
where we hoped the sand bass would be schooling,
searching for some breakfast of worms or flashy things that looked to them like food.
If we were lucky we hooked a few which we would cook later
or save for the freezers back home.
When we got back to the campground
we’d comb our hair brush our teeth and head into town
for Pat’s Cafe who served the best biscuits, eggs, hashbrowns, and pancakes in the region
and if we were lucky Pat herself with her long black hair and **** lips
and substantial hips
would stop by and in her Texas twang and charm
she’d tell us about their farm
we’d speak of our wives
and some of the small details of our lives
and how we loved that large beautiful body
that sparkled and sang to us each spring
and how we savored dipping into Lake Whitney.
In late afternoon we would laze about the RV
discussing Theilhard and Jesus and Charlie
he’d speak of Bob Wills and we’d share
trying to make sense of the spirits there
and how they made us leap and soar.
We spoke in sync and explored
lines of novels, and fascinating texts
that made us eager to discover what was next
that would make us laugh or shed tears
of all those memorable years
we’d been brothers
afloat of the same waters
becoming men who hoped to make their mark
spark something good in the minds
of other seekers who also drank wines
fermented in corridors of learning
who had the same yearning
for knowledge and truth
embedded early and deeply in our youth.
I was never a fan of pancakes,
Honey and butter just doesn't cut it.
But I am longing for the comfort that it brought;
Things are different when I am with you.
February 5, 2019 - 18:33
Hello, Poetry! It feels good to be back.
I miss waking up to the smell of your delicious pancakes.
Sweetly covered in maple syrup.
And the sweetest smile you served with it.
Now all I can wake up to
is to the smell of burnt breakfast.
Sugarcoated with cooked up lies.
That I keep feeding myself to stay alive.
“What did I ever do to deserve this?”
Soft, circular, fluffy delight.
Euphoric taste, ******* to the mouth.
Heart pounding, as Aunt Jemima lathers her essence all over this treat.
Fresh bright fruit falling onto this plate as if it were sent from the heavens.
An earthly treat from Mother Earth, guaranteed to fill your satisfaction.
Savouring every bite, tingling all your senses.
A meal that could tickle ones soul and enlighten their day.
Pancakes, a synonym for yum, the definition of bliss.