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Valentin Aug 13
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
08.13.19
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.
Meruem Feb 5
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?”
Johnedel Rubinas Oct 2018
Pancakes

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.
Cjf Jul 2018
You were the epitome of cliche jokes and the feeling of a warm fire after being in the cold.
You were the glue to keep the 1000 piece puzzle together.
You were forgiveness in hardships
You were hammer and nails on the tool belt that a worker wore with pride each early morning and every sweltering day and all the long nights
You were dancing to commercial jingles
You were waking up excited Christmas morning to pancakes
You were trust
You were more than 2 family gatherings on holidays and having time stretched thin between the different 5 ones we had to go and choosing which one we wanted to attend
You were a secret holder
You were making weekends an hour long trip every weekend
You were holding hands with my mom while you drove and talked and laughed so
You were taking the role of "dad" when the one who fathered three kids didn't want to be
You were love in its best form
Until you weren't
Naked Writing Nov 2017
Sweat
runs rivers down
the planes of my face
drip dropping
to the asphalt
and sizzling there;

I wonder if it's true
that I could fry an egg
on the tarry New York sidewalk
melting under my feet

I think I'd like to try
I think I'd also prefer to be that egg
in the cool air of aisle 9
where someone will pick it up
and take it home
and make pancakes
laughing
with the person they love
Insta: @nakedwriting
Rae Slager Oct 2017
You don't go to IHOP
at 3AM
for scrambled eggs
and bacon.
At least,
that's not the life I want to live.
No,
you go to IHOP at 3AM
for cupcake pancakes
with a Reddi-Wip smile
and a warm cup of hot chocolate.
You go for explosive laughter
for tired eyes
for falling in love.
You go to IHOP
at 3AM
for memories
that will last a lifetime
and friendships
you hope
will never end.
IHOP at 3AM
is for drowning your worries
in blueberry syrup.
For being alive.
For being human.
Andrew T Jan 2017
For a week straight, I avoided going to the supermarket, even when my stomach grumbled and the fridge stayed empty and lonely. And instead, I looked through my binoculars from the tree house my dad had built with a few planks of wood, nails, and a rusty hammer. A place he’d built before I was put into my mother’s arms and put into a bright blue cradle. Blue as the shirt Abigail was wearing, the same day the cops busted her for giving head to my best friend Isaac in my Toyota Camry. Right in the middle of the parking lot of the supermarket, as I bought pancake batter and cage-free eggs for breakfast.

And Abigail never ate that meal after she spent a week wasting away in a cell block, reading JD Salinger stories over and over, as though his words could heal her marks and bruises.

Today, I made pancakes and eggs for breakfast.  I waited for the TV to load a Netflix show, hoping Abigail had learned from her mistakes. She passed me the salt and pepper shakers, as I lit a cigarette, sat in a chair, and smoldered.

Abigail put her face in her hands, cried for a bit, even reached for the ***** bottle.

We went to the supermarket later, walked down one aisle, and picked up meat and potatoes. As we headed for the self-checkout line, I passed the breakfast section and saw the pancake batter and the eggs. Abigail crumbled to the floor, said, “I’m so sorry.”

After that, we never touched breakfast.
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