#pancakes
Waking up with sleepy eyes waking
my father for breakfast as I pull my
blanket, drag it off the bed, my favorite blanket.
Grabbing at fathers shirt, off the counter he is grabbing
pan to make us fluffy golden pan–
cakes as I stir the powder and milk, the fork is caked.
I watch him with eyes that question if I
think my father is a wizard and I think
that I will catch him in the act that
makes me happy. The pancakes he makes
seem normal at first, in the way he may seem
wizard-like he flips the pancake and it smiles like a wizard.
Two eyes and one big curve two
now have smiles on their side now
he is certainly a wizard. He
can’t make a pancake smile? Actually, can’t
avoid making me smile like he may avoid
admitting he’s a wizard–won’t ever be admitting.
Nov 12, 2025
Nov 12, 2025 at 7:34 PM UTC
you said, “let’s make pancakes.”
and i said sure,
like i always do when i’m not sure
what else to say.
flour dusts the air,
tiny ghosts of what we were yesterday.
the bowl’s too small,
but so are we,
so maybe that’s fair.
eggshells crack like secrets.
we pretend not to notice.
you stir too long.
i stir too soft.
love burns if you look away too often.
and maybe that’s what this is.
half-cooked affection.
a sticky situation.
you drizzle syrup like confession,
slow and deliberate;
golden, heavy,
a little too sweet,
a little too late.
we talk about nothing.
we talk about everything.
you laugh,
and the sound lands like butter melting,
sliding off the edge of the pan,
gone before it sizzles.
i flip one.
it tears.
you say, “it’s fine.”
but i see it in your eyes.
you liked it better whole.
you say, “we’re messy.”
i say, “we’re breakfast.”
you don’t laugh this time.
the silence hums like the stovetop,
low, constant,
dangerous if left on too long.
syrup pools between the plates,
like spilled apologies,
too thick to clean.
you dip your fork in,
taste it,
and say, “still good.”
still good.
and maybe that’s us.
pancakes gone cold,
edges crisp with all the things we didn’t say,
but still somehow soft in the middle.
i watch you take another bite.
i want to ask if you mean it.
but the fork scrapes
and the moment is gone.
and love,
like syrup,
sticks to everything
it touches.
Nov 11, 2025
Nov 11, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
Pancakes are fluffy, soft,
Her cuteness reaches the Sky,
Amongst blooming flowers
A beautiful butterfly.
Waffles are firm, Krispy,
And yet tender is his care,
Love can make a castle
And he is a building square!
Waffles and Pancakes:
Soft and Firm. Fluffy against Crispy?
Yet somehow mixing them isn't risky!
They journey together, hand in hand,
Their love unites the land!
I am your Waffle,
You are my Pancake,
And no matter what,
Our love won't ever shake!
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 12:53 PM UTC
There once was a man from Montana
Whose favoritest butter was canna:
He'd spread it on hotcakes
(Which made of them potcakes),
And add some sliced up banana.
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 11:49 PM UTC
somehow
your bedroom always smelled of
pancakes
the memories
of bed and breakfast
put shame to dull routines
but routine it was
wooden trays and coffees
with that look at me
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 5:25 PM UTC
I flip the pancake over like
you've flipped my love for you.
The skillet hot with butter
and a splash of oil.
The batter becomes thick,
flattening on one side
raising before falling.
The edges becoming crisp,
a mix of heart and soul
and all the simple, consistent
consideration in between.
When I am alone, I can make
the perfect pancake.
But when someone is watching,
I flip the batter too soon.
The circle is broken, and the batter
bakes unevenly on the skillet.
It still doesn't take away from the taste.
Sometimes, I still feel like a fool.
All it takes is the heat of reciprocation
whether the spatula is cheap or
expensive.
I eat it anyway,
just like you've flipped my love for you.
I brought a better spatula.
I'll drizzle you in butter and syrup,
and eat until I can't anymore.
Nov 28, 2024
Nov 28, 2024 at 2:24 AM UTC
Since a bitter beverage goes best
With sweeter courses, adding zest,
So many breakfast dishes
Considered most delicious
Are sugary bases syrup dressed.
Aug 7, 2024
Aug 7, 2024 at 3:51 PM UTC
perhaps it is apt
the first pancake
is always
a disappointment
stodgy
anaemic
without that light
crisped perfection
we've come to expect
it is undercooked
typically
as the ideal
frying time
is gauged
incorrectly at first
it will be
plated with
accompanying pleas
for forgiveness
and absolution
but as penance
someone has to
suffer this
pariah's offering
with each mouthful
comes thoughts
of apology
of atonement
of promises
it will be better
next time
Feb 27, 2023
Feb 27, 2023 at 5:56 AM UTC
I never thought it would be you.
With your brown eyes surrounding like mountains.
Arms always big and warm and hugging someone.
She didn’t deserve you, you know?
Now you’re off somewhere,
On the “greatest adventure of all”.
You were like him the more i think about it.
I was always a little mean to you
I guess i really didn’t understand
I was jealous of your friends, your smile
I thought it was just a pencil
Now it’s a blade and you’re gone
It doesn’t feel real
I remember you at my door
On the phone
And in the kitchen
Alone
With her
Laughing hugging kissing
She loved you
You got better
Stronger.
Daft punk sleeps now.
Because of you.
I complained.
You were so loved
But there must’ve been worms
Under your skin
That night was the worst night
Wasn’t it?
It’s the demons’ fault, whoever they are
They took my friend
I lost you once, now again
But there is no redemption
No hope
No light
You had an ****** flip phone
The background was a picture of your christ
Reaching out his hand through water
You wanted to believe in something so badly
It wasn’t enough i suppose
And that’s the sad truth of everything i know
But you hurt everyone so badly
Did you realize
The giant hole you’d leave
The scars on your skin now on mine
Where did you go
Did you finally go home
You were always a little selfish
But this is the most selfish act of all
Leaving us here while you move on
Now i’m scared
Everyone i know
Everyone i love
Could die
At any time
And i can’t do anything about it
Nov 17, 2021
Nov 17, 2021 at 3:35 PM UTC
The perfect amount of salt
It dissolves in my mouth
Melting on my pancakes
Complimented with sugary flakes
Dipped in syrupy lakes
My fruit salad with grapes
Bananas and apples too
It's too yummy to be true
While butter is still melting
I dig in, it tastes overwhelming
~12/5/21
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 5:00 AM UTC
Were the pancakes,
and corona
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...
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 6:07 PM UTC
I see love.
But I think they are just married.
With their piled plates and their.
Pancakes there.
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.
Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 9:21 AM UTC
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.
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
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.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 5:36 AM UTC
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.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 1:35 AM UTC
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.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
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
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC
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
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
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.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
two o'clock in the morning
your eyes glow against the moon
who would have know that i
would fall so hard, so soon?
three o'clock in the morning
whiskey and a cigarette
there stood a sweet young couple
who looked a bit upset
four o'clock in the morning
the music is winding down
everyone is sleeping
not a soul makes a sound
five o'clock in the morning
she refuses to tell him goodbye
as soon as that car leaves the lot
she feels like she is going to die
six o'clock in the morning
the smell of coffee is bold
she's making banana pancakes
for two, though alone and cold
seven o'clock in the morning
she saw him in her dreams that night
it crippled her upon waking
she almost forgot his beautiful eyes
eight o'clock in the morning
he needed to hear her voice
the only thing that could calm him
so he was left with little choice
nine o'clock in the morning
she watched the sunrise and cried
he had absolutely no idea
her denial of love was a lie
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
You sit at the table with your blue and yellow crayons
Quietly coloring tigers and waving the fingers of your left hand.
You proudly show your decorated notebook; the one you alone created.
Safety plans, behavior charts, conflict resolution, and coping.
You're asked if you understand rules and regulation,
The look on your face as you color a second tiger purple, tells me different.
Searches coming and searches going looking for sharps.
Supervision daily, hourly, minute by minute
How then, can this be self-harm?
You sit in the van with your ninja turtles backpack
Quietly whispering, repeating, comforting words.
You proudly show your decorated notebook; the one you alone created.
Tigers, elephants, horses, cars, houses, and nostalgia faces.
You're asked if you understand stability and foster families,
The look on your face as you chew on your shirt, tells me different.
Days gone and months in this new place
You are doing so well, so great
Bedroom upstairs in the corner
All your favorite things have their space
Tell me one thing gained here?
Saturday Morning
Pancakes
Sprinkles, and
Maple Syrup.
© Jo Tomso
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC