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Mix A Pancake
Mix a pancake,
Stir a pancake,
Pop it in the pan;
Fry the pancake,
Toss the pancake, -
Catch it if you can.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Little Black Sambo
Little Black Sambo
Dance Sambo Dance!
You knoe you are a pancake!
The little black sambo ran around the tigers,
until they blended into batter.
Ewe see it does it matters.
Dance Sambo Dance!
You knoe you are a pancake!
If you even make just one mistake,
the tigers they will eat you.
Dance Sambo Dance!
You knoe you are a pancake!
Unless you can out race them,
the tigers are so fast.
We would rather that you eat them.
Dance Sambo Dance!
Prance and add the butter to the better batter there.
What could also be much better so much neater.
Dance Sambo Dance!
The tigers are just pancakes.Sambo is the eater.
Sambo Danced.
poem by Charles Hice
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Spaceship One
Spaceship 1
Wonderful night stars so close took a step ladder up to
the roof terrace and picked one it shone so bright, put
It on the mantelpiece where it slowly faded into a blob
like a balloon thrown out of a passing car and run over
hundred times. Tried to put it back but the heaven was
too far away, but I saw the hole in the velvety carpet.
Threw the damp blob into the rubbish bin in the yard,
next day the bin was gone so I drove into town, bought
a new one. The following night was wonderful too but
stars kept well away from my grasping hands, my star
was now back in its place; in the morning I had two bins
one looked slightly frizzled at the edges.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Blob On Four Wheels (Fun Poem 71)
Whatever happened to
the car designers out there?
Does there mind go blank
when they are designing cars.
It must do
because from what I’ve seen on the road.
Round blobs on wheels with no character at all.
There is nothing to distinguish
one car from another.
Years ago, you could pick a model,
which would have a character
of its own for years.
Now they churn them out
with increasing numbers,
car with no distinctive character.
Moreover, when you look at them
what do you see
nothing but a blob on four wheels.
A real sad state of affairs.
They may have super duper engines
and can travel fast,
but the bodywork leaves a lot to be desired.
Rounded bits here and there.
It is like someone driving
a bubble blown in chewing gum.
No character, not at all.
Just a blob on four wheels.
So what have to the designers,
did they loose their creativity?
29 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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Dream Eater
Sometimes I kill you, or I let you live
My name is the Mr. simply the mister
I control your dreams, every dream you have is in my hands
When your running away from a monster, down the street, its not a monster
That thing chasing you, its society, it’s the prejudice, the racism, the hatred
When your having that nice dream, about a beautiful person, that just makes you-
That person, the beautiful person, is dead, too involved in looks, they have AIDS, you die, remember silly
Of course that dream about heaven you had just the other day, its so beautiful, white and pure
That’s actually hell, you woke up before the flames engulfed the purity, and all HELL broke loose
That other dream, the one you always had since a child, you always die at the end, by the mysterious figure, who you cant describe, just like a blob
That blob, that figure, that is me, and that is how will you die
You will die by that same knife, the same day, at the same time
However, you don’t die physically, I kill your imagination
I will not allow you to imagine what life might be like, you simply live, and assimilate, with the vermin in the world
Forevermore, I have killed you, the worst death of all, your mind.
poem by Daniel Schwarz
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If the means were available, we could trace our ancestry - yours and mine - back to the first blob of life-like material that came into being on the planet.
quote by Clifford D. Simak
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One blob of red in the wrong place and the audience isn't looking at the hero, they're looking at a patch of curtain (or something similar) and your whole effect is lost.
quote by Terence Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pancake
i'm not sure who's fooling who here
as i'm watching your decay
we both know you could deflate
a 7 hurricane
seems like you and your tribe
decided you'd rewrite the law
segregate the mind
from body and soul
[CHORUS:]
you give me yours
i'll give you mine
cause i can look your god
right in the eye
you give me yours
i'll give you mine
you used to look my god
right in the eye
i believe in defending
in what we once
stood for
it seems in vogue
to be a closet
misogynist homophobe
a change of course in
our direction
a dash of truth
spread thinly
like a flag
on a popstar
on a benzodiazapene
[CHORUS]
oh zion please
remove your glove
and dispel every
trace
of his spoken word
that has lodged
in my vortex
i'm not sure who's fooling who here
as i'm watching your decay
we both know you could deflate
a 7 hurricane
you could have spared
her - oh but no
messiahs need
people dying in their
name
you say "i ordered you a
pancake"
you say "i ordered you a
pancake"
song performed by by Tori Amos from Scarlet's Walk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A waffle is like a pancake with a syrup trap.
quote by Mitch Hedberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whoever eats a pancake never counts the holes in it.
I used a lot of pancake makeup and a prayer, and a Buddhist chant.
quote by Steven Cojocaru
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In a big family the first child is kind of like the first pancake. If it's not perfect, that's okay, there are a lot more coming along.
quote by Antonin Scalia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pancake Parlor
The pancake parlor is a great place to meet,
Where you can enjoy, your favorite meal you want to eat;
Go anytime of the day, they're open right thru, till 1am its true,
And such great service, and pleasant, to me and to you.
They've got a menu, at a reasonable price, to afford,
And you're not kept waiting to keep you so bored;
The seating is comfortable, so you won't be sore,
And as I said the price is okay, won't leave you poor.
Try the great menu, with entree', main course and sweet,
From steak to fries, pancakes with the lot, is a treat;
Salads of every kind, with dressings, make it complete,
Then icecream sundaes, or fruit salad as a sweet.
Yes! Go to the parlor the next meal you eat out,
Take your friends and tell them you'll shout;
A lovely drink, of iced lemon or orange tea,
Maybe something hot, like chocolate, with your tea.
Thanks all you staff, at the pancake parlor, your great,
To cheer up the lonely, when they have no mate;
And you will find, to go there you don't need to explain,
Why you chose to eat there, your privacy with you will remain.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Aspiring to a souffle, he achieves a pancake at which the reader saws without much appetite.
quote by John Leonard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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400
her blond hair unkempt
her eyes looking at the side of this page
and she does not say it
as she holds her piece of burnt pancake
with her tiny hands
all too dirty for a child
like her
why not do a good turn for me?
i am helpless.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kaiserschmarrn
Uncle Gomolka
says that this dessert
of shredded pancake
and stewed fruit
was invented for
Emperor Franz Joseph
i almost
forgot to
drink water
he says in Vienna
only frogs
drink water
funny duh!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Graffiti
Sometimes
I feel like my mind is
M
e
l
t
i
n
g
here.
In your uncertainty.
Drip
Drip
Dripping
As you attempt to shape it into conformity
I start to feel my heartbeat dipping
But I have this stubbornness in my hands
And a certain fire in my eyes
That stops me from meeting your demands
While identifying all of your lies
And
I will
N
e
v
e
r
Be
A grey blob in your scene
Smudged and weathered to blend
A zombie without license to dream
I'll graffiti your stillife until I meet my end
poem by Aria Siren
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The Player Piano
I ate pancakes one night in a Pancake House
Run by a lady my age. She was gay.
When I told her that I came from Pasadena
She laughed and said, "I lived in Pasadena
When Fatty Arbuckle drove the El Molino bus."
I felt that I had met someone from home.
No, not Pasadena, Fatty Arbuckle.
Who's that? Oh, something that we had in common
Like -- like -- the false armistice. Piano rolls.
She told me her house was the first Pancake House
East of the Mississippi, and I showed her
A picture of my grandson. Going home --
Home to the hotel -- I began to hum,
"Smile a while, I bid you sad adieu,
When the clouds roll back I'll come to you."
Let's brush our hair before we go to bed,
I say to the old friend who lives in my mirror.
I remember how I'd brush my mother's hair
Before she bobbed it. How long has it been
Since I hit my funnybone? had a scab on my knee?
Here are Mother and Father in a photograph,
Father's holding me.... They both look so young.
I'm so much older than they are. Look at them,
Two babies with their baby. I don't blame you,
You weren't old enough to know any better;
If I could I'd go back, sit down by you both,
And sign our true armistice: you weren't to blame.
I shut my eyes and there's our living room.
The piano's playing something by Chopin,
And Mother and Father and their little girl
Listen. Look, the keys go down by themselves!
I go over, hold my hands out, play I play --
If only, somehow, I had learned to live!
The three of us sit watching, as my waltz
Plays itself out a half-inch from my fingers.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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Eureka!
it is universal
the law of gravity of
depression
pulls you down
it hands to you a
mirror
where you see yourself
as gnarled
you feel
so lonely
and deprived
you feel the
weight of
injustice
you imagine
a self as a rock
pulverized
into nothingness
there is a need
to rise
to be careful
about the
blob of uselessness
eating you out
wearing
you out like
a broken
gear
of a machine
you are not what
that mirror
makes out of you
there is a splendor
in your own
world
the beauty of your own
moon
the majesty of your
stars
and these are all
in your mind
you must believe
in them
stay in there
and be well.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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