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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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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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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Relaxed Feet On The Table Surface
we do not wish to explore more
what life is
we are here we must live it
in daily celebration
i like the sunrise with my feet
comforted by the surface of the table
my shoes are dirty
but i never mind the weeping of the table cloth
i got lemonade on my hand
pancake glazed with pure honey from the farm
the world is standing still
i shy away from silly talk this time
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Are Not Around...
Make me feel
that you are still mine
on a midday
shower me with rain
at night
peep to my window like the moon
or be the wind at dawn
make my hair rise
in the morning
when i stare at the ceiling
or when i sit
at the veranda facing the sea
seeing a boat
sailing alone at sea
be my sunrise
be my brewing coffee
be my maple syrup
to my pancake
make me feel
that you are around
be the spirit
to my body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Many people do not realize that the snowshoe can be used for a great many things besides walking on snow. For instance, it can be used to carry pancakes from the stove to the breakfast table. Also, it can be used to carry uneaten pancakes from the table to the garbage. Finally, it can be used as a kind of stainer, where you force pancakes through the strings to see if a piece of gold got in a pancake somehow.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unincorporated Insights VIII
In the realm of persuasive dominion,
We are grinding in mechanized fittings,
Smashing in the roll of pressing pinions,
Watching as our heads— crushing and splitting—
Massage into a rouge polish for gears.
Our thoughts slowly gloss over orange rust—
Now crusting with our suppurated smears—
As the accruements shift and readjust.
Why do we pancake our skin and our bones,
Flattening our pursuits and our passions?
Why melt each other to produce clones
Portioned to consume commodity rations?
As we instill and install these values,
Fallacies that we believe in argue.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Sleeping Sky
At dawn the mist has welled
Up to clothe the sky in wool
Sunrise will melt the cover
Revealing blue
A few birds twitter
Muted and tentative
My coffee is weak this trip
Wistfully I
Recall my blackened percolator
Gone lo these many
As I stare at the fire
As the sleeping sky rolls over
Deeming the time too soon to rise
Like our teenage daughter
*groan*
“What time is it? ”
“6: 52”
*groan*
Sun and sky have no need of time
They make it up there
Like Corningwear
In Corning, New York
Get up
Sleepy
I’ll make you a pancake
The sky groans and rolls over again
poem by Tom Rubenoff
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The Greater Part
the greater part in us is beyond
the legal books
majority of the pie is sweet, decorated with
raisins and cathedral jellies
much of us is plump and bouncy
and glossy
no less than the maple syrup on
a pancake
early morning served with hot brewed coffee
i talk to myself
convinced that much of myself is just myself
in a soliloquy
actually a nice selfish conversation
where every part of my cell is happy
and if a part of it is hurt
i worry
since i only hurt myself and no one else
like those who think that they always
talk with sense
my favorite is a heaving a sigh
as though i am fetching water from a deep well
at least to convince myself
that i am still thinking
and sticking to the essence of what and who i am
i know myself,
that is why.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Cinderella Road
We picked sunflowers on a summer glade
Chased the butterflies of many colors
The golden sun gutters a ray of life
Our songs on a Sunday morning are delight
Life can be a pancake of honey and butter
Our mouth savors a sweet taste of heaven
We crave the piquant not the bland
Our kitchen is a diverse mixture of oil and spice
This is the Cinderella road
We left a smidgen of hopeless home
We smile at this new ambiance
Our spoons are filled with cinnamon grains
(written on July 27,2009 Danang City Vietnam)
poem by Chester Maynes
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