140 pancake recipes

Without the key it can't be told
how pancake secrets should unfold;
without the key to grandma's old
& secret recipe book I'll boldly
batter.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Bloody Valentine Blog Hop in 140 characters

The premise of this hop is to be the antithesis of Valentine's Day. There's no sweet romance, or lovey-dovey stuff allowed. It's down with the idea of candy and flowers. For one day writers and bloggers will dispense with the sappy romance, and showcase the bad side of love.  We will be celebrating heartbreak, love gone wrong, romantic mayhem and tragedy, hopefully with that little splash of humour and blood.  At the Bloody Valentine Horror Hop  you will find out what happens when the rose petals die, the candy melts, and lovers are looking for payback. So here are 6 anti-Valentinian 140-character tweets. Enjoy. When roses die, the petals fall, and leaves like brittle sawdust crack and rip her feeble skin;  she’s clearing dreams that ended;  losing him <3<3<3<3<3<3 When roses die the blood is red that drips to feed the worms of words unsaid, that blisters heartache’s burns while s...
Read more

April - NaPoWriMo - 6

On keeping a picture of my dog as a screensaver. Desktop, the screen- Saver, it seems Alright. She used to wait; Me typing; her fate My plight. Face turned away; Eyes turned; they say Goodbye. Why do I keep Her picture? See, Still mine. Look in her eyes— Still black and white, Still shine. Memories can’t feel Memories can’t steal The time. Image refreshed Background redressed Hey there. Dark against light Dream against night Not fair. Can’t hear her paws Can’t see her—pause— Not there. Can’t feel her fur Watching her stir Aware. Till one last time, One last sad line, Despair. Desktop: The screen Saver still seems alright. Written for ReadWritePoem #6, converse with images
Read more

April - NaPoWriMo - 14

the father held the answers and the reasons in his heart seasons for hope the start of all things keeping promises too close for flower’s bloom, the towering gloom of forest, watchman’s doom was filled, o’erpowering dreams that waited till the world’s unraveling restart, rebuild and he the holy braid repeating all he’s fallen still for wind that blows the promise filling the seasons reasoning sweet answers keeping home-fires burning hope returning heart still yearning sends the one who understanding this flashes furious flame unleashed a breeze that forest’s trees can speak its words true hope eternally forsaken, newly heard. Written for ReadWritePoem #14: a CLEAVE poem: The left hand (bold) words form the first stanza. Right hand (unbold) words are the second. And the whole poem read normally is its own third stanza. At least, I think that's what the definition meant.
Read more