The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
“Is anyone anywhere happy?”
The nose—end that twitches, the old imperfections—— Tolerable now as moles on the face Put up with until chagrin gives place To a wry complaisance—— Dug in first as God’s spurs To start the spirit out of the mud It…
No lame excuses can gloss over Barge-tar clotted at the tide-line, the wrecked pier. I should have known better. Fifteen years between me and the bay Profited memory, but did away with the old scenery And patched this shoddy Makeshift…
Two virtues ride, by stallion, by nag, To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern-jawed Reason, squat Common Sense, One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers. The trees are lopped, the poodles trim, The laborer’s nails pared level…
I walked the unwalked garden of rose-beds In the public park; at home felt the want Of a single rose present to imagine The garden’s remainder in full paint. The stone lion-head set in the wall Let drop its spittle…
Whiteness being what I remember About Sam: whiteness and the great run He gave me. I’ve gone nowhere since but Going’s been tame deviation. White, Not of heraldic stallions: off-white Of the stable horse whose history’s Humdrum, unexceptionable, his Tried…
Clocks belled twelve. Main street showed otherwise Than its suburb of woods : nimbus—- Lit, but unpeopled, held its windows Of wedding pastries, Diamond rings, potted roses, fox-skins Ruddy on the wax mannequins In a glassed tableau of affluence. From…
In sunless air, under pines Green to the point of blackness, some Founding father set these lobed, warped stones To loom in the leaf-filtered gloom Black as the charred knuckle-bones Of a giant or extinct Animal, come from another Age,…
The groundhog on the mountain did not run But fatly scuttled into the splayed fern And faced me, back to a ledge of dirt, to rattle Her sallow rodent teeth like castanets Against my leaning down, would not exchange For…
Meadows of gold dust. The silver Currents of the Connecticut fan And meander in bland pleatings under River-verge farms where rye-heads whiten. All’s polished to a dull luster In the sulfurous noon. We move With the languor of idols below…
Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother. The insects are scant, skinny. In these palustral homes we only Croak and wither.Mornings dissipate in somnolence. The sun brightens tardily Among the pithless reeds. Flies fail us. he fen sickens. Frost drops even the…