Good morning, everyone! I have a favor to ask of you beginning with tomorrow morning’s prompt. Could you help spread the word that the prompt is up each morning from November 23 to November 27? I know many of you already do an excellent job of this, but I won’t be able to link to them myself starting tomorrow, because I’ll be spending my first Thanksgiving in years with the Brewer side of my family up in Ohio. Many of them have never met Will or Hannah; some have never even met Tammy–so it’s going to be a great Thanksgiving.
As a result, I’ll also be furiously writing poems today and pre-loading them into the system (so each day through November 27, I’ll be talking to you from the distant past, otherwise known as November 22). Thanks in advance for helping spread the word!
*****
Today is a Tuesday (but not the last one of November), which means there are two prompt. They are:
- Pick a fruit, make it the title of your poem, and write the poem. Example titles include: “Banana,” “Kiwi,” “Lemon,” etc.
- Pick a vegetable, make it the title of your poem, and write the poem. Example titles include “Pickle,” “Potato,” “Asparagus,” etc.
Here’s my attempt:
“Tomato”
Everyone loves a veggie,
but you are just another fruit
sneaking into salad parties.
Everyone loves a veggie,
you know, like carrots, broccoli,
or stringbeans. Though it may sound cute,
everyone loves a veggie,
but you are just a fruit.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
And check out my personal blog: My Name Is Not Bob
“Cabbage”
Perhaps I’ll dance,
this afternoon,
while snowflakes cascade down,
clinging to my eyelashes,
blurring my vision,
presenting me a kaleidoscope world
where I’ll spin until
I’m too dizzy to stand,
so I’ll fall harmlessly
into a pile of leaves
then roll
into the cabbage patch
and see
if my head
stands out
in the crowd.
Jerry – what a great poem to start our day. I love the head/cabbage image in that crowded patch!
Love it!
So carefree feeling! Great one Jerry.
love the surprise and how it is worked into with this one – such fun
What a picture, Jerry!
No time to reply …. Wonderful start to the day…. Raven I sense a dancing chap whirling in the distance….
. Happy poeming all! Wonderful visit to Robert.
You always amaze, Chev!
Wonderful! Just wonderful.
Awesome piece!
Thanks everyone. I had decided before reading the prompt that I was going to start today’s poem the way I ended yesterdays. Once I read the prompt, I had to do a little . . . um . . . dancing.
That is a very fun poem Jerry.
Brilliant, and all the more so, now that I know you had already “danced” yourself into a corner, and we never would have known it. True to your talent. And so profoundly profound.
This is magical.
Too funny! I love it.
Jerry, Wonderful poem. LOL! It was fun picturing these images in my head.
Potato
I would like to thank the Potato
for being a vegetable so that I can say I eat vegetables,
no famine but plenty of awkward dislike.
Much like the rest of us
there is an ugly outer layer
but much to be found within,
if you don’t wait too long.
I have spoken so much about fire
that it feels good to like a potato,
even if a potato will rarely like you back
and if one did it probably shouldn’t anyway.
We mash them just as we mash everyone else,
so there’s that.
Have you found the metaphor yet?
Me neither
but it must be there, right?
Maybe under one of the layers of dirt
where you find the skin,
only to peel it away to reveal its heart
in order to devour that heart.
…even if a potato will rarely like you back. I love it!
Excellent!
Liked the question to the reader in the last third – just great.
So clever!
Mango
A sunrise captured in leathery skin
of green and red
sweet nectar tastes
like the kisses
you give me late at night
Rutabaga
Humble root
the staple of life
for those too poor
to eat cake
blended with your root cousins
you are a meal
fit for a king
-A sunrise captured in leathery skin
of green and red ….I love this line
I second that emotion. I spent my high school years in Naples, Florida. I had never heard of mango up ’til we had a tree in our back yard. Yummmm…
You make me hungry, with passion:) These are great!
These poems are real gourmet treats!
Bravo, esp the end of mango.
I love these two.
Mangos are perfect in flavor and color. Not many fruits can make that claim.
I was oh so waiting for a food challange. Expect more to come later
‘Plantains’
Spicy jerk chicken
Simmered down with
Plenty of rice and peas
Savoring taste of
Curry goat With as much
Cabbage as you please
Coconut water
Refreshing those
Regenerated taste buds
But nothing can compare to
Sweet ol’ plantains
To complete my caribbean love
Gregory, your poem reads like a Caribbean feast!
And I love to eat so this is right up my alley
Love my sweet plantains!
What in the world is a plantain?
Leave out the goat, and I’ll be right there!
Yes! Good old tasty plaintains! Love ‘em!
CUMQUAT
What the hell are you?
Your name sounds so strange,
kind of erotic in a squat sort of way.
Your build-up’s incredible,
but are you even edible.
Just the thought of you; I quiver.
But, do you deliver?
If I knew, I would chew you
But…I’m just not that into you.
Fiercely cute poem, just like the little orange cumquat!
A Raw Raw!
sweet potato
in jar of water
roots for you
Ooops! How did my above silly poem end up here? Sorry about that!
It’s that obsessive need to ride my coat tails, when your poetry stands on its own. Find your own league, and get in it! You’re Good that way!
Coat tails? Funny, I only see one part of that two-word item showing.
Oh, made an ass of myself again, didn’t I?
I was thinking more along the lines of a red barbed tail. Butt, if you insist…
Good one Walt.
Perfect.
Chuckling.
Who really eats those anyway?
Darn! I was gonna do kumquats. Oh well…kumquat may, I’ll find a fruit and veggie to write about! ☼
Do it, RJ! I wrote one also, based on a children’s book character I began writing about a couple years ago and haven’t gotten anywhere with. I need to go back to some of my children’s stories and get them publish-ready.
Good for you! That’s something I’d love to read!
Cool choice, Walt.
Carrots…
I’ve been in love with them
Since Gilbert tormented Ann…
Wash, peel, chop, slice
Measure, feel, pour, dice
Soup or cake, its humble stance
Draws eyes and lips into its dance
Orange music, common sanity
Choreographed for you and me
Suiting large hands, or small
Color and harmony in a bowl
Melody of the simplest kind
A gentle ballet
For the eye and the mind
Carrots orange, joining turnips yellow
Savory, warm, this little fellow
Adds sparkle to a dish where
Potatoes, cabbage, peppers, beans
White, purple, reds, greens
Gather in a bowl
Nourishment for the body and soul
Supper time, rally the troops
M-m-m-m good, love served as vegetable soup
You and I are on the same wavelength this morning, Janet. I like how you likened carrots to music and dancing.
sorry Anne Shirley, I forgot the ‘e’ at the top of the poem:)
One of the most memorable scenes from Anne of Green Gables is such a great starter for your “delicious” poem!
From another carrot fan!
“Wash, peel, chop, slice
Measure, feel, pour, dice
Soup or cake, its humble stance
Draws eyes and lips into its dance…”
I loved this part, Janet! The whole thing is very musical!
Such unrestrained love for carrots! I can relate!
“Since Gilbert tormented Ann” (with an “e.”)
You grabbed me with that first line. I just dusted
off my copy of Anne of Green Gables.
AVOCADO
You green hand grenade,
your dark skin is suspicious.
You are strange yet delicious.
Mm mm so good! So true.
Good one, Walt!
‘green hand grenade’ <— totally dig that!
LOVE THIS.
PASSION FRUIT
Delectible and sweet
I desire your fiery goodness.
I want you in my hot hands
giving me everything inside you.
My mouth waters, my fingers tremble,
My heart beats so hard
you can feel me rumble.
I need to devour you
my mouth is so dry,
if you want to be loved
I am your guy. Oh , I feel you
you want it too, I can’t wait
to sink my teeth in you,
I…I…I…uh, I gotta go,
something just came up!
!!! Love it!
Wow, Walt. Today is “on a roll day” for you!
Carrot
a rooted taper
with light from which to see
of the earth, tuberous
a salubrious key
to life enhancing
vital and pure
a sunset in the sky
hard or soft, cooked or raw
and sometimes a sweet treat
the best ever craving
in my first pregnancy
There is never a wrong time for a carrot. and you’re right. When I was pregnant I could eat those and not feel sick. I love ‘a salubrious key’…
…and tuberous, too!
One of my favorites, Laurie! Funny how we never forget.
The first thing I ever cooked by myself from a recipe was candied carrots. ^_^ Simply love your poem!
Thank you!
Pi ARE ROUND
You do the math if you must,
but put fruity goodness inside of that crust,
bake ’til it’s finished, golden and brown
with the hot steamy filling oozing around.
Crusted or latticed or crumble will top you,
you are sweet and delicious, I wouldn’t stop you
from being the choice after every meal,
in my opinion you’re a really big deal.
Be you apple or cherry, rhubarb or mince,
I’ve had this craving for you ever since
the day your hot goodness caught my eye,
but no matter what, you are my kind of pie!
enjoyed the sweet and paired delivery – nothing minced in goodness here
Like the math connection–it is not my forte! This is practically Pi-ar-erfect!
Pie = Love. (True story!)
BANANA
Sweet
European
Poet
(Hugs to you, Michele!)
Wondrous!
WALTER!! I can’t even TYPE that fast, let alone create! ZOWIE!!
I’m with Marie on this and I’ll add a YOWSERS to the mix!!
Had to take a coffee break before continuing at this frenetic pace!!!!!
~KIWI~
Peering through thin slice
I’ve goose bumps
Reminded of ocean days.
Green is of deep
Depth of sea, kiwi green.
Delicious green gem,
Wrap your salted arms about me.
Holding a piece of kiwi to the sun
I see the ocean in kiwi.
Shiny black seeds
Centralized around a pale core;
Shiny stones upon a distant shore.
I sense a sea in you sweet, sweet kiwi.
Hannah, this is the perfect prompt for you … our sweet nature girl!
It IS a fun prompt, Marie!! Smiles!!
Like kiwi green!
Thanks Patricia!!
How perfect! “shiny black seeds/Centralized around a pale core.”
Sarah, thanks a bunch!
You’re all making me hungry! And Walt, you’re sick! That’s why we love you!
)
Back later… I hope… to join the food fest!
Robert! What a fun day, cool prompt! Just wanted to wish you the most beautiful time with your family! Have fun glowing in the love. ~Smiles
I second that and I love your poem today!
PERSIMMON
Fruity ambiguity,
You’re a berry, yet your not,
you high fructose sweetness
sure hits the stop.
You’re like a tomato,
we’re not sure what you are,
but in my fruit cocktail
I’d make you a star.
Fruit
He was walking down the street
On the between boy and man crack
Feet tapping lightly, sun shining on his back
Feet tapping lightly, sun shining on his back
Man on the corner face squeezed up in a frown
Looked him up and looked him down
Standing on the corner like a big old darkened dirty boot
Spit on the sidewalk mumbling weird about some kind of fruit
Good one, Pearl.
Pearl–All in a day!
I liked very much.
That’s really fun. I love that: “big old darkened dirty boot”
Ooh thank you one and all… Was a little under weather….and the weather here in NY tonight is not weather anyone would like being under. Did not want to be rude….. Thank you…much appreciated….
~SWEET POTATO~
Beneath brown of skin
Sunset soft center
Surprises me.
Delectable hue
soothes, savory
Liquid laughter,
Queen of comfort.
Singing of the sweet
Sweet potato.
Yummy- Can’t wait to eat me some sweet potatoes on Thanksgiving.
Yes, sweet potatoes are so reminiscent of holidays for me, too!
Who better to write of sweet things? <3
<3!! Marie!
Sweet potato I just discovered a couple of years ago–you have captured its bliss!
Nice!!! They are blissful, thank you, Patricia!
Okra
Checking out at the grocery store, I set my bag of okra
onto the scale and waited for the young girl to ring it up.
“What’s this?” she asked, without a trace of a Northern accent?
“Darling,” I asked, without a trace of hyperbole,
“Doesn’t your Mama love you? That’s okra. Food of the gods.”
Nothing springing from the earth holds more appeal
than these prickly pods, best served thinly slice,
lightly dusted with cornmeal and fried
in a well-seasoned black skilled, then drained
in a bowl lined with layers of paper towels.
If enough survived the nibbling to make it to the table,
all bowed our heads for the blessing, keeping one eye
open, warily watching the bowl, ready to grab the spoon
at “Amen,” fighting off those we loved for first dibs.
In summer, our bounty allowed for okra stewed,
cooked in huge pots of gumbo, sometimes mixed
into batter of fritters, sometimes roasted, but when fried,
the bowl of Alabama ambrosia never went to waste.
Makes me want to try them, Nancy! What a great memory!
I love okra… my garandmother used to make the best okra gumbo.
…uh, grandmother!
Nancy, your southern smile is showing again.
I don’t even LIKE okra, but your poem makes me want to try again. ^_^
Nancy, I live so far north here in Ontario that carrots are more the veg of choice but your poem is so inviting that I will have to try okra some day!:)
Pomegranate
Mysterious ancient crimson
passion seeded filled
Imperious in a crystal bowl
Contemptuous of barbaric ways
Cool to creamed spinach nearby spilled
Pomegranate has always been a curious fruit for me. Nice one, Pearl!
“contemptuous of barbaric ways” – Excellent, Dr. P.
Ooh thank you Hannah and Sara
That’s what I get for posting so late, Pearl–you stole my fruit, lol. But I’ll use it anyhow. I liked yours, such a personality you created!
Olive
The chef asked
for some olive juice
across a
loud kitchen.
Giddy, his sous chef squealed in
glee, “I love you, too!”
Heehee!
I second Marie Elena’s
Posted under one of Walt’s many quality poems in error. Sorry, Pard!
A Raw Raw!
sweet potato
in jar of water
roots for you
This is actually an older poem I submitted to a children’s haiku mag, but they rejected my poor little sweet potato.
I actually was quite pleased with the play on words (raw/rah; root/root; sweet/sweet), but oh well.
Awwww….raw!
♥
I tried to give you a smile, but the PA site is chastising me for already giving you a smile. Fancy that.
Well, boo hiss on them.
♥
this is a little gem!
Thanks a bunch, Patricia!
{smiles} I love this, Marie.
Thanks Laurie!
If I Were A Fruit
If I were a fruit
Would I be a strawberry
With my seeds on the outside
For everyone to see
Or would I be an apple
Shiny to the eye
Juicy in the middle
I’d make a really great pie
How about an orange
Peel me and you’d find
You could eat my inside
But don’t chew on the rind
Would I be a banana
Traveling with the bunch
Snap me off and eat me
I’d go well with your lunch
A lemon would be like me
Tart and slightly sweet
Squeeze me for my juice
My pulp the daring eat
I could be a grapefruit
White or ruby red
Be careful with that spoon
I’ll spurt juice on your head
Don’t forget the tomato
Most think that it’s a veg
It’s juicy, yummy goodness
Cut yourself a wedge
My favorite is pineapple
The best of all the rest
Just try it on your pizza
It’s the one that I request
I guess if I were a fruit
Which one is best for me
Decisions aren’t my forte
Fruit salad I would be
Love it! =-)
So many wonderful tastes!
This brought a smile.
What Mosk said!
Cool one, Earl!
Apple
In a tree from flowers burst
On the scene the very first
From symbolic enticement to
Ensconced in a pie a brown bag lunch present due
Oh how, now humbled did this fall happen to delectable you?
Delectable poem!
Thank you Domino, delicious comment
Wild Apples
This autumn the apple trees on the hill
Are bowed low by their burden of fruit,.
small globes shining scarlet in the sunlight
No one will harvest them – this
bounty of small, gnarled nubbins.
Years have passed since anyone bothered
To care for, to prune and to spray.
The trees cling tight to their hillside
Amid tangles of briars, wild asters,
Goldenrod, smartweed and queen Anne’s lace.
Those who will feast in the winter
When the ground is frozen and bare
The deer, coyotes, and groundhogs,
small creatures who nibble their leavings
scatter the seeds in the wild.
Each spring a brief transformation
When blossoms, fragrant and pale
Cling to the old, weary branches
A bouquet of bridesmaids descending
Offer their promise to the wind.
This is such a picturesque glimpse of life on the road for a random apple tree.
“A bouquet of bridesmaids” Oh, pretty imagery.
Yes, I love that phrase, too.
JACKFRUIT
I’ll let you in on its secret.
Did you know it’s a common fruit
in Asia and Australia to boot?
Did you know it’s the largest
tree borne fruit in the world? (that’s wild)…er…
Did you know it tastes like pineapple, but milder?
Did you know the wood of the tree is used to make music,
through the instruments made from one of its uses?
Did you know the jackfruit is common in many Asian dishes?
Your blank stare is making me rather suspicious.
You might think your apathy cute,
but just as I thought, you don’t know jackfruit!
Grooooooooooan ….
And that goes for all your humor this morning, and for mine [got it for you]!
Don’t let jealosy come between what we have together. There, there…I understand!
One more time …
Wait for it …
Grooooooooooooooooooooan …………………………………..
Oh Nooooooooo
One more silly one (for kids), and I’m outa here. Back to read later.
Aloysius Kumquat
Said Sue Owl to Aloysius,
“You look sweet and quite delicious.
May I have a kiss, Kumquat?”
Said Aloysius, “I think not!”
“No need to fear me,” answered Sue,
“I eat meat. I won’t eat you.”
Aloysius thought a second
As Sue Owl, relentless, beckoned,
Coming closer, closer still,
Opened wide her sharpened bill …
Suddenly, kumquats assaulted
From the tree and ground, they vaulted
Hammering Sue Owl’s poor head.
Up she lifted; off she fled.
Aloysius cheered the fruit,
“Kumquat conquest! That’s a hoot!”
Very cute!
Thanks Mary!
Wow – that is so cute! I ♥ the kumquat conquest!
Thanks, Cutie!
AND a mouthful — in more ways than one!
)
Wow…..there are a lot of great poems. Its grat to be around excellent poets
Oh-so-true!
I’m loving the poems today!
Chili Pepper
She was as zesty as they come
a spice of life to all
who met her, unforgettable.
Yesterday she lost her fight
a hard to swallow fact, burning
but she’s one hot angel now.
Sweet!
Is this a tribute, Laurie? Great metaphor!
I assumed the same, Patricia. I bet it is.
Yes, it is. She was a 45-yr-old mother of two (4 & 8), wife, friend, lover of life… with so much spunk and laughter… she helped others through her illness. She battled breast cancer last year (chemo, surgery, more chemo), got the all clear and then at her three month check up they discovered the cancer had grown back in the very same place and spread to her lungs and brain (stage 4). That was less than 3 mos. ago. So very sad.
So sad, Laurie. Was afraid that your words had a deeper meaning. Lucky she was to have a friend so poetic in this garden of life. Take care.
So sorry for your loss and the loss to her family; I’m glad though that she really lived her life and that she’s remembered so fondly.
It just reinforces once again how truly special each day is.
So sad, but a sassy, spicy tribute. Nicely done!
Awww Laurie… Your poem and sassy angel jumped right off the page.
. Nasty awful business.
Great poem and a tribute that sounds just perfect
Heart-breaking roller coaster crashed ride
Garlic
A clove of garlic
Can help ward off vampires and
Potential lovers.
Yes… sometimes potential lovers are vampires!
Quite true Laurie!
or hotly Italian!
or Italian vampires!
LOL. LOve this!
Watermelon Contest Tonight
Odd sign for a bar
translates as
Wet T-shirt Contest
AND DON’T SWALLOW THE PITS!!!
Unexpected and funny.
PUMPKIN
I’ve searched the supermarket aisles in vain.
It’s Thanksgiving – where have the pumpkins gone?
Here’s mincemeat pie, and apple, French and plain.
I’ve searched the supermarket aisles in vain.
No golden pumpkins in the produce lane;
no Libby’s filling, canned for Thursday dawn.
I’ve searched the supermarket aisles in vain.
It’s Thanksgiving. Where have the pumpkins gone?
Loved the tone of this, very dramatic.
This happened last year, too. I love baking with pumpkin but alas, no cans to be found.
Surely pumpkins aren’t endangered….
Love this, Taylor. Last year, my supermarket produce guy told me there would be less pumpkin this year and I should stock up. Apparently the pumpkin community has gone on strike.
Marula Fruit
We have to trust the elephants
when it comes to picking fruit
long trains moseying to the
marula trees where they rely
on fermented windfall, the
whole orchard like Papa’s eggnog,
the podlike fruit all brandied
in its own leathery glass, until
the drunken trumpeting is heard
everywhere, the elephants’ big legs
kicking in the air or leaving long
skids where walking proved a
challenge as they wallow in praise
of marula fruit. People learn from
animals, take this pachyderm hint
and make amarula from it, like
the love child of kahlua and amaretto.
Drinking our fruit can be so fine;
just think of it as elephant wine.
Really enjoyed this. Wish I knew what marula fruit was.
elephant wine!
Love this!
Thanks, all. Go immediately to your local ABC and get some Amarula. I always knew elephants were wise and had those fabulous memories, but who knew they had great taste in liquors?! It’s a product of South Africa.
Spinach
Frozen spinach
I once gagged on you
at the dinner table
so spectacularly
that I never had to
even try to eat you
again. You did not,
then, become a part of me,
my bones, nerve fibers.
We did not have any
childhood adventures
together, except that one,
the violent rejection
that became family lore.
I am made of other stuff—
carrot sticks, corn.
You remain to me
a wet mystery, waiting
without reproach.
A vegetable-fable
Cinderella was a Brussels sprout
the kind of snack you only think about
occasionally, like when the cupboard’s bare
or Christmas guests appear from who-knows-where
and you are caught short-handed.
Her sisters were the prize zucchinis,
tightly stuffed in mink bikinis
tanning on the castle lawn
while Cinders worked till dusk from dawn
doing the jobs that she was handed.
But then Prince Charming, that great star fruit, paid a call
and planted the idea of a ball.
The bully-girls thought they’d be most appealing
They had no idea they’d be dealing
with their sister, who, to be candid,
was more delicious to the eye
than they. They were left alone to cry
like onions when she stole the prince and left a clue
at midnight – with a single crystal shoe
the heart-sore lover-boy was handed.
The story ends, as all good meals do,
With sweetness to top off this most romantic stew.
Our heroine delicious, ripe and pure
Outlasted both her sisters, rotten to the core
At least, that’s how I’m told this fruit-and-veggie fairy tale ended…
LOVE.YOUR.STUFF!!!
Awesome!
Andrew- This is great!
Great story!
Love it!
LovedyloveLOVE this, Andrew!
Great! I’d love to live in your head for a while;-)
Andrew, this is amazing!
love, joy, peace, patience,
kindness, goodness, faithfulness,
gentleness, restraint
wow – who’d have thunk that would fit in a haiku?!? Nice job.
Thanks, Andrew! I’ve often found haiku lurking in the Bible. Thinking of digging through. There must be a chapbook in there, somewhere. Sometimes it needs a bit of tweaking, like changing “self control” to “restraint,” but it totally works.
Thanks again!
Sentiments so sweet!
Oh, man. Had a fleeting thought on these this morning, then moved on. Could NOT ever, ever do them more justice than you just did. Perfect.
Thanks, friend.
But, there they were. Ya know?
I know. Big ol’ spirit fruit bowl, waitin’ to be devoured. I’m not so good at digesting them all, but still trying…
I hear ya, De. I hear ya. We’re all in that same fruit boat.
Cinquain For Mangoes
tangy
and sweet a bridge
between winter and spring’s
berries, alphonsos and atalfos come
to market
Sweet! Welcome back, Alana!
Maduros (a cascade poem)
Santa doesn’t want cookies or milk
Since he stopped in Guayaquil
Maduros is all he wants
If you’re a kid or the head of state
don’t leave these on Santa’s plate:
Santa doesn’t want cookies or milk
They are the easiest thing to cook
On maduros, Santa is totally hooked
Since he stopped in Guayaquil
If you want a gift, I reckon
Serve him these and he’ll go back for seconds
Maduros is all he wants
* Maduros = sweet plantains
* Guayaquil = city I was born in (Ecuador)
Super creative, Jac!!
Love this one!
Thanks, you guys! My mom makes the best maduros. This one’s for her.
For Mom! Good to hear it Jacq. Be well my friend!
Thanks, Walt. <3
Delightful! Just wonderful.
very fun poem.
Thank you!
Perfect!
GO FORTH AND BE FRUITFUL
From town to town….
O’er hill and dale….
Our fine seeds…
Will never fail…
Burma Shave!
We’ve still got a Burma Shave ad on a road near here. Your one would go great!
A Fruit? A Vegetable?
Two rhubarb plants–
a big mistake– plants three or four
feet across take over.
In June I have so much rhubarb,
then Rhubarb Pie, Rhubarb Chutney
Rhubarb Fool.
Nothing stops rhubarb–
not bugs, not weeds,
not weather. After the third
crop, my neighbors won’t take
anymore, I cut away all the stalks
and the spot, where now only
the nubs of new leaves
push up is an empty space
three or four feet across.
In the evenings the smell
of earth, the image
of curling leaves is there–
a tangy
rhubarb insistence
lingers to say that next year
the pesky rhubarb will fill
the garden, my kitchen again.
Love this. Great phrases – “rhubarb insistence” and “Rhubarb fool” Wonderful poem.
Orange
O range in color as well as name
R eally juicy that’s its fame
A mazingly so full of C
N utrition for you and me
G ood except for peels and seeds
E xtra good when firmly squeezed
Apples
A variety of apples are available today
P err Russet, Galloway
P ink Lady, Cheddar Cross
L eather Coat, Charles Ross
E lton Beauty, Oldenburg
S moothee Golden, plus a whole lot more
Avocado
The original hippie, fake vegetable,
alligator pear, this wrinkly
unlovable thing that grows on spindly toothpicks
hovering on your sill like some improbable octogenarian
verging on water birth, this audacious sack of vowels
whistling its o’s, arching its a’s
with kundalini insouciance
coming from California, unashamed
giving you fat and knowing you’ll love it
transubstantiating, in loving hands, into guacamole;
it’s butter, it’s half-animal, it’s a color you’re trying
to forget, it’s from another culture,
another planet, and when
it comes into the room
there better be a party
someone better grow up
someone better suck it up
and smile
Pamela Murray Winters
I liked esp “it comes into the room
there better be a party”
well done – mosk
Love this! “The original hippie,” It’s butter, it’s half-animal, it’s a color you’re trying to forget” LOVE!
Thank you. I’ve been reading these and thinking that this prompt might have led to some of our best work. If I tried to compliment every one that’s moved me so far, I’d get stuck by the “posting too fast” demon and never get my work done!
Will do, Robert!
Have fun, and Happy Thanksgiving in advance!
Apple
Get your story right before you go ruining my reputation:
nowhere in the book of Genesis, nowhere in the Good Book
will you find mention of the apple as the forbidden fruit.
It’s taken years to overcome that shadow—t aking credit
for keeping doctors away, promoting John Chapman
long before mascots found their place, appearing as logos
alongside sharpened yellow pencils on school bags
and jumpers of first grade teachers. Temptation comes
in many forms, many colors, not all firm, round, and red.
Surely the grape has played its part in temptation, and we know
the fig grew there in the garden, leaves aplenty. Remember,
too, that any fruits seems sweeter when place out of reach.
“Remember, too, that any fruit seems sweeter when placed out of reach.” Oh-so-true! And more excellence from your pen.
Any poem with Johnny Appleseed in it wins me over! And this one is a gem!
The apple has some good arguments!
Another winner!
Aubergenius
Yes eggplant yes Gertrude grilled Stein sliver thin stripped
and laid out round (milk soaked) an odd plodding or nod tomato
shodden not that she was plump purple stumped in that portrait
by Picasso what with polenta not noodles and crunchy
onions on it on is in in thin and on it ‘shrooooms I mean
Lasagna lay layered low nosagna will be the same and parsley
In which Gertrude Stein is compared to an eggplant while reciting a recipe for polenta lasagna.
Genius indeed. ^_^
(A soggy sonnet, with obvious nod to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who may or may not have ever had to scrub mashed banana out of her carpets. Many thanks to my children this morning, for the added inspiration.)
Banana
in the carpet,
How do loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee to all depth and breadth and might
Resolve(™) can reach, when mashed all out of sight.
From this unappealing and surreal place
I loathe thee to the level of disgrace.
Most quiet fruit, fostered into my floors
I loathe thee freely, could not loathe thee more.
I loathe thee purely, pureed sticky mess
I loathe thee with a passion split, confessed
In my scrubbed grief, and on my tired knees
I loathe thee with a loathing so complete.
With my lost mind, —I loathe thee with the means,
Screams, tears, of all my life! – and, if it be,
I shall but loathe thee better, after clean.
“fostered”
! Great, as always!
Thanks for noticin’ ‘fostered’, Marie. Glad somebody caught it. Snuck ‘split’ in there, too.
Classic!! LOL
Must have been a tough morning. Great poem!
this is great!
Somewhere, Elizabeth Barrett Browning is splitting with laughter!
Vegetable to follow.
…
Knowledge
If we plucked it from the Tree, it was only because
the frosts were coming, and this was the last
red-ripe thing in Paradise. (Life buds green,
and stays green, and never turns sweet.)
Split down the middle, its black gnat-seeds
spelled out all our blessings and little damnations.
The flesh was tart, reminded us of (we can now say)
licking a battery, a jolt that carried up to the head.
And there it carefully undid our sleeping brains,
opened the orchid of our awareness. We almost
couldn’t take it, buried as we were in sudden vision
and unexpected doubt, and all that sourness.
But the miracle was the second bite, the third,
taste compounding taste until we could swallow
(and catch it in our throats). The peel became
Dreams. The pith became Human Fascination.
After a while we couldn’t even discern where
acid ended and sugar began: it all mixed together,
contented. Now we can’t imagine if we had
never put our teeth to that fruit at all.
WOW. Amazing take, and true-to-Joseph-talent.
I especially like “After a while we couldn’t even discern where acid ended and sugar began: it all mixed together, contented.”
Not just poetry … revelation.
The Lime
Lime sits
in lemon’s shadow,
smaller, darker
maybe even a little unfriendly.
Rarely the centerpiece,
often,
an afterthought.
Usually relegated
to being sliced in half
and squeezed over
the star of the dinner show.
But then ,
take a bite
and she sizzles with cool zing
makes the mouth water
and brings out something
exquisite,
hitherto unk—
ach –
I just drooled
onto my keyboard.
Mmmmm. Me, too!
LOL And don’t forget Key Lime Pie!!
Lime and ginger go great together, and what is better in Vodka than a lime? Love this, B.
‘Orange’
I see you
Over there
Tempting me to
Devour you
Enticed by your perfect curves
Your vibrant color
Beckoning me to come
Run
Guiding me to you
Like a lighthouse guiding a stranded ship
I am stranded in you multi texture
skin
Knowing the sweet juices within
But I’ll take it slow
Enjoying every moment of your
Hidden surprises
Peel you open with the delicacy of a physician
You are more than a midnight snack
You hold my nutrition
Sucking into your soft flesh
Enjoying your juice running down the my bottom of my chin
It is a sin that I can have you
Only once
Satisfy my urge right on time
No other choice comes to mind
You are one of a kind
Don’t worry
Nothing will go to waste
I’ll eat every ounce of your sweet nectar
Go on, and on and on
Until there is nothing left
Then use the rest of you as garnish
Perfecting my life
Always by my side
I will never go wrong with my
Baby
Orange
Sorry, just could help myself with this one
Man, I want some OJ right now, real bad. Nice work.
MANGOES..
I travel back in time,
to summer vacations;
two full months of fun
after examinations.
The smell of mangoes
in the hot summer air,
and they’d be there
sliced, ready to eat,
the expected treat,
my sister and I loved.
Some such moments,
often, I wish for more;
it makes me wonder,
if future has it in store.
http://1mind2worlds.blogspot.com/2011/11/mangoes.html
Wow. This prompt brought out brilliant poems from everyone! And now I’m hungry
Well, it just didn’t want to be a haiku, so I’m not gonna make it.
Pomegranate
Impenetrable skin with
a thousand red jewels inside
Like a once-broken heart.
Oooh … spot on!
Exactly.
What a vivid picture! I will forever look at pomegranates differently now. ^_^
Wow. I LOVE this.
Oh, thank you all so much!
love the red jewels
thank you
Regret
That ruddy apple Eve gave to Adam
we’d have been in clover if he’d refused it.
We’d still be living in Paradise
with no overcrowding and enough to eat.
Maybe they would never have gotten around to reproducing if they remained innocent…Perhaps they would still be there, puzzling over the names of the animals.
Asparagus
Long, crisp and delicious,
Anyone can see.
But why must we smell you
When we pee?
LOL
Apologies. But it needed sayin’.
Heehee, De!
Thought we made a good pear,
But you’re bananas.
LOL!
Onion
Peel
her slowly
fragile paperthin
layer upon layer, skin
shed, past cast into bin;
hold breath, bring tis
-sue. Knowing is
not without
tears.
This looked a bit more like an onion in its original font. Ah, well.
But it’s still pretty, like a Christmas ornament.
De, you need a book of these little poems. Illustrated. (But not scratch-and-sniff, because of the asparagus.)
There are two meanings! …and I think our De is deep. Love it!
DE PLACE-MIDDLE NAME HERE JACKSON, YOU GET THEE TO A PUBLISHER THIS INSTANT, YOUNG LADY!
It’s JoAnne. De(Linda) JoAnne. No need to shout, madam.
“DeLinda JoAnne? Pretty!” she whispered, softly.
NOW GET THEE TO A PUBLISHER, DELINDA JOANNE JACKSON!
LOL
What Marie Elena says.
A.W.E.S.O.M.E.!!!
Blackberries
In Oregon, blackberry vines
are everywhere.
If they can get a toehold,
they take over.
Some of my earliest memories
involve my great-grandma
in her sunbonnet (!)
using her grub-hoe
to banish the unwelcome
visitors.
She had some
tenderly cultivated
vines
and she didn’t appreciate the
wild interlopers
trying to cross-breed
with her babies,
making them produce,
seedy
sour
fruit.
At harvest time, the briar patch
was immense.
We took buckets and
cautiously
wound
wended
crept
through the vines,
accumulating
berries
scratched arms
and legs
and purple
lips.
And the jam was
the best I’ve ever had.
My husband loves blackberry (and black raspberry) jam, but it’s a little too tart for me.
I love it too, but I think mostly because it always goes with memories. And my grandma complaining that the seeds kept getting under her “plate.” LOL
A particular favorite of mine, as is this poem.
Thank you Sara! ^_^
Brussels Sprouts
Oh, oft-maligned and
somewhat seasonal sprout of
Brussels. I’ll eat you.
Broccoli
Eat your broccoli trees!
Best way to get kids to eat?
Just be dinosaurs.
Two often misunderstood vegetables. I love the broccoli but you can have your brussel sprouts. Nice Haikus’
I love them both. ^_^ Thanks Michael!
Greens
The cooking of greens
Be they collards or turnips is
Traditionally a southern thing.
Kale, however,and perhaps spinach,
Must have snuck down from up north.
The recipe is really very simple:
Start with cooking the salted meat -
Yes, that is the proper name,
It is pork, on the salted meat aisle -
Using a pot that is quite large,
Bring the meat to a sizzle while cleaning the greens.
There should also be beer on hand and
Used liberally at this step,
Or perhaps two, or four, steps before.
De-stem and tear, do not cut, the leaves,
Add to the pot along with some beer.
Stir to incorporate the fat and liquid,
Add in some water, just enough to cover.
Leave it for a while, about two beers worth,
Then return to stir and add in some salt.
Spend time with the family and a couple libations
And that should have them just about right.
Serve with cornbread and pintos,
Prepared in similar fashion,
Along with some onions, chow chow and pepper sauce,
And, of course, some sweet tea (or beer).
You betcha… We southerners will add beer to almost anything. Have you tried it in chili?
…a bit of a departure from my normal fare.
RIPE FOR THE HARVEST
Cumquats, passion fruit, persimmons
Oh my!
Sweet Potatoes, tomatoes, and even
Apple Pie!
My tongue licks my lips,
my appetite, whetted.
What a cornucopulation,
a horny-o-plenty of delight!
Big fun!
Departure? Paula, that’s a plunge into the deep end. WOW. You really came out to play today! Again, I say, WOW!
Sweet and sassy!
Grapes
One by one they may be plucked
and consumed. Each, separate
and individual, yet part of the whole.
Hanging in bunches, peacefully,
they seek social and economic
equality, asking for solutions to
problems they cannot comprehend.
History has a way of repeating itself.
The search for prosperity continues
on the streets and in the cities.
Clinging together in clusters on woody
vines they are harvested. The beautiful
barefoot girl walks diligently thru the vat
until they are ready for fermentation.
By Michael Grove
Michael, love “Clinging together in clusters…”
Great one, Michael.
What fun!
Sorry, comment meant for Paula’s poem. Got bumped in transit.
Carrots
The market is empty but for a couple of stalls
selling fruit and veg and one with a man
holding up blue plastic carriers and calling out the produce
as if it was exotic goods from a medieval orient.
Two pound o’ pears for a pound
three pound o’ bananas
get your sweet and juicy Clementines.
We walk on, the dog and I.
Just Bear today, returning from the vet’s
where he’d been patient while they shave his leg
and draw blood for a liver test.
They missed the first time and made him cry.
He looked up at me with eyes that seemed to say:
This is your fault.
Unofficial stalls take advantage of the closed market
fly pitching their wares to cold and huddled shoppers.
Socks and boxers, three for a fiver.
An old man examines a rolled-up blanket,
his eyes milky with cataracts.
I hear him muttering as we pass:
Bucket, knife, pound of carrots
and in the gutter is an avocado
filthy with mud and leaves.
The lines should be staggered in this a bit, not sure if it will work…
…
Hearts of Palm
arranged on a plate, sliced obliquely on one end,
a tray of beaker vegetables, cream-colored and opaque
with a skirt of garlic oil and peppercorns for each thick finger
like a broken tower, and the plate balanced on sand
already littered with coconut trimmings, brown mate drops,
lemon rinds and the like, hearts of palm with their liquid skirts
shifting from gravity when we spear them with forks,
take them in and roll them, marinating on our tongues,
then burst their outer shells between molars eager for the kill
so that heart is freed from heart and it just about
melts into the essence of this place, where the long trees
bend with the ebb and rise of the ocean, letting their arteries
bathe in salt air until we come carve them out, slice
obliquely, et cetera, eat them beneath the sighing fronds
that gave them life in the first place, and if by some magic
we carry a piece of whatever we take in, when we eat
hearts of palm, maybe that bend and sigh, that opaque
not-quite-white, maybe our hearts then will be like that too
No, it did not. Grumble grumble.
Joseph, (I’m on a Mac)…for me that only works with “OPTION” and space bar struck at the same time, space by space. A bit maddening.
…”so that heart is freed from heart…” Sigh.
“maybe our hearts”… what a thought.
An oil and lemon poem, Joseph.
Chiquita Banana
Chiquita (bonita) banana, that’s me
I won’t blame you if you snicker
when you learn I buy it for sheer vanity
YES! I buy it for the sticker!
Jac, this is so fun, and so YOU.
That quick wit is why I loooove your book. (Poematic, people. Google immediately.)
LOL, you crack me up! Thanks!
CORN
I’m standing on a hilltop
between regions of coal and corn,
hungry for corn-on-the-cob
grilled in the husk, and buttered –
nothing better. Corn is the emblem
of plenty, the ear of thanksgiving
bursting with song.
But who can afford it, these
ethanol days? The price just went up
again – grain for flocks and herds.
In green rows it ripens golden
and silver. It’s money; the birdie
batted over invisible nets.
Remember the hermit
who withdrew to a high hill
between Man and God. As he prayed
for the soul of his sovereign,
he was granted hunger-rations:
six quarters of corn.
Funny how the tides turn as the years roll.
suuper cute poem Robert
Corn
Butter and pepper,
mixed with salt,
spread lavishly
plus a bit of charm,
sweet it still is,
wonder how,
no wonder though
for i love such corn
mmm… me, too
Based on true experiences of being a Dad.
Tomatoes
Cousin to nightshade,
Who first figured out
That sun-dried is not
So much deadly
As tasty? Further,
Can that person convince
A three year old
(because I can’t)
That pizza sauce
Is really just warm
Ketchup (or
Catsup if you
Are fancy)?
-Cory Funk
I love this!!!!!!!!!!!!
adorable !!!
Vegetable Wars (skeltonic verse)
On bended knees
I ask you please
to eat your peas.
I mean jeez
Money doesn’t grow on trees.
No! No! No!
Just make them go!
But don’t you know
you need them to grow,
although,
perhaps you prefer beans
you need some greens
and that means
I’m tired of these scenes.
I don’t like beans at all.
They make my skin crawl!
How about chard?
You make this so hard!
Don’t discard
my advice to eat right.
So don’t fight,
hold on tight
and take a bite.
You just might
like veggies despite
all this ado.
It would be a coup
If only you
would eat a radish or two
so don’t be blue.
Just chew
and if you do,
you’ll soon be through.
In lieu
of a radish, I’ll have a carrot.
At least that has merit!
– Cara Holman
Sounds like my daughter with green beans… she gags.
Lol, Laurie. Actually, it sounds a lot like me as a kid. Now I eat all my veggies.
I love this poem and the form. Not sure what it is, however.
Thanks, Sara. It’s a skeltonic poem, and if you click through on my name, I have a post describing it on my blog. There used to be a post on Poetic Asides about the skeltonic poem, but when they shifted to WordPress, somehow many of the links to poetic forms seem to have disappeared.
Peaches
(a triolet)
She’s seductive and slender
Every man wants a slice
Quite exquisite and tender
She’s seductive and slender
To her charms you will surrender
Just a tinge of her will suffice
She’s seductive and slender
Every man wants a slice
* correcting title
Peach
(a triolet)
She’s seductive and slender
Every man wants a slice
Quite exquisite and tender
She’s seductive and slender
To her charms you will surrender
Just a tinge of her will suffice
She’s seductive and slender
Every man wants a slice
Corn
I want to sink my teeth into you
it would be a delicious treat
but I somehow cannot reach
all the way down to my feet
asparagi
It’s not the asparagus so much,
nor the chopped onion and leek and celery in the pot.
It’s not even the broth or the butter, and
the chopped potato merely thickens the pot.
It’s not the vellutata di asparagi recipe,
the one from the Harry’s Bar cookbook,
the one that she graciously gave me,
when all I asked was a peek, a quick look.
It’s the kindness, the thought,
her mindfull giving, it is,
that fills up my stock pot
with friendship and bliss.
Oh, lovely! I adore how you look at life. And I want that recipe.
fig
UPON occasion, I report
on the state of the fig tree in my back yard.
It was a twig when I bought it at Home Depot
(purveyor-of-all-things-Hardware store).
As the tree does not love my off-again-on-again climate,
I rarely—-rarely, rarely, rarely—-get to eat
its fruit.
However, on those scattered occasions, it’s been good.
No. ”Good” is too hard a word
for something that disappears into a perfume custard.
That pot-bound stick from the mega-store
brings forth delight.
(and that deliciousness comes from a thing that looks for all the world
like an aged and unlovely scrotal sac,
but I draw no conclusions)
On occasion, though, I report.
ok, been eating them all my life and never made that image connection; but it is perfect. Great childhood memories of climbing up and eating them right off the tree; fighting the birds for the last ripe ones.
Who else but Barbara can take us from “disappears into a perfume custard” to “aged and unlovely scrotal sac” (EWW!) seamlessly! LOL!
Wha…what? Did I miss something?
Yah, ya did!
Pears
Swollen with sun,
honeyed from within.
Lift one; feel its
heft in your palm.
Slice in half;
eat with spoon
(per instructions
that came in the box).
Bright butter
slides down your throat.
Somewhere inside,
a golden bell rings.
When each one is in
its own cardboard cell,
(some wrapped in paper,
for good measure),
each one is its own gift.
Some, I share.
Some, I hoard.
My family knows
I need the last one
for some January morning.
Makes me hungry for pear.
…AND NOW A WORD FOR THE GREEN LEAFY THINGS
Eruca sativa, (Arugula)
Vernonia calvoana, (Bitterleaf)
Brassica rapa, (Bok Choy)
Brassica oleracea, (Brussels Sprouts)
Lactuca sativa, (Celtuce)
Basella alba, (Ceylon Spinach)
Beta vulgaris, (Chard)
Cnidoscolus aconitifolius, (Chaya)
Chichorum intybus, (Chicory)
Malva verticillata, (Chinese Mallow)
Lepidium sativa, (Cress)
Cichorium endivia (Endive)
Valerianella locusta, (Lamb’s lettuce)
Barbarea verna, (Land Cress)
Lactuca sativa, (Lettuce)
Sinapis alba, (Mustard)
Cichorium intybus,
(radicchio to the rest of us),
Crambe maritima (Sea Kale)
Spinacia oleracea (Spinach)
Nasturtium officinale (Watercress)
Ipomoea aquatica, (Water Spinach)
Claytonia perfoliata, (Winter Purslane)
Eat-a you greens, watsa da matta?
high lelvel skill avoidance
avoidance until a nudge of oversight
This list poem is a feast for the tongue. And they say Latin is a dead language.
Pea
How did I find it?
How did it start?
Just a small, hard lump
about the size of a pea.
Am I still me?
oh. it’s so simple and disturbing – very true.
wow…
Was just gonna log off, but then I saw this. Amazing poems today, but this one.. so much said in such few words.
<3
SO hoping this is your character. The sentiment is deeply planted in so few words. Wow.
This is so poignant, Michelle.
PIMENTO
An olive’s memento,
it’s enough you get stuffed,
but where goest the rest of you?
You tiny red garnish
filling the hole, what have to done,
to have so sold your soul?
HA! Good one!
Very Clever Walt!
Love an olive’s memento.
Peach
smooth soft and downy
like a newborn baby’s bum
but smelling sweeter
But a newly bathed and powdered baby’s bum is one of the nicest smells in the world.
Yes, it is.
Lemon
“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”
Life left a bitter taste in my mouth
sour
like lemons
and I Knew
no amount of sugar
could erase that taste,
but I was wrong.
For you arrived in my life unheralded
sweet
like candy
and you knew
just the right amount
of sugar to apply
to erase that sour taste.
And I haven’t had a bitter moment since.
<3 <3 <3 So sweet!!
*WARNING*
–overtly political content–
“Ketchup”
Saw Reagan’s portrait in Sacramento
and remembered that the first political gaffe
I was conscious of was his assertion
that ketchup was a vegetable.
That to address the declining trend
in the healthiness of school lunches
in public schools. So with trillions
going to end communism
in foreign countries, he balked
at buying the kids a little broccoli,
some fresh chard, even a wedge
of crisp lettuce. I laughed derisively
as a seventh grader. Now I’m mad.
Raise my taxes and give the kids
a decent lunch to help them
stay strong and clear-headed
because for want of some kale…
don’t look now, but pizza is a vegetable
Papaya
Do you remember?
The seeds laid open,
tiny promises
like those we vowed
just days before;
first quiet dance
on sandswept shore.
I do.
New, in love,
we ate our fill.
But I savor this life now,
sweeter still.
Ooooo. Maybe “seed laid bare” instead? Hmmmmm…
**SEEDS laid bare** Of course the ONE time I don’t get the “You’re posting too quickly!” message, I have a typo. Gah.
Lovely, De.
“O Juice of Orange”
A Sijo
(pronounced see-zhoo)
Wake me not O cursed ale, I n’er shall be thy mistress dawn.
Return thee bloom to orchard yon, unclothe thy dimpled skin to soil.
Arise O Jack, Arise Daniel and stir thy tumblers iced and limed.
! Love it!
Brussels sprouts
I love ‘em – yin
but they don’t love me – wind
others spurn ‘em – yang
they don’t know what they’re missing.
Not a fan of them.
Cranberries
The tables were laid out with corn,
water from the pond,
and sweet yellow squash
and the people sat on one side
or the other,
wary and full of thanks
at the same time.
Did they know or not know
that soon the real feast
would begin?
Cranberries scooped from bogs.
Pine forests bought for shells,
and the coves, where clams
clung to winter tides
and gray seals glistened,
taken for nothing,
as if they were
there for only that,
the taking.
Reminds me of a favorite children’s story set on a cranberry bog called Cranberry Thanksgivings. When I taught school we had lots of fun with that book.
Lettuce
Lettuce keep our heads together
in times of good or bad.
Lettuce fill our hearts with joy.
Give thanks for all we’ve had.
Lettuce leaf through all the memories
we have shared with love.
Lettuce grow in grace and beauty.
Gifts from up above.
By Michael Grov
This almost sounds like a Thanksgiving prayer. ^_^ Love it!
Thanks so much. It could very well be a Thanksgiving prayer.
Very nice!!!!
I want to write a prayer sooo bad!
Maybe this will inspire me.
Love this, Mike. Lettuce bow our heads and give thanks for life.
Beautiful, Michael
APPLE PIE
Northern Spy apples
Cinnamon lots, nutmeg too
Blue ribbon best pie!
Yummy… apple pie’s my favorite!
peach
fuzzy fruit filled with sunshine
sweet and sensual
Georgia girls are peaches
mustard greens
welcome new year by
eating greens for money
black-eyed peas for luck
Nice contrast. Is this the Puente form?
No, well, I don’t know what Puente form means, but I intended it to be 2 sepatate haiku-style poems. Now I have a new form to learn, thanks!
the weathered oak and wicker rocker
sits forlorn on the porch’s north corner
her favorite place to watch life unfold
beyond, the orchard spread majestically
o the east and the west, perfuming
the entire domain
today, only the first tree
remains, a gnarled grandfather twice her age
children of her children would come
not for her patient stories of the golden years
but to pluck the ripe red spheres at the right moment
hoping she’d set aside a double dozen or so
for an evening of special desserts
when a fire always crackled in the hearth…
nights are still cool in her valley
Granny Smith
[2011.22.11...b]
Should have been “to the east and west”… Copy/Paste has gremlins tonight!
Weird Fruits and Veggies
“Serve the dinner backwards, do anything – but for goodness sake, do something weird.” ~Elsa Maxwell
What’s weirder than the ‘ugli fruit?’
Such a strange appearance:
they’re green and mottled; so not cute;
but, “Yum!” say adherents.
They’re very sweet, like tangerines
but they’re a fruit, unlike ‘sea beans.’
They’re very sweet
They’re very sweet
and you should try ‘em, by all means.
And by the way, this talk of weird
should include the ‘sea bean.’
On salads, munched or even seared
it’s such an awesome green.
Looking like a work by Goya,
it might cause ‘veg’ paranoia.
Looking like a
Looking like a
soya…but not ‘cherimoya.’
The ‘cherimoya’, you could say
is a custard apple.
It’s got a Latin taste bouquet
not found in a Snapple.
Soft to the touch, with sweet appeal,
it may look weird, but it’s ideal.
Soft to the touch
Soft to the touch
but like the others, most surreal.
###
Note: The form is Trijan Refrain.
RJ- Very creative… I’ll have to check into that form. It looks like fun. Thanks!
Avocado Dreamin’
If you halve an avocado,
you will meet a stubborn pit.
Poke it with a knife and twist
to remove. Try setting the pit
in water, and if you have
an avocado thumb, perhaps
a plant will grow. It’s buttery,
creamy texture tastes exotic
cold, sprinkled with salt,
dressed in a salad, a luscious
guacamole, or stuffed
with crab meat. If you prefer
your avocado heated, sautè
with shrimp, add to rice
and beans, or with nothing
at all. Is the avocado a fruit
or veggie? That is your call.
Crab Apple Rubies
Shelby Avenue is lined
with crabs and crepe myrtle.
It runs between coliseum and park,
and rests between Projects and gentrification,
and in the spring the twisted trees light up
like bridal magazines
tossed into trash cans at the bus stops
where people in brilliant colors,
foreign birds, get around a city in love with cars
and scornful of the poor.
When the leaves fall, and other trees are bare,
the crab apples on the avenue are brilliant
and small boys from Laos and Somalia scramble
into the branches of sour rubies.
I love this.
I do too.
Ginger
In kitchen you cut the ginger with a silver knife I
sharpened this cold evening–watching it glint, reflecting
the headlights as you pulled in so suddenly at six. I
watch the snow melt as you look for garlic and onions.
Split Personality
Bananas boast that their yellow
skin does not make them cowards,
but rather ripe, and ready to eat
after peeling. Slice them into cereal,
mash them for a cake, bake halved
with rum and brown sugar. Top
off with vanilla ice cream. Bananas
Foster sets them aflame, a shame
if you have not sampled that dessert.
Freeze them coated with chocolate,
which as you know, enhances
flavor of most treats; if you do not
believe me, order a banana split.
Bananas may also be lethal, so
never leave their peels on a street,
unless you are directing a comedy.
Mmm… love Bananas Foster.
Vegetable dreams
She asked me as I pounded
The artichokes open
To stuff, Didn’t I
Hear their screams?
Restless nights since I wonder
If they or the peas or beets
Dread us, perhaps
In their dreams?
“Fig”
We haven’t killed our fig tree.
Potted once, transplanted twice,
it’s stubborn but stubbornly
keeps its big leaves low and sparse
and its output scanty. We
consult about each cerise
droop (six to eight per season).
Our moves are cautious, concise,
flawed with anticipation.
We often pick too early.
The ruts and repetitions
are so hard to escape from,
we act on damaged reason
and keep tasting the alum.
Still the sugar entices,
for once a blue moon, it comes;
so we keep trying, by gum.
Sweet Peas
We ate sweet peas from off the vines,
pod and all, the peas plumped up just right
like baby toes in leathery socks—one to
our baskets, one to our mouths, tasting
the birth of green, the sibling peas
crunching companionably against
our teeth. Sometimes we cracked them
open just to see the pearly line of passengers
in this green canoe, each attached to its lifeline.
We were promised peas and dumplings
if we’d pick these tiny vegetable envelopes,
but we liked them straight from the earth,
sun-warmed, rain-crisped, the fertile soil
still present in their crunch.
My not to prompt response may be found here:
https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2011/11/22/finding-another-way-to-say-it/
Thanks
Rambutan
A Southeast Asian market is full of surprises,
Vegetables like purple boulders and ladies’ hats,
Fruits like stars, Buddha heads, dragon teeth, and human hearts.
I’m drawn to a table piled high with tiny wiffle balls,
Pinky red and spiked all over like rubbery fur,
Beautiful and strange as sunsets reflecting on rice paddies.
I try a few languages on the sales lady, relying on mime
And money as the universal communicator, asking what
This is called and how one should go about eating it.
She smiles and smiles as I point and shrug. “Rambutan!”
She says, cracking open the small spiked ball, offering
The meat inside, white and fleshy as a grape,
Tasting of citrus, coconut, and pineapple, the seed round
And black as a monkey’s eye, the sweet juice dripping
Until I’m sticky and refreshed. Rambutan. I’ll remember that.
This tropical fruit is yummy and recalls the others…Lansones, Sinigwelas, and Duhat to name, among the many other tropical fruits. Nice reminder, Jane
Crunch
I’m heavily rely on crunch
To exercise my teeth,
Like I hear toothy rodents do
To file their ‘dents’ a size or two.
A baby carrot crunch is pleasing
Broccoli, cauliflower, or apples
Cabbage, pears, and artichoke
Both fruit and vegetables stoke
My munching, revving me up
For mixed and matched all tastes sublime,
Citrus, savory, or mildly munchy
Fruit or vegetable, I love crunchy.
Oops, sorry some typos here. Proof-reading sometimes eludes me.
Garden Fresh (shadorma)
I like to
Bite into ripened
Metaphors,
Garden fresh,
Slowly evolving meanings,
Just dripping with No.
Love it!
“Prickly pear”
Dad gets a leather swatch.
His three sons watch.
He sets a stool and sidles up
to pull the read ball from the top.
It’s no bigger than a plum.
He gets it in the thumb
as he uses the leather to break
the longest spines, then he takes
the apple peeler and gingerly
skins the fruit thoroughly.
He puts the glistening meat
on a china plate
and puts the spines and peels
in the compost pile.
Then he cuts the fruit in four,
one bite for each. No more.
It tastes like a teeny
slice of warm kiwi.
It’s a lot of effort for the prize
divided between the guys,
but none think dad a fool.
Eating cactus. Cool.
VERY cool, indeed. Great, descriptive piece!
Really liked this one Daniel. i could see you sitting there!
Orange
It doesn’t’ take a rhyme
To describe such pungent
Sweetness, bright as tropic
Sun, zest for cakes,
and marmalade sublime.
Peeled and sectioned,
Squeezed into a glass,
And sliced into crescents,
Just big enough to make
A goofy orange smile.
Zucchini
Green and teenie, wee zucchini,
Perfect sautéed with linguine,
Grilled with salmon, garlic butter,
Tomato, basil—my heart’s a-flutter,
Prolific vines with darlings laden,
Soon enthusiasm’s fading,
Leaves will hide you out of sight
Grown to giant, what a fright!
Fun, and deliciously fun to say out loud. Kudos!
Pumpkin
little apple dumpling
on the swings, legs pumping,
precious little sweet pea
bouncin’ on her mama’s knee,
plucky pint-size peachy pie
climbing up so very high,
itty bitty sugar plum
cryin’ ‘cause he couldn’t come,
pumpkin on the monkey bars –
all are trying to reach the stars
Oh, Oh, OH!! I LOVE this!! Should have thought writing about my own little Pumpkin! LOVE IT!
Thanks, Marie! I have to say, Sophie crossed my mind — as I was picturing all these busy little “critters”! LOL
BTW — it’s not too late to write your own little pumpkin poem!
I really like this one, too!
Thanks, Laurie!
So lively
Thank you a.paige! Always nice when someone appreciates & comments!
Glad I popped back in and found this.
Jane Shlensky, you’ve been on a roll today! Quality fruit pieces, every single one. Bravo!
Thanks, Marie. I do love my fruit and veggies;)
Silk
To husk is to cross the palm with pain,
blood welling and spattering the blond silk.
Celery (a shadorma)
some people
just don’t understand ~
I don’t like
celery . . .
it doesn’t matter if it’s
chopped up really small.
Peaches (a PiKu)
peaches are
just
like celery
WATERMELLON
Honey,
Honey Dew,
Honey dew you love me?
If so, open me up,
To your sweet love,
Let’s seed the future with pure dazzle.
Oh, dear,
I am blushing and gushing,
A fine ruby red,
What?
You can’t marry me?
Then I shall become melancholy,
I know,
Why, oh why . . .
Can’t we elope?
And make people orange . . .
With envy!
AVOCADO
I have got a question,
I hear you have another name,
Alligator pear!
I assume it is,
Because your outer skin,
Is dark green and scaly,
Yet you have no bite,
That might,
Scare me away.
You actually appeal,
To me greatly,
It is kind of the pits,
That your pit,
Is bigger than,
Your tasty sides,
Yet how wonderfully,
Amazing that when we,
Squish you, mash you and smash you,
Add some lemon, salt and mayo,
As well as tomato,
You go from being one item,
To a bowlful serving so many,
Because when the chips are down,
We really dig you,
Wholly,
You are our tasty,
Guacamole!
CELERY
You are so quiet,
You just stand there,
We don’t stalk anymore!
I just think,
You don’t . . .
Carrot all anymore!
(a fruit haiku)
Seeds sown long ago,
watered faithfully for years.
Has my life born fruit?
2011-11-22
P. Wanken
PAPAYA
For a fruit
With the name,
“Papa”,
In it,
You are so
Sweet,
Juicy,
Delicate and soft!
You look,
And feel so feminine,
Gentle and beautiful,
So . . .
One would ask,
Someone would want to know . . .
Who’s your “mama” . . .?
Now!
Ode to Pumpkin
O orange globe, harbinger of autumn
that you signal by the frost on you,
you luxuriate on the vine, you who have
come in handy for Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater,
Cinderella’s fairy godmother,
and the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow,
you whom Linus Van Pelt thinks is Great.
Residing in that gray area between fruit
and vegetable, you are at least as large
as a human head, which makes you convenient
for carving out faces in late October.
We scoop out your stringy, slimy, seedy innards,
and you become a bringer of comestibles.
We salt and bake your flat-teardrop seeds,
we roast your meaty pulp, mash it, fold in cream
and spices, pour it in a pie crust, and bake at
400o for one hour. O humble squash,
we thank you for your twofold joy,
the gifts of dessert and decoration.
I love everything about pumpkins, including the name. Great poem.
Third line from the end should read “400 degrees” – apparently this blog doesn’t do superscripts.
Bananarama.
Peeled banana, blended ice,
chocolate
soymilk and
coffee, or
espresso, makes
one of the best monkey flavored
mocha shake
healthier than those men’s
Curious George.
Bananarama 2.
Apple of my eye
Your strawberry smile
My sweet nectarine
Your orange appeal
brightens my sour lemon-ings.
Apple of my eye
Your blueberry eyes
My sweet cherry pie
Your melon shakes
brightens my sour grape-ings.
Apple of my eye
Your honey dew lips
My watermelon dream
Your pear-ly curves
my bananas go ape-ing.
Damson Plums
See there the ugliest tree
Bent, twisted and gnarled
Looking more dead than alive
Especially come winter
Leafless and bare
It appears ready for firewood
Until the snow kindly covers it
But in Spring,
Another of nature’s
Bountiful charities
When the crazy tree blooms
Bridal white tiny blossoms
And you just know
That everywhere a blossom
Grows – there will be fruit
Oh, and such fruit
Equal parts sweet and tart
With skin coloured deep indigo
And flesh, yellowish-green
Damson plums for sure
Neighbourhod experts
Assured us
The tree?
Atypical for
this fruit
Our yard’s personal
Oddity I believe
But it became beloved
To us
And it still bears that
Wonderful fruit
and,
Spaghetti Squash
Of all the gourds
This is the one
I discovered most recently
That makes me laugh
And tickles my taste-buds
Why “spaghetti” squash?
I wondered, until
The first time I baked one
Then following the instructions
I halved it, scooped it
Then pulled a fork
Through its flesh
And sure enough
Voila! Long strings
Of tender yellow squash
Pulled loose to pile
On a plate
A pat of butter
Some salt and pepper
And mmm-mmm
Scrumptious -
The Jabotacaba
“You’ve got to go out on a limb sometimes because that’s where the fruit is.” ~Will Rodgers
“This donut has purple in the middle; purple is a fruit.” ~Dan Castellaneta
It’s kind of like guava
Taste one. You’ll say, “Brava!”
You can eat it or make juice.
I found this on ‘Livestrong’
where healthy’s a theme song.
It’s purplish-black, it’s produce
and it comes from Brazil
which might give you a thrill.
Jabotacaba? My muse.
###
Note: This one’s a Balassi Stanza poem. The weirdness continues…
Potato, My Sweet
Downright Felliniesque,
your subtlly varied flesh
reminds me of Maddalena,
whose dark sunglasses
concealed a bruised eye.
Such understated beauty,
you’re heaven on a fork.
Like a yam, you may be thinking?
Mai, not in this dolce vita.
E cosi ~ another culinary myth, Swiss-cheesed up.
Yum!
Avocado
Smushed between two whole
wheat, or grains, slices of bread,
dash of salt and lemon drizzle—
puts the healthy in your lunch.
Tomato, Potato
Tomato, Toma-to
Potato, Pota-to
Isn’t it a shame
that they argue about your name?
Doesn’t matter what they call you
Love you both just the same.
Corn
Funny how you think me good—
my golden teeth, sweet and juicy…
How would you feel if I boiled and grilled
you and pulled out all your teeth?
Raspberry-Flavored Wisdom
Granny’s overgrown raspberry bush lie
Next to the faded green garage.
The sprawling canes seemed
A writhing mass of snakes,
Poised to bite any who ventured near.
I would be sent into its midst,
Deliberately picking my way through the tangled branches
In search of its gleaming black gems.
“Sometimes,” Granny would tell me,
“To find the sweetest fruit,
You have to be willing to brave the thorns.”
Celery
Slim, stringy, salty.
Takes more calories
to digest,
than it provides.
Maybe I could lose weight
if I only ate celery;
but it’s much better
with peanut butter
slathered in it’s rib.
How About a Date?
Dates are yummy, achingly sweet,
especially rolled in coconut.
Date nut bread is a dark dense treat.
Dates are yummy, achingly sweet.
A thin coating protects the meat.
Now I don’t want this poem to get in a rut, but
dates are yummy, achingly sweet,
especially rolled in coconut.
Goodnight all…little under weather….and weather here in NY not anything you’d want to be under.!
Day 22 11-22-2011
Write a fruit-titled poem or write a veggie-titled poem.
Poemegranate
Teardrop rubies weep wine
when the knife pierces the rind.
Blood-drops spurt and stain
as the eater rends fruit without pain.
At once tart and sweet
seeds give life to all who eat.
Brussel Sprouts
Rachael Ray implied veggie cast-off,
as often cabbage is,
condemned to death by boiling.
If only cowering children could see the green orbs
decriminalized and simmering
sizzling in a pool of onions, EVO, and other delights–
like me, they’d be mourning the lack of smellevision
and, for that matter, tastevision.
Pingback: The Root Vegetable Anthem | TrollPants 2.0
The Root Vegetable Anthem
Root! Root! Root for root vegetables!
A wealth of stealthy health beneath the lawn.
There’s a feast of tasty treats
Waiting deep beneath your feets
So hurry! Dig them up before they’re gone!
Comestibles like vegetables are good for you.
Except for carrots, mostly they’re benign.
Turn your tastebuds south,
Sneak a leek into your mouth
And presto! ‘Less you vomit, you’ll be fine!
Root! Root! Root for root vegetables!
A pirate’s buried treasure in the yarrd:
Thar be rows and rows of rootsies–
Food doubloons–below your tootsies!
Davy Jones’s Larder’s y’arr rewarrd!
Supra-soilers spoil in the summer sun
While roots grow plump and lumpy in the loam.
You’ll love your luncheon-munchin’
When you’re crunchin’ on an onchion!
(Be wary of the truncheon-wielding gnome.)
Root! Root! Root for root vegetables!
Terrestri-veggies simply can’t compare.
Cold and mulchy’s much more fun
Than lying frying in the sun.
Chow downward! Dig your dinner…if you dare!
Root! Root! Root for root vegetables!
Root! Root! Root for root vegetables!
Root! Root! Root for root vegetables!
http://trollpants.wordpress.com
Apples
She listened
every Sunday and studied well the lessons
The Garden of Eden
The Tree of Knowledge
Tempting apples
Adam and Eve, and that nasty snake.
And so for the apple’s sake
She took one with her to church
and set it in the confessional.
It needed some major forgiveness
she thought.
Fruits of labor.
Oranges are lovely except you have to peel them.
Peaches are tasty but I much prefer to feel them.
Pomegranates – good for you & yet a lot of work.
Bananas – vitamins & minerals wrapped up in a smirk.
Grapefruit shoot you in the eye.
Cherries make delicious pie.
Lemons can be worth a try.
But if you like a grapple
you’ll have most fun with pineapple.
Or Pineapple of my eye as title?
BITTER LEMONS*
Of all groves in my orchard, these
are child proof. Who wants something sour
something bitter inside
the mouth, sharp, medicinal. Racing to the sink to diluting
the unpleasantness, This yellow fruit among
the green leaves fill s oft grass with shade. All by itself
no need to add sweetness . A blanket and
a cup of tea are sufficient for aquiet afternoon.,
The leaves flutter, offering a respite
from the midday sun. Just out of curiousity
I pluck the fruit. Maybe
there is more to this moment than meets the eye,
what I see, what I feel, fools my senses, yes,,
There is a reason God created knives, to cut through
the things we have yet
to discover, like lemons. I know
they are bitter. I know they are sour. I also know
when some confection becomes saccharine
it causes my palate displeasure, a lemon drops
ever so slightly, and my taste buds thank me
for the tartness it sends to them. For a lark
I cut through the thin skin, letting my tongue
see for itself what it grows. Above me
after all, reaching down, so close, waiting
for my lips to tell me, stay and savor
slowly, I understand, to take
the bitter edge out of the little pockets
drawing sweetness that was always there.
Zev Davis
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SECRETS FROM THE PANTRY*
Some things don’t keep well
in the open air. Little critters land on ripe red tomatoes
because they are tired and hungry, and
they decide to set up housekeeping. Once
I knew a bug that discovered a Romaine lettuce that just
lay there in the vegetable bin in my uncles supermarket. It
stepped inside, my mother picked it up, and
took it home. Then, like she
always does, stripped the thing into leaves,
washed them in the sink, removed the dust, She
placed them over a paper towel, but,
this bug must have liked being there . . .
Count on Mom, she saw the thing, and .
threw it in the dust bin. I guess, if you
are a bug, the best you can ask for
is the leftovers in the dustbin. Anyway, it’s like that
with all the vegetables in our house. Everything
has to be fresh, and clean. Then there are the jars
in the pantry. Mom cooks ‘em. After that
she puts them Mason Jars so they are ready to eat
come winter, Mom says, fresh out of the pantry.
There are these albums in the library, butterflies that
Grampa collected. You should see Mom smile. When
they went around with their nets, catching the things,
puttin’ ‘em in a jar ’til they got home, pullin’ ‘em out
and takin’ a cloth on ‘em with formaldehyde
to make sure they weren’t still alive. After that
placin’ ‘em onto the pages. She had a story about
every last one. I said in biology before
they are butterflies, they are bugs.
They eat vegetables, too, just like us, why do
you leave the scraps for them.
Don’t they deserve better, I said. Mom said
out in the field, they can eat anything
they want, but people eat food.
Zev Davis
Pingback: the king of fruit « lost in translation
Lychee
Exotic
little ball
of goodness
lying quietly
in my fruit salad
surrounded
and outnumbered
by your lesser,
more ordinary,
cousins.
How I love
to savour you
on my tongue
as long as possible,
make the most
of your succulence,
until your sweet
and tender body
slips down my throat.
If only
there were more
than two of you
in every can.
Strawberries
dipped in chocolate
or served with lashings of cream
summer indulgence
Pineapple
On pizza?
What fool decided
that was a
good idea?
Absolutely revolting,
pass the sick bag please.
Deception
Kiwi
Tried to deceive
Me, by being
A greenish fruit
In a hairy suit
Veggie
A Kernel of Truth
Broccoli, corn
String beans, and black
Peas, brussel sprouts
Lettuce in a sack
Carrots, cauliflower
I’ll eat by the score
But please don’t make
Me eat hominy anymore
A late entry that was inspired by the prompt, but didn’t quite follow it – also a nod to the “triolet craze” that seems prevalent around here lately:
A Day without Sunshine
I need my morning orange juice,
it’s like your coffee is to you.
I will accept no lame excuse;
I need my morning orange juice.
Without it, sure as my name’s Bruce,
I’ll be a grump the whole day through.
I need my morning orange juice,
it’s like your coffee is to you.
Coordinated Fruit
I have oranges in the fruit bowl
October and November,
shiny red delicious apples
all December long.
I know it’s a little strange,
won’t make sense to those
who like their seasonal fruit.
But the oranges match my fall décor
and apples, well you get the gist.
Coordinated down to my fruit bowl,
my way to say I’m with it.
Pingback: November PAD Challenge 22 « Yay Words!
YOUR MOM’S AN ASIAN FRUIT
We giggle in grocery aisles
bantering back and forth like
14-year-old boys.
Durian, dates and double entendres
are our weapons of choice –
lobbed at each other
like melons, clumsy and graceless
and exploding awkwardly on impact
. . . that’s what she said.
Apple
The archetypal apple wishes it could be
A tasty provider of nutrition
As it rightly ought to be
But carnal temptation, objects of affection
And falling not far from the tree
Is the reputation the apple was given
Before it was even a seed
So misunderstood it sits on the shelves
Scanning our eyes for beliefs
Longing to be just picked up and eaten
Without considering Adam and Eve
Pingback: November PAD Challenge 22 | Banana « You have my word.
BestFruit
The juice dripped down our bodies,
And over our bathing suits,
While we read the poems,
Of Pablo Neruda.
And Pineapple.
“Pomegranate”
Round and hard,
the dull dirty red
disguising
the crimson
treasure buried deep within.
The fruit falls open
red rubies
swollen with sweet juice
begging me
to indulge
Whispering secrets
of the mysteries hidden
in the fiery red realm of Hades,
a lonely, frightened Persephone,
I am seduced.
Cantaloupe (alias the Musk Melon) or Honeydew
Rich Atwater Nov22, 2011
You may think of netted skin or smooth to separate the two,
Rich orange inner fruit, or light pale green to savor true.
But when I ponder on these favored fruit what comes to mind:
You “can’t elope” with musk perfume, so just say: “Honey do”, let’s bind.
Cauliflower
Rich Atwater NOv 22, 2011
The health food nut will add it to their salad plate,
For Vitamin K and C and antioxidant control of weight.
But as for me I feel the swaying dance of tender blooms,
As Waltz of the Flowers is played, I Call-e-Flower to dance ballrooms.
Grapes
I still don’t know
Whether it’s okay
To eat grapes
The fate pf some migrant worker hanging
On the ingestion of one small green orb
Each taste laden with guilt and confusion
I wonder about
Spinach and Cantaloupes too
But that’s personal
I wonder if early Romans
Bowing to an earlier Caesar
Stretched languorously on stone couches
While hennaed nails peeled back
Taut green skin from each moist oval
Worried too
If my eating habits could change the world
Would I forego chocolate and coffee to save a child?
Would I eat grasshoppers and worms for world peace?
Some have no choice
And still children suffer
And wars go on
And yet I wonder – - -
Would I?
Potato
one of six siblings –
three boys, three girls
my German mother
told this potato tale.
An older brother chose
a sister for pantry detail
snagging six fat potatoes
from their storage sack.
A younger brother given
a glove and told to gather
hot coals from the hearth
and the others to get cans.
Their rendezvous: behind
the garage near the lilacs,
ringleader holding tongs
dropping coals in tin cans.
Sisters roasting the spuds
one to a can, brown skins
turning to ash, the insides
growing soft when poked.
The savory smell rivaled
the taste on their tongues
until their mother caught
a redolent whiff of smoke.
“We called them ‘Mickies’
for the Irish,” my mom said.
“In Ireland, the poor folk
had only potatoes to eat.
“But then came the blight
and famine. Irishmen fled
to America and their taste
for spuds came with them.”
My mom wed an Irishman
when she grew up, so I’m
an O’Brien but none of us
roast potatoes in tin cans.
Chocolate: the Other Veg
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Chocolate comes from cacao beans
which are of course are both meat
and veg mid-rung on the foodie pyramid.
Sugar is from canes and beets
corn, fruit mash, and stevia (™)
which last I checked, were all
still plant-based vegetables.
Bring me your tired raisins, cherries,
your orange slices and strawberries,
your peanuts and pecans, cashews
almonds and walnuts, macadamias
cover them with sweet milky chocolateyness
and meet head-on your daily requirement
of fruit, veg, and dairy greatness.
Chocolate contains health benefits of
dark vegetables such as antioxidants
endorphins, serotonin, theobromine,
caffeine and other stimulants but
let’s not let that not factor in
too deeply, my young friend.
Hershey,(™) Nestle,(™) Tobler,(™) Lindt (™)
Cadbury(™), Snickers,(™) Godiva,(™) Mars (™)
Ferrero,(™) Kraft,(™) Ghiradelli,(™) Sees (™)
you make eating our veggies
white, dark, milk, nut, less hostile!
Sprouts should be so lucky!
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
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