You say tomato, I say Lycopersicon esculentum.
Ştefan Munteanu
Submitted by Ştefan Munteanu
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Big Tomato Meets Big Toe
Little did Big Tomato know,
she would meet Mr. Big Toe.
She did not know that Big Toe
had a radio show.
The radio show was called
“Big Toe Wants To Know”
Big Tomato walked through the door, ,
knowing she had an interview at 4.
Waiting in the lobby remembering what to say,
she bumped into doll Melodie Mezoree’.
“Wow, it’s Melodie Mezoree’ how are you today? ”
“Oh great nice to see you Big Tomato,
I was just on the radio show! ”
Big Tomato replied, “I will talk about how I can fly-
how I can fly way up in the sky.”
Then Big Toe walked in,
he was happy to see Big Tomato with a grin.
Both of them shook hands,
and Big Tomato talked and sang,
on the mic behind the stand.
It was Big Tomato’s big day,
every child listened to what she had to say.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Big Tomato Meets Big Toe
Little did Big Tomato know,
she would meet Mr. Big Toe.
She did not know that Big Toe
had a radio show.
The radio show was called
“Big Toe Wants To Know”
Big Tomato walked through the door, ,
knowing she had an interview at 4.
Waiting in the lobby remembering what to say,
she bumped into doll Melodie Mezoree’.
“Wow, it’s Melodie Mezoree’ how are you today? ”
“Oh great nice to see you Big Tomato,
I was just on the radio show! ”
Big Tomato replied, “I will talk about how I can fly-
how I can fly way up in the sky.”
Then Big Toe walked in,
he was happy to see Big Tomato with a grin.
Both of them shook hands,
and Big Tomato talked and sang,
on the mic behind the stand.
It was Big Tomato’s big day,
every child listened to what she had to say.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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I Like Tomato Sauce
i like tomato sauce
and so i keep lots of
and different kinds of
tomato sauces inside
the ref and when i open
it one night i thought
tomato sauce are also
water and i am in a trance
of some sort or something
i drink tomato sauce
and i remember you:
saucy, so saucy
i thought i am floating
in the river filled with
tomato sauce, yes,
my point is: be proud
i always think of you.
saucy, yes, so saucy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Will Wait
Behind the tomato fence
I sit as quietly as Sunday
waiting for her to come
and hum me Camelot,
where I have won a showdown
with the red wasps that stole
her ruby nectar.
But the only sound I hear
are the flirty chirps of sparrows,
and the only thing I feel
is air.
Still, I will wait
behind the tomato fence,
sitting as quietly as Sunday
for her to come
and hum me Camelot.
And when I catch sight of her
I know I'll gasp just like I always do.
She steals my heart away in chunks you see,
but she will blow me off
not even noticing I am here
worshiping her shimmer.
Still, I will wait
behind the tomato fence,
sitting as quietly as Sunday
for her to come
and hum me Camelot.
Meanwhile fragrant basil
smiles my mood,
and rosemary is drying.
There is an eye full of brightest brilliant blue,
and a crescent of white moon dying.
Here I will wait
behind the tomato fence,
sitting as quietly as Sunday
for her to come
and hum me Camelot.
poem by Sara Fielder
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Tomato
My love is a tiny red cherry tomato
That has found it's way into my heart by way of,
'An omelette'
'A cheese sandwhich'
A kittenish quiche
A side salad, that slid in through the side entrance
A tiny glistening punnet that flirted with the light
A drink carton full of bloody juice
A red nose that passed itself off as a tomato
A tin of Italian agraphobic plum tomatoes
A pizza
A pie
A spicy tomato pasta
A bed of floating tomatoes in a home made punch
A seed which grew secretly from my garden bed
Into a vine
Ready to pick
This tomato love is mine
It also came into my heart by way of
A tin of soup
A bottle of ketchup
And alot of sauce
My love is born
Not yet filing for divorce
Yvette Smith march 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Big Tomato
When I was about five,
I thought tornados came alive.
Alive into a big tomato with legs,
walking up the hill to where I lived.
Waiting anxiously outside my front door,
I was afraid but wanted to see more.
I imagined a big gigantic tomato coming up the street,
I thought it be cool and thought it be neat to see.
Wind starting blowing and sky became still,
the birds disappeared, I began to feel chills.
I imagined Big Tomatoes footsteps going boom, boom, boom,
my family hid in the basement in the family room.
Sleeping downstairs was fun for me,
we were all together as a family.
Now Big Tomato never did come,
but I have fond memories of a night of fun.
Written by Christina Sunrise on May 25,2011
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppetpoems.com
www.purplepoems.com www.suzae.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Ode to Tomatoes
The street
filled with tomatoes
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera,
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhausible,
pop ulates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth,
recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Small Tomato Sprawl Scrawl
SMALL TOMATO SPRAWL SCRAWL
Kindly refer to notes
We’re tomatoes [b]red together,
dependant on capricious weather
happy-go-lucky hell-for-leather
advancing, never asking whether
we’ll end in bird crop, rot, - whatever
providing seeds sprout on forever.
* * * * *
Read of the facts that history
recounts for all posterity.
Around five hundred years ago,
learn, inwardly digest, and know
cerasiforme – like a cherry –
appearance then, as tiny tree.
Columbus brought us ‘cross the sea
in fourteen hundred ninety three,
Mattioli's Herbal mentionned though
he thought us poison pomi d’oro –
gold apple – red then none could see.
We came through Spain to Italy.
Across Atlantic bravely we
sailed in the fifteenth century,
though there’s some evidence to show
that ‘stout Cortez’ from Mexico
imported us as seeds or tree
the Aztecs called xitomatli.
The Aztecs added salt, chili,
to make their salsa formerly,
as sprawling vine the tomato
advances and is wont to grow
up reaching sometimes metres three –
as many yards for backyards’ glee.
Before first cookbook recipe
Time flew with true celerity –
Two hundred years - and why so slow?
Confused with Deadly Nightshade’s glow
or Belladonna’s poison pea -
witch wolf-peach named in Germany
Book edited in Napoli
began tamed famed name followed free
after some fifty years or so
by other authors in the know,
by Glass’s ‘Art of Cookery’
to flavour soup, ingredient key.
In Peru six variety
still grow as they were meant to be;
unlike the lowly potato
no vegetable, fruit yellow
to bunch for brunch or sandwich, tea:
sprawl scrawl hastes good taste poetry.
18 August 2009
robi03_1895_robi03_0000 WXX_MNX
Author notes
Words in brakets convey two or more meanings
[b]red = red bed bred
Tomatoes belong to the genus Lycopersicon, Solanaceae family. Evidence supports the theory the first domesticated tomato was a little yellow fruit, ancestor of L. cerasiforme, growing around and possibly eaten by the Aztecs
First mentioned in European literature in 1544, herbal by Italian physician and botanist Pietro Andrea Mattioli, who named it pomi d’oro, golden apple.
Related to deadly nightshade (Atropus belladonna) which gave a false impression of being poisonous
The first cookbook to mention tomatoes was published in Naples Italy in 1692. By 1752 English cooks used tomatoes in the flavoring of soups, and in 1758 a tomato recipe appeared in The Art of Cookery by Hannah Glass.
‘stout Cortez’ - John Keats - On First Looking in Chapman's Homer
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Emerald Green
Emerald green is the colour of life and of the springtime,
Conveying harmony, joie de vivre and most important, love
Emerald green retains its lively vigour all the time
In all nuances, like those wonderful green eyes that rove.
Sunlight dances across the Gulf of Mexico, a lovely place
With emerald green waters and very hot white sand.
Moreover, we see this green in a forest, a darker space,
Or we can see it in the green grass in the Spring land,
A metallic green body with small yellow sweet stripes
And emerald eyes has the Hine’s emerald dragonfly.
Nymphs hatch in marshes high in sedge meadows,
When sheds its skin and emerges an adult to fly.
A mineral emerald green contains the Romanesque murals.
The old Masters used verdigris for them and copper green
To make a deep brown, mixed it with sulfur-containing colors,
Such as cadmium yellow, vermilion or blue-ultramarine.
The green we see in December represents the evergreen tree,
A symbol of life continuing even in that dark day.
We look to the pins and the rhododendrons and we agree
That greenery will return to the world again someday.
The green chosen for the color scheme of Christmas night
Is emerald green, that deep, pure, clear green inside
That seems to shine with light, in the season of white
When there isn't much natural green available outside.
A very ambitious plant is hymenaea courbaril, the tree named Amber
It has the most attractive emerald-green heart shaped leaves.
Like Orchid Tree, so pleasing to the eye with their alluring shimmer.
Lycopersicon esculentum has emerald green tomatoes with dark green stripes.
With this emerald green Van Gogh wanted to paint plastic correctly
Maybe his eyes saw a special nuance, after cutting his ear
He worked alla prima, on to the canvas painting directly
From his imagination and from reality, making the image believable.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Two Fifties and a Tomato Cart
Two.50 calibre rounds destroyed the old man's head
there was nothing left in the space
where once eyes, nose, mouth had lived
his face was shredded
The tomato cart untouched because
Americans fire tight shot groups
and they were directed at his head
The female MP surveyed the horror
with cool distaste posed the question
'cause of death? ' It was procedure.
An Army private could not resist delivering
his line with a wry twist of gallows humor
'Seems to me, seargeant, loss of head
would be the cause of death.'
Hearing this story now, second hand,
I am unable to make any sense of it.
I fail to grasp the value of it's telling
The facts are clear-
American convoy drew near
the old man and his tomato cart
two fifties opened up and took his head apart
head controls heart thus, life functions ceased
threat eliminated the American convoy eased
to a stop-
and the paperwork started with clinical indifference
to the recently departed tomato cart man
I feel nothing
I am unable to engage emotions though I guess
Somewhere, someone will be lost in an ocean of grief
that will bear no consolation-
no amount of belief in God, Allah, Jahweh
can begin to explain the immensity of their loss
as I attempt to calculate the cost to the Army as roughly-
nothing,
the empty feeling inside of me as
I try to tell myself I'm not dead-
try to sell myself on the idea that somewhere-deep inside
I'm aghast at the cheapness of life in the combat zone
where everybody dies alone and I know
each loss is a personal tragedy to someone back home
a catastrophy to mothers like Cindy Sheehan.
But what about the tomato cart man, his head squashed
like a ripe tomato by the twin hammers
of two fifties?
How much does his death really affect me?
It hits me then and I want to take the fact
and drive it through my own head like
those two fifties until
my head gives way
and my heart stops because
it is now clear that the numbness has become so severe
that I might as well be dead
Cause of death?
Not loss of Head
Oh no, no
I'd say loss of Heart
poem by Troy Younts
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La Tomatina
overheard - i am the tomato
come crush me!
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I weighed 190 when I got to boot camp, I came out at 178. I ate only the beans and tomato sauce.
quote by Tom Sizemore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.
quote by Lewis Grizzard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunted Chives
Hunted Chives
Hidden deep in the house in which I reside,
Bagels bombs with cream cheese glaze I hide,
Tucked away in the recesses of my abode,
To gibber incessantly with gunpowder peppercorn goad,
Echoing footsteps approach, each clunk resonating fear,
Pulling back into umbrage with Philadelphia smear,
With ticking time-bomb a ripe and ready red tomato,
Swaying in my hand as if upholding a melancholic legato,
Until I am found, just when time is announced as up,
My hand squeezing as the taceted tick-tock, blows up,
The tomato’s flesh and pips are strewn and spread,
Along with Philadelphia cream across my grinning head,
Twixt with a complimentary chardonnay wine tipple,
Embracing my seeker with a volcanic red ripple.
poem by Dale Mullock
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I want to go back to Brazil, get married, have lots of kids, and just be a couch tomato.
quote by Ana Beatriz Barros
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Secondly, I thought it was ridiculous to have two undercover policemen driving around in a striped tomato.
quote by Paul M. Glaser
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ive Got A Fang
Glistening white triangular tooth
Open up a can of tomato juice
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Girlfriend took me to meet her dad
He didnt like me because I look so bad
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Girlfriend took me to meet her mom
Her head exploded like a atom bomb
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Glistening white triangular tooth
Open up a can of tomato juice
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
Ive got a fang
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Night A Processed Pea Took Out A Canned Tomato
The stars were shining bright
upon the night
a processed pea took out a canned tomato.
They took a look in at the Apple,
got all hung up on a Christmas tree.
The canned tomato started to wobble
and nearly squashed the processed pea.
They dropped out to stay alive
clearing away before the Beatles did arrive.
On the way back to the shop
they met up with a gooseberry
who joined them on the ground floor
in an eye full of sherry
for it was Christmas Day.
It seemed to be a lovely date,
unfortunately they couldn’t stay,
and had to retreat to their cases
before it was too late.
Author’s Note:
I have no idea of the exact date this bit of nonsense was written in the 1960’s. I know it was written shortly after The Beatles set up their company Apple. I was working in a grocery warehouse at the time, hence the mention of the vegetables. I can only assume it was written near Christmas.
David Harris
August 2008
poem by David Harris
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Colour Blind
I ate a blue tomato
My friend said is a potato
He hit his head
On the restaurant's bed
Which is as purple as snow
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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