En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Home Grown Tomatoes

There aint nothin in the world that I like better than bacon n lettuce n
Home grown tomatoes up in the mornin, out in the garden
Get you a ripe one, dont pick a hard un plant em in the spring, eat em in
The summer all winter without em is a culinary bummer I forget all about the
Sweatinand the digginevery time I go out and pick me a big un home grown
Tomatoes, home grown tomatoes what would life be like without home grown
Tomatoes only two things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes you can go out to eat an thats for
Sure but theres nothina home grown tomatoe wont cure put em in a salad, put
em in a stew
You can make your own tomatoe juice
You can eat em with eggs, eat em with gravy you can eat em with beans, pinto
Or navy put em on the side, put em in the middle home grown tomatoes on a hot
Cake griddle home grown tomatoes, home grown tomatoes what would life be like
Without home grown tomatoes only two things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes if is to change this life I lead
You could call me johnny tomatoe seed
cause I know what this country needs
Home grown tomatoes in every yard you see when I die dont bury me
In a box in a cold dark cemetery
Out in the garden would be much better
cause I could be pushin up a home grown tomatoe home grown tomatoes, home
Grown tomatoes what would life be like without home grown tomatoes only two
Things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes
Words and music by guy clark

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Casserole

It was a casserole of an affair

Too many vegetables to name in the file for divorce

I knew the rift would fade and die

And that all loves complete their course

It was an out of court settlement

To save the tomato its blushes

And avoid exposing the greeness of the cucumber

The potato came out on top

[the the underdog must have it's day! '

P.S The cauliflower left quietly with a slab of cheese

It still harboured a secret ambition to make it

on the dining room circuit as a 'VERY TASTY DISH'

P.S It knew without the cheese it was nothing!

yvette smith london march 09

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My Dad (The Gardener)

My Dad has got green fingers,
He's always been that way;
He grew veg' in his younger days,
He grows them now he's grey.

Tomatoes are his forte,
No finer can be found;
He eats them by the dozen,
And sells them by the pound.

He grows a vast amount, and now
Two greenhouses he owns;
Tomato juice is in his blood,
And marrow in his bones.

His spuds are so delicious,
Their praises I must sing;
So fresh and full of flavour,
And fit for any king.

His lettuce too, are lovely,
They're crispy and dark green;
Much better than the shop ones,
The best I've ever seen.

There's not much that can beat him,
He's skillful in his craft;
He isn't Percy Thrower
But he isn't flippin' daft.

The only thing I've ever known
My Dad to fail to grow,
Is melons, for my sisters,
Just a tiny one did show;

The whole procedure was for him
A problem just too great;
So now they're off the menu,
And for melon they must wait.

But still, it's just one failure,
And not like all the rest;
My Dad is still the greatest,
My Dad is still the best.

My Dad has got green fingers,
And this will always be;
Now mine are going green as well,
And that will do for me.

(Written Oct 1994)

poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Monkberry Moon Delight

So I sat in the attic,
A piano at my nose,
And the wind played a dreadful cantata (cantata...).
Sore was I from the crack of an enemys hose,
And the horrible sound of tomato (tomato...).
Ketchup (ketchup)
Soup and puree (soup and puree),
Dont get left behind (get left behind)...
When a rattle of rats had awoken,
The sinews, the nerves and the veins.
My piano was boldly outspoken, in attempts to repeat its refrain.
So I stood with a knot in my stomach,
And I gazed at that terrible sight
Of two youngsters concealed in a barrel,
Sucking monkberry moon delight.
Monkberry moon delight,
Monkberry moon delight.
Well, I know my banana is older than the rest,
And my hair is a tangled beretta.
When I leave my pajamas to billy budapest,
And I dont get the gist of your letter (your letter...).
Catch up! (catch up),
Cats and kittens (cats and kittens),
Dont get left behind (get left behind)...
Monkberry moon delight...
Monkberry moon delight...

song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

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
Vote! | Copy!

Through The Glow Of Candlelight

Too many windows and doors,
Remain locked and closed.
Even the presence of shadows,
Seem to be missing from view.
And there you sit in a corner wondering,
Why no one seems to care.

I think you just want me to believe that.

Too many sentences spoken to use,
Flow from your lips without the benefit..
Of an exclamation or periods.
You want this,
Undeniable anguish.
And you deliver this as an invitation?

I sense you have something up your sleeve.

Your interpretation of happiness,
And mine...
Do not mix!

Whatever it is you cling to,
Has you in a grasp of sadness...
You most enjoy as I perceive it.
To say you are meditating on attracting love...
As you say,
Is something done you do...
I must admit,
I don't want to stay another minute...
To witness whatever kind of love it is you wish.

One you want to make an appearance...
In this gloom and darkness.

Why do you smile at me,
Through the glow of candlelight?
Baby...
No disrespect!
But I think I better go!

And let me ask you this...
Why do you have so many mason jars,
Filled with tomato sauce.
It is tomato sauce?
Isn't it?

Why do you smile at me,
Through the glow of candlelight?
Baby...
No disrespect!
But I think I better go!

'Please stay.
I find you quite amusing.'

Under one condition!
That butcher knife sitting on that raised pedestal...
You let me have it to hold.

'Sure!
Where would you like to hold it?
And don't say in your hands.
They all seem to say that...
First.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Banana Soup

If juice can be extracted from a potato,
Like a tomato or carrot...
Why can't that happen to a banana?
Although it can be argued that potato juice,
Can be heated and called soup.
Banana soup doesn't sound too appealing.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I walk next to the tomato beds

I walk next to the tomato beds
in our garden and here and there
are a few fig trees
which are covered with green swelling fruit
right against the main branches.

At the back in the corner and between the tomatoes
are rows of prickly pears
and look as if they have lost their thorns
but if you look carefully
the rows of thorns are still there.

You that I see as the flower
among my flowers
who are tender and soft hearted,
are now piercing the most
as the going away cuts through me
and staying apart, stays a terrible thing
but seeing each other again,
remains a wonderful
and yet every day
I see the fruit of you selfless love.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The greatest thing

I put the seed
into ground that I
mingled with dark black compost.

Rows of beans,
some carrots, some pumpkins
and spinach
I sowed into the orange brown earth.

Some small tomato plants,
I planted in blocks
and pressed small
frames of reeds
on top
for them to crawl over.

Every day I sprayed water
and tended the weeds
and in time
little green plants
sprang out of the ground
and the tomatoes crept
and crawled all over
their reeds.

It was great to be part
of spring and see
living things sprout
from the ground,
but a dog dug
some carrots out
and a flock of mice
came to eat
tomatoes from the plants.

Yet in time
some great vegetables
came to my table
and spring was awesome
and so was summer
and to tend my own garden
is the greatest thing.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Vote! | Copy!

Olive At Midnight

An olive at midnight

Green

shiny

globe

of
black

The size of a dirty workman's thumb

They (the olives) tumble towards me

Down hills and in still slick lakes of olive oil

I meet my dark shining olive

By suprise

It's midnight in the olive grove

My ciabatta catches him

spinning on the tastebuds together

My olive and I

Two star crossed lovers

One black

On green

Obscene nights of perpetual fulfillment

What a scene! my olive and me

My olive my heart

Oh my darling lovely one

Olive at midnight

At last

you have come to me

And together we will may a delightful

pair

my lips quake at the thought of you

quivering as you slither in a plate of oil

towards them

Olive at midnight

You have possessed me

I am yours

But too many press in

Only one is chosen

It is dark I cannot see you

Oh olive

Are you green?

Or black?

Does it matter I am not prejudice

My dear dear one

At midnight you thunder towards me

My heart is an earthquake

My brain a melting pot offondant cheese

I slice my ciabatta

A tiny onion a tomato pressed between

And you oh olive my love

I am done

Please leave

I am not hungry

It is past midnight

I must sleep

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!