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You say tomato, I say Lycopersicon esculentum.

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 Christina Sunrise
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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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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

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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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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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

[...] Read more

poem by Troy Younts
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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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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

[...] Read more

poem by Pablo Neruda
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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

[...] Read more

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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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 They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lets Call The Whole Thing Off

Things have come to a pretty pass
Our romance is growing flat,
For you like this and the other
While I go for this and that,
Goodness knows what the end will be
Oh I dont know where Im at
It looks as if we two will never be one
Something must be done:
You say either and I say either,
You say neither and I say neither
Either, either neither, neither
Lets call the whole thing off.
You like potato and I like potahto
You like tomato and I like tomahto
Potato, potahto, tomato, tomahto.
Lets call the whole thing off
But oh, if we call the whole thing off
Then we must part
And oh, if we ever part, then that might break my heart
So if you like pyjamas and I like pyjahmas,
Ill wear pyjamas and give up pyajahmas
For we know we need each other so we
Better call the whole thing off
Lets call the whole thing off.
You say laughter and I say larfter
You say after and I say arfter
Laughter, larfter after arfter
Lets call the whole thing off,
You like vanilla and I like vanella
You saspiralla, and I saspirella
Vanilla vanella chocolate strawberry
Lets call the whole thing off
But oh if we call the whole thing of then we must part
And oh, if we ever part, then that might break my heart
So if you go for oysters and I go for ersters
Ill order oysters and cancel the ersters
For we know we need each other so we
Better call the calling off off,
Lets call the whole thing off.
I say father, and you say pater,
I saw mother and you say mater
Pater, mater uncle, auntie lets call the whole thing off.
I like bananas and you like banahnahs
I say havana and I get havahnah
Bananas, banahnahs havana, havahnah
Go your way, Ill go mine
So if I go for scallops and you go for lobsters,
So all right no contest well order lobseter
For we know we need each other so we
Better call the calling off off,

[...] Read more

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
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Cheeseburger In Paradise

Cheeseburger in paradise
By: jimmy buffett
1978
Tried to amend my carnivorous habits
Made it nearly seventy days
Losin' weight without speed, eatin' sunflower seeds
Drinkin' lots of carrot juice and soakin' up rays
But at night i'd had these wonderful dreams
Some kind of sensuous treat
Not zuchinni, fettucini or bulghar wheat
But a big warm bun and a huge hunk of meat
Chorus:
Cheeseburger in paradise (paradise)
Heaven on earth with an onion slice (paradise)
Not too particular not too precise (paradise)
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise
Heard about the old time sailor men
They eat the same thing again and again
Warm beer and bread they said could raise the dead
Well it reminds me of the menu at a holiday inn
Times have changed for sailors these days
When i'm in port i get what i need
Not just havanas or bananas or daiquiris
But that american creation on which i feed
Chorus:
Cheeseburger in paradise (paradise)
Medium rare with mustard 'be nice (paradise)
Heaven on earth with an onion slice (paradise)
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise
I like mine with lettuce and tomato
Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes
Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer
Well good god almighty which way do i steer for my
Chorus:
Cheeseburger in paradise (paradise)
Makin' the best of every virtue and vice (paradise)
Worth every damn bit of sacrifice (paradise)
To get a cheeseburger in paradise
To be a cheeseburger in paradise
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise
Coda:
I like mine with lettuce and tomato
Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes
Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer
Well good god almighty which way do i steer for my
- notes:
Background vocals: deborah mccoll, penny nichols, lea jane berinati,
Janie fricke, ginger holladay

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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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 Paul McCartney
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Crush With Eyeliner

I know you
I know youve seen her
Shes a sad tomato
Shes three miles of bad road
Walking down the street
Will I never meet her?
Shes a real woman-child
Oh my kiss breath turpentine
I am smitten
Im the real thing (Im the real thing)
Have you seen her come around?
My crush with eyeliner
Im imbibed
Im infatuated
Its all too much passion
Shes all that I can take
What position should I wear?
Cop an attitude? (fake her)
How can I convince her? (fake her)
That Im invented too, yeah
I am smitten
Im the real thing (Im the real thing)
We all invent ourselves
And you know me
Yeah, shes a sad tomato
Shes three miles of bad road
Shes her own invention (shes her own invention)
That gets me in the throat
What can I make myself be?
Life is strange, yeah (life is strange)
What can I make myself be (fake her)
To make her mine?
I am smitten
Ill do anything (Ill do anything)
A kiss breath turpentine,
My crush with eyeliner
I am smitten
You know me (yeah, you know me)
I could be your frankenstein
My crush with eyeliner
I am smitten
Im the real thing (Im the real thing)
Wont you be my valentine?
My crush with eyeliner

song performed by REM
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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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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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The Bed of the World

The great bed of the world
arching over graves
over Babi Yar
with its multitude of bones,
with battalions of screams
frozen in a concrete glacier,
with pillows of earth
and comforters of green grass
covering all that dead flesh.

Dead flesh shall live again-
a dream in god's endless night-
rise green out of the earth
as grass, as trees, as tomato stalks
bearing a bright red fruit
and the feuds of man-and womankind
shall be fed again from the same seeds:
the tomato, the mythic pomegranate, the biblical apple
all rising from the grass that springs
out of the screams of stopped mouths.

Sometimes I dream
that my bed is built over a ravine,
the ravine of Babi Yar, any ravine
where thousands died
and I moan in pleasure to propitiate the earth,
to make fruit ripen
and trees wave green leaves like banners
all because love can touch me still.

It is never enough to create.
The beast must feed its meat teeth too.
Out of the screaming mouth of earth
we feed the grass that covers
all our beds.

I wish I did not know all that I know.
Galaxies spin, grass grows, and people kill.
We are the only race to murder for our dreams-
and not for hunger,
hungering for dreams

poem by Erica Jong
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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...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Piccalilli (Revised)

Piccalilli - the pickle that zings with zest
and foretells my royal downfall, a roll
prepared with onion, cheese, egg n'
tomato, spiced liberally with piccalilli

One bite cost my common sense -
knowing full well white rolls make me
ill I ate with relish still; it tastes soooo
wonderful when one like me

Lives in a bland dish desert of safe
condiments in black pepper and coarse
salt - if I felt bad after Prego steaks, I
now adore a crazy piccalilli tang

An extravaganza returns to haunt me in
solitary confinement of official texts, head
throbbing, oh piccalilli, chopped veggies,
cheese and spice, enchanting, piquant

For the unrequited palate…

[ORIGINAL: ]

Piccalilli - the word just sings with zest
and zing - spells my downfall, when you
prepared a roll with golden onion, tomato
egg and cheese all spiced up with piccalilli

I took one bite and lost all common sense
knowing full well that white rolls make me
ill I went ahead and ate with relish, it tastes
wonderful to one like me who lives life

In a desert of bland dishes with black pepper
and coarse salt the only safe condiments - I
love Prego steaks, feel bad afterwards, now
adore the tangy taste of piccalilli

An extravaganza coming back to haunt me in
solitary confinement with official texts, head
throbbing; oh piccalilli, chopped vegetables
and spices enchanting and piquant

For the underprivileged palate…

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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