[John Whitworth]

I gather the perishing things are rooterbay-ga and not rooterbagger. So:

Veggie Wars

Rutabaga! It’s a plague! A
Rutabaga is a swede.
Though it’s to a Viking’s liking,
Swede’s a veggie we don’t need.
Smash it, bash it, mash it, hash it,
Say it’s turnips, say it’s neeps.
Don’t be vague – a rutabaga
Gives an Englishman the creeps.

Yet I prize, contrariwise,
What any man of taste would choose.
Carrots in my poet’s garret
Reinvigorate my muse.
Slice ‘em, bite ‘em, what an item!
Carrots never bind or bore.
Raise your claret to the carrot.
Carrots helped us win the war.

Nice one, Jerome. I think a hymn of hate against the lettuce would be in order, at least the anaemic lettuce that we see in sandwiches and at the side of a plate full of man's food, bloody great burgers and the like.

If we are on to veggie jokes, here's the MaggieThatcher one: Maggie is out at a restaurant with her cabinet. 'I'll have steak!' she tells the waiter. 'Certainly, madam. And what about the vegetables?' 'They'll all have steak as well.'

[Roger Slater]

Let's hear it for vegetable love!

I don't think you even need an alias to enter more than once, do you? I've entered more than one in just one name. The one time I won something I had entered four or five times.

[John Whitworth]

You're probably right, Roger. But I've never seen two winners by the same person. I'm sure Bill Greenwell has won twice in the same week, but under different names.

[Janet Kenny]

Contest

Asparagus officinalis, lily languished on a platter,
slippery sybaritic phallus served with anchovies and butter.
Decadence devoid of malice, bliss too beautiful to utter,
like the salty voice of Callas, perfect tone devoid of clutter.

Regal artichokes are very stylish fried in little wedges,
and in Rome the culinary variations leap from fridges
to the antipasti trolley, but the connoisseur alleges
that Carciofi alla giudia rarely fails with knowing judges.

Now the lily and the thistle face the ballot for the gullet,
champing for the starter’s whistle and the stern judicial mallet.
Texture, flavour, lack of bristle, general damage to the wallet,
laid before the true apostle in the battle for the palate.

Will it be the tougher petal wrapped around a tender centre
or the gentle spear to get all praises from the show’s presenter?
Artichokes are on their mettle, flaunting their impedimenta.
Let the market forces settle—on your marks, the judges enter.

[John Whitworth]

Heavens, Janet. That beats everything. If it doesn't win i'll eat my swede.

[Maryann Corbett]

What John said! That's remarkable, Janet. Trochaic oct AND internal rhyme.

[Duncan Gillies MacLaurin]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

Very possibly Swedes eat swede. They are a hairy and fierce race, hard drinkers so perhaps they can palate the horrible orange mush. The Scots, hard drinkers the other side of the sea, call it neeps and eat it with haggis. It's OK with haggis.

For Whit It's Worth

That Sassenach best not attack the virtues of my neep.
It’s those green peas that make me sneeze before I go to sleep.
They start off round, but on the ground they squish beneath my skates,
and then I slip and lose my grip on all the fecking plates.
They’re hard to trap; they taste like crap. A total waste of space.
And when I’m fed them peas in bed they smear my pillowcase
a shade of green that’s so obscene I have to throw it out.
Och no, the pea is not for me. It’s turnip with my trout.

Duncan

[Martin Elster]

John, I like your carrot hint to history.
Roger, great wordplay.
Janet, super rhyming.
Jerome , funny finale.
Duncan, nice ballad-like verse.

We should all win!

Regarding the need for an alias, I like John's pseudonym for my name. For the Edward Lear parody I sent in 4 or 5 poems under one name (mine) and thought my Blake poem was pretty good, but, alas, no prize. I thought that perhaps I was disqualified for sending in several poems under one name. Could that be possible? What do you think of this alias: Merritt A. Lens?

[Gail White]

I think John has a winner.

Anyway, this site is having a deleterious effect on my life. I don't do anything poetic any more except sit around and wait for the next Speccie.

Since I can't tell a beet from a turnip, I may write something about my preference for meat over veggies of all kinds. I also hate fruit. The truth is, I ought by rights to have died of scurvy years ago.

[Roger Slater]

I need to edit this down to 16 lines.


VEGETABLE CONTEST

Broccoli
goes down rockily.

Spinach
makes my skin itch.

Pumpkins
are for bumpkins.

Cauliflower
makes me cower.

Brussel sprouts?
I have my doubts.

Lettuce?
What's it get us?

Garlic?
A subpar lick.

Kohlrabi
is too knobby.

Green beans
are obscene beans.

Sorrel
wins the laurel.