[John Whitworth]

Jerome, you are right. Grandaddy.

[Graham King]

Originally Posted by Brian Allgar

...
I've decided to ditch the whole alphabetic element, though I'm sorry to lose Zucchini. I've also changed the last line.

Asparagus and Broccoli detested one another,
Which made young Carrot rather sad; he loved them like a brother.
Hoping to reconcile the pair, he organized a party,
Inviting vegetable friends, and leafy litterati.

The younger sprouts were full of beans, and though the crowd was dense,
They blithely started playing squash, which gingered up events.
The music was provided by a band called “Sugar Beat”
Till someone let a rocket off, which knocked them off their feet.

“These kids have so much energy!” said Salsify to Spinach.
The revelry was clearly heard from Golders Green to Greenwich.
What rooty-tooty goings-on! What salad days! What capers!
The guests could hardly wait to read tomorrow’s morning papers.

The party was a great success, the happy throng enraptured -
Until a giant hand appeared, and all of them were captured.
They lay upon the chopping board, a fearful, tearful group;
The house’s owners simply loved their vegetable soup.

That's looking good, Brian. I'm sorry too to see the end of the Zucchini/Courgette quip but what you have is entertaining and the final twist on the theme of 'vegetable love' made me laugh out loud.

[Michael Cantor]

Need some help, since I usually don't enter these things, and the rules seem vague. Here's my poem:

Aubadergine

Awakening, I still can taste your flesh,
the soul contained within the supple
skin you wear, voluptuous and purple.
I have been warned you are the path to madness
and yet, despite the crumbs and salt that kiss
and linger on my lips, there is no brutal
morning-after sting; but just the sweet and subtle
whisper of a roasted scrap, a speck of crust;
a bitter lemon and the scent of thyme;
the rapture of the olive grove, and you as mine.



The problem is that - while it's never been entered in the Oldie comp - it's been published. In my last book, and also in Lucid Rhythms, back in 2008. I assumed this disqualified it, but when I checked what instructions I could find, there didn't seen to be any mention (or I didn't notice it) of past publication. Can somebody clarify the rules for me? Thanks.

[Barbara Lee]

Michael, I can't help you on the rules. But it is nice to log on to a poetry site and find a poem you really love. Love this.

Barbara

[Sylvia Fairley]

Terrific poem, I loved it. But my policy is, never to enter anything for a competition that has been published, in a book or on the net, or that has won another comp. Am I being too po-faced about it?

[basil ransome-davies]

Originally Posted by Sylvia Fairley

Terrific poem, I loved it. But my policy is, never to enter anything for a competition that has been published, in a book or on the net, or that has won another comp. Am I being too po-faced about it?

Yes. As the wizard Whitworth has it, if you can sell it once you can sell it twice.

[Martin Parker]

That bearded old legumophile
Captain Birdseye and his smile
bright with rapine motivation
prowl the farmlands of our nation,

his carnal appetites all whetted
by sweet young caulis defloretted,
by baby beans when firmly bodied
and little peas all pertly podded.

His heinous henchmen winkle out
each luscious newly rounded sprout
and slender carrot while he seeks
plump, tender pre-pubescent leeks.

For Captain Birdseye feels no shame
at love which dares not speak its name.
Till laws forbid legumophilia
he'll continue willy-nillier.

[Rob Stuart]

Not having any money for a cemetery plot,
I laid my other half to rest beside the garden shed.
You’d think this was illegal, but apparently it’s not
(Provided that the person you are burying is dead).

Within a week the poplar that we’d thought a lifeless stick
Came into leaf, and once again we’ve got a bushy hedge.
We’ve flowers too, our lawn’s become luxuriant and thick,
But most extraordinary is this sudden wealth of veg.

My missus has, in death, turned into something rich and strange,
As Phlebas did: those were her eyes that now are baby corn,
Her bones are leeks, et cetera. In undergoing change
From animal to vegetable my wife has been reborn.

I see her face reflected in the gloss of aubergines,
Alfalfa conjures up her hair, I taste her lovely lips
In every fresh and tender bite of steaming collard greens,
And scent her fragrant bosom when I’m peeling spuds for chips.

[John Whitworth]

We're good, aren't we. What would she do without us?

[Adrian Fry]

I must be a vegetable myself: my mind responds only with blankness to this comp. Hats of to those of who have managed to make so much of an unprepossessing rubric.