Here are some poems on veggies and fruit
And I certainly hope that you’ll find them a hoot!
You know, veggies and fruit are just people like you
Happy and sad and emotional too.
Please listen awhile and you’ll soon hear them speak
As into their lives I provide a sneak peak.
Let their pitiful cries be a sobering reminder
That you may in future treat them kinder,
But also let them offer you oceans of fun
To keep you laughing after your reading’s done.
My final task is to fight for the good name
Of fruit and veggies to ensure their claim to fame.
So heed each and every plea you hear
And you will leave them in good cheer.
Plea of an Apple
There is no greater insult
To a growing young adult
Than to be called “Granny”.
It is most uncanny.
Though I be sour
And close to my last hour
Do not devour me
Without first hearing my plea
I am juicy and ripe
With a bona fide gripe
Smith is not my last name
Us apples regard ourselves the same
So let me have my youth
Calling me old is quite uncouth.
This being my plea,
I hope you will see to respect me.
After all, as they always say,
And I’ll say it again today,
An apple a day
Keeps the doctor away.
Plea of a Tomato
I am a very proud tomato.
Please don’t pronounce it “toe-MA-toe”
Or confuse me with a potato.
Many people consider me a vegetable,
But I concede I am too sweet to be such an eatable.
My inner seeds are sensitive to any claim
Against my fruity name.
As a tomato I implore you to see
The fruity side of me.
I display my red exterior
Which holds a ripe interior
So proudly for all to admire.
Because I know it is a beautiful attire.
When you call me a fruit I blush
And become ever more lush.
So remember there is nothing green about me.
I am red, a fruit, and that you remember this, is my plea.
Plea of an Artichoke
Please do not eat my heart away.
For I am green to your cruel way.
Eat my leaves and strip me bare
But eat my heart, don’t you dare.
I know I am but a delicacy,
But I do detest this legacy!
Bear your heart instead of mine
So you don’t need me to dine.
Leave my choke to guard my heart
For I could not live if we were forced apart.
Oh, do not eat my heart away,
Find another vegetable that requires less to pay,
Or choke on this plea
Or better yet, on me!
Plea of a Banana
There’s a common banana mishap
That has given me a bad rap.
When I am left at heel.
And someone slips on my peel
They blame me
And I receive the third degree.
I know I am easy to slip on
And I am painful to fall upon
But it does seem unfair
To give me the evil stare.
When they unzip my outer skin,
And carelessly forget to use the bin,
Who gets the blame?
Me – it’s a poor claim to fame.
I am sorry people litter
It makes me very bitter.
But I plead my case
For a little grace
When this unfortunate mishap
Befalls an unsuspecting chap.
If I had legs to walk on, I would surely walk away
But since I don’t, if I’m left behind, that’s exactly where I stay.
I plead you will have pity on me
And leave my conscience free.
Plea of a Pea
What is a pea’s life,
but full of strife
When we are all deemed all alike
With not any character to admire or dislike?
Two peas in a pod
Not one a bit odd?
This is the way
People see us today.
But now hear the truth.
Some of us are in the bloom of youth
While others are long in the tooth.
To think us the same is very uncouth
And a categorical untruth.
We are brothers and sisters
Mrs. and Misters.
Each with personality
And lots of originality.
Some easy going.
Others wise and knowing.
Lighthearted peas amuse us
While ill-tempered peas abuse us.
No pea in the pod is the same
We all go by a different name.
The myth we are all alike is wrong
And I hope it does not prolong.
Now, as you know, I am rather small
And quite unlikely to grow tall.
But since my plea rhymes with pea
I hope you will see
Its importance to me.
And so my plea is this:
Do not let this myth persist.
Share your new-found knowledge
At every school and college.
And all peas will rest well
Consoled by the news you tell.
That two peas in a pod
Are neither twin nor quad.
Plea of a Potato
One potato, two potato, three potato four
On your plate, without a doubt, one hot potato for sure.
Now everybody thinks that I am just food for the poor
‘Cause I’m easy to harvest and not hard to store.
It’s true my Irish roots made me a stable food
And today, this is the way I am currently viewed
But let me plead, I beg you, DO NOT call me “Spud”.
Tater, Murphy, both are fine – but “spud” is just a dud!
And I hope you will also recall how special I can be.
Sweet potato, New potato are just a taste of me.
So you may not think of me as a delicacy yet.
But there’s still time, for after all we’ve only just met.