What is this?  A “toy,” you say?  Never heard of it….

Okay, all you veggie-lovin’, tune-carryin’, beat-mixin’ marvels out there.  I LOVED your entries.  L-O-V-E-D loved them.  So much fun, so much talent on display!  Thanks to everyone for sharing.  I have to say, I really want some mp3s of the musical number and the rap.  I’m a-thinkin’ we just may have to request those from DJ Kimmus and Kirbysmom if they win, don’t you think?

Anywho, wonder of wonders, today is the day voting begins to choose the first and second place winners in our New Year Cookbook Contest!  If you haven’t been following them, we’ve got lyric poetry, raps, musical numbers, haiku, limericks, and more.  If you have been following them, which ones did you enjoy most?  What resonated with you, what made you laugh, which one were you still thinking about a day after you read it?  I’m pasting them all after the jump to refresh your memories, along with the link to the poll where you can cast your vote.

Please, vote for no more than two choices. However,  you are permitted to recruit your friends and family to stop on by to vote for your poem, or just give them a nudge to have them check out and enjoy the entire list.  The more, the merrier! Voting ends this Wednesday, January 7, at 11:59 pm Pacific time.

Maybe from this angle…Nope.  Still not familiar.

Mangoes

Mango. A smile. A laugh as the juice trickles down my chin.
Mangos, yellow, red, and the deepest orange. Sunsets and sunrises at any time of the day.
Squishing the soft skin between my hands as the pulp mashes within, only to squirt out the top into my mouth and onto my friend’s face.
Sustaining me, soothing me, a joy throughout the years.
Scraping the pit with my teeth, drawing out each sweet bit of fruit until the fibers stick between my teeth. Scraping the skin with my teeth and laughing at the teeth marks left behind.
Joy in kachumber, in sweet mango sauce, in mango lassi and mango salads.
Nothing short of simple happiness.

Open Letter to a Carrot

Trust me. You’re fine
just the way you are. Pulled straight
from the soil, bumpy
and dirty. Crooked
like an accusing finger. Ignore

those people who ask you
to be smaller, more child-like.
Uniform and smooth, in easy to swallow
bullets. What they do to you
is violence, shaving

your distinctive features, suffocating
you, hundreds at a time, in re-sealable
plastic bags. I prefer our easy

mornings together. Scrubbing your uneven
skin. Picking off the thin white threads,
your immature roots. Slicing

you in half to reveal rings inside
crisp orange flesh. Don’t worry,
you will always be
my sweet, imperfect favorite.

Tomatoes

Bright reddish-orange tomatoes
firm, ripe and juicy
The redder, the better!
Emma would eat them, but I won’t let her.

I enjoy your slices in the purest form—
alone and swimming in a bowl of Italian dressing.
Buford ate one or two, he is confessing.

Hot house, on-the-vine and roma are the best.
I don’t prefer the ones from the West.
Homegrown and from the South create a tomato food fest!

Soup, marinara and ragu,
how do you like your tomatoes?

In My Own Little Corner

On my own little corner
in my own backyard,
I can grow whatever I want to grow.
On the wing of my fancy
I can plant anything
And my garden will grow, row upon row.

I can plant a young kohlrabi or a pea pod,
I’m the greatest gardener in the land.
But I’m a person who has always bought her produce,
From the local store but no, not anymore.

In my own little corner
In my own backyard
I can grow whatever I want to grow.
Be it green beans, cauliflower or red rhubarb,
I can grow them in my own little garden row.

I’m a gardener that the veggies love to grow for.
Veggies are a thing I really like to munch
Be it radishes or carrots
Or a green cuke,
I will put them in a salad just for lunch..

In my own little corner
In my own backyard
I can grow whatever I want to grow.
I can dig in the dirt all alone and happy
When I meet an earthworm digging in her hole,
Then I’m glad to be in my own little garden,
All alone in my own backyard.

The Parsnip Deserves its Spicy Reputation:

There once was a parsnip from Cambridge
who lived in a Whirlpool fridge.
He made passes at lasses,
took bribes, flunked his classes,
and his memoir was never abridged.

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the blueberries
that were in
the white bowl in the fridge

All of them.
I picked each myself
from small, dry
bushes.

Forgive me
I didn’t want to share.
They were delicious
so tiny
and so tartly sweet.

And a haiku to the blueberry as well, also from the same author

“Blueberry power,”
I said when young. Now it’s called
antioxidants.

Kale
Oh kale, you sneak into the magazines and foodie blogs so sheepishly. Like you are surprised by all of this new attention. I know it was rough for you to wait your turn and watch that Boston lettuce, that obvious spinach, those silly rabe things all steal the spotlight. They had no idea of what you were capable of….a hearty salad, wilted with garlic, added to soup, spiced on your own. Oh my, you were so patient and clever. And they never suspected a thing.

Don’t Kick da Beet!

Yo, DJ
don’t kick da beet!!

da pppptttt-pppptttt tssssst
da pppptttt-pppptttt tssssst

here’s a little rap,
with a succulent beat,
about a tasty root
so earthy sweet!!

This little beet
is a double treat
greens on top,
and underneath
a juicy feat!!
Saute their greens,
and cook the meat.

red or gold
Yo,
behold!!
boiled… broiled…
this beet ain’t
SPOILED!!

Slice it
Dice it
throw it in a
Soup
suckin down some borscht
while ya sit on yur
STOOP!!

red and ROUND,
my hands stained
PINK
No matter yo
‘cuz this beet
STANKS!!

Yo, Check da beet…
da ppppttt-ppppttt tsssst
da ppppttt-ppppttt tsssst

How to choose from among all these excellent poems?  The dilemma sure wore out Mr Hippo. I’m sure you’ll be just fine, though!

Good luck, everyone!
Click here to vote at SurveyMonkey!