Local food poetry

 

By Angie O’Connor, from Wattle Glen

Oh, yacon

Oh, Yacon
I reckon
to snack on
you beckon.

(posted July 29 2020)

By Christina Spry, from Montmorency

Recipe for Cabbage

Take one large cabbage
Cut in half – slice thinly

We battle the melee of people jostling
At Dad’s favourite vegetable stall
he always chooses the biggest
the best cabbage
thick and heavy –
lots of dark green outside leaves

Take one large cabbage
Cut in half – slice thinly
Bring the water to the boil

At home Dad cuts the cabbage in half
separating the leaves to wash vigorously
shaking in a clean bowl of water
sometimes he’ll find a green
caterpillar nestling among the leaves
I throw it in the bin

Take one large cabbage
Cut in half – slice thinly
Place slice cabbage in water

Dad hands me the big knife
I put the leaves on the wooden board
and cut each one into thin slices
fill the saucepan with cold water
add some salt and bring to the boil
pop the leaves into the boiling water

Take one large cabbage
Cut in half – slice thinly
Add salt boil for twenty minutes

I arrive home from school
and let myself in the front door
the smell is overpowering
this means boiled cabbage for tea
(or maybe it’s Brussels sprouts?)
wonder what delights we’ll have with it?

Take one large cabbage
Cut in half – slice thinly
Eat with potatoes meat and thick gravy

(posted June 13 2018)

By Fee Sievers, from Eltham

At Day’s End

Diced beef in a wok
Ice in a fat-bottomed glass
I prolong the pleasure of the pour
TV blares as dog barks and kids bicker
Feet scream for a rest while I
Lay out dinner on the bench
Chop carrots and snowpeas
For stir-fry and fresh lime for gin
Just the one but today it’s a double
I splash sauce on red meat
Gin in the glass
Add tonic as ice cracks
Like stepping on egg shells
Add lime slice fresh as summer
Reminds me of hot nights
Like a life time ago
With ice-cold lemonade
Crayons and a grazed knee
No lemons for me
Too often they’re bitter
As am I

(posted February 5 2020)

By Gillian Essex, from Eltham

Doctor Google

It’s thanks to Dr Google
That I’m feeling no alarm
Though my symptoms are quite strange
They’re doing me no harm

I type and click and let
Doc G quickly diagnose
My complaints – she lets me know
Why I’m on the nose

I thought that eating home grown veg
Would mean a healthy life
But when I ingest artichokes
My belly’s in such strife

It makes me look quite pregnant
My gut is wracked with pain
In order to obtain relief
I fart and fart again

The trouble is when I grow veg
I eat them to excess
And my digestion cannot cope
In ways I now confess

Although it is embarrassing
To talk of wind and pee
Thanks to Doctor Google
I know it’s not just me!

Doc Google says it’s beetroot
That makes my pee turn pink
And also says asparagus
Gives it that awful stink

I’m missing certain enzymes
To help me cope with this
The evidence is damning
It’s right there in my piss

And eating carrots gives my skin
An obvious orange hue
So tell me Dr Google
What am I to do?

It seems the dietary guidelines
For me are topsy-turvy
I need to eat 5 fruits 2 veg
But at least I won’t get scurvy

(posted January 11 2017)

By Lee Hirsh, from Armadale

The Whisk and the Paint Brush

Beat the yoke with the white
Luscious layers blend nature’s hues
Blend nature’s ingredients
Nature’s enmeshment
Ooze squelch smear
Bubbles and froth seep through the metal gaps of the whisk
While the paint and the pigment hold it together
A domestic artistic marriage
Consuming passions unite.

(posted July 15 2020)

By Matsuo Basho, from Japan

Coolness of the melons (a Haiku from the 17th Century)

Coolness of the melons
flecked with mud
in the morning dew.

(posted January 11 2017)

By Pam Jenkins, from Diamond Creek

First poem

I had a little peach tree,
Nothing did it bear,
But some mushrooms right down near the ground,
And a pumpkin way up in the air.

(posted July 29 2020)

Second poem

Is that an angel’s trumpet?
No it’s a tromboncino.
I’ll serve it up as a tasty dish
Washed down with a glass of vino.

(posted April 8 2020)

Third poem

There’s an amanita phalloides in my veggie patch, A coprinus comatus in my drive,
One is out to kill me,
The other helps me thrive.

(posted May 24 2017)

Amanita phalloides
the death cap
Coprinus comatus
the shaggy ink cap
Fourth poem

The Harvest Feast has come around again.
Where gardeners share tales of joy and pain.
And eat the fruits of their collective labours.
And savour all those wonderous flavours.

There’ll be veggies, fruit and lots of eggs.
But nothing that ever got about on legs.

I’ll take along some peaches in bottles.
Glowing like sunshine on flowers of wattles.
This year the feast will be the best by far.
Especially with my gift of sunshine in a jar.

(posted February 24 2016)

Fifth poem

There was a lady who wouldn’t watch telly
Got a rumbling sound in her belly
So she took off her red hat
And her purple cravat
And turned apples and mint into jelly.

[Editor’s note: my understanding is that Pam really did wear a red hat whilst making her mint jelly.]

(posted January 27 2016)

Permaculture Victoria

A Christmas carol for permies – I Saw Three Chooks

I saw three chooks come scratching by
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
But no way they were gonna die
On Christmas Day in the morning
These chooks play such a useful role
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
Manuring, weeding, pest control
On Christmas Day in the morning
So though we self-sufficient be
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day
We let the feathered species be
On Christmas Day in the morning

(posted January 8 2020)

By Robert Lastdrager, from Montmorency

Fly Pie!

There once was a fly who thought of nothing but pies
The pastry, the gravy and sauce
Then one lunchtime from high in the sky
It spotted the flurry of an apron in a hurry.

All caution abandoned on a table it landed,
And with a hop and a skip it stood on the lip
Eureka!” it cried “What a lovely pie
And sat down and started to sip.

With a splosh and a sigh the sauce was applied
As dribble glistened on a chin
With nostrils flared and napkin prepared
Fly and pie were hoisted toward a large toothless grin.

Out came a tongue with a lick and a smack
And after a mouth full came a terrible cough and a hack
There’s a pie in my fly, I mean a fly in my pie!” a voice cried
As the blowie jumped with nowhere to hide.

To the kitchen window it flew
Through a small hole in the fly screen it knew
It looked to the sky and said with a sigh
Ah, there’s always cat food and poo

(posted July 2020)

 

  2 Responses to “Local food poetry”

  1. Thanks for the joy of poetry.

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