Three odes to the carrot

As part of MT's sub-category, BioVerse, we like to publish something other than rants and (occasional) raves from time to time.  Poems inspired by questions about life.

Here are three poems to the carrot in response to a discussion about the nature of self-awareness.  We thank Gary Greene, a poetically-inclined MT reader, for his poem, his permission to post it here, and the inspiration it gave us to write our own.

By Gary Greene 

Carrots that feel, beets that pine,
Are they rooted in awareness, 
These veggies of mine?
When arrayed at the store,
Is it dirt that they dish?
Can onions and potatoes
Make a vegetable wish?
Would they choose life in the ground,
Until they lay rotten?
Or to be served up in bowls,
Sauteed or au gratin?
Do they think deeper thoughts,
the deeper they grow?
Do they plan for the future,
or just wait for snow?
When the frost comes early,
do they think warmer things?
And at night, if they dream,
take flight on veggie wings?
We may never know
if veggies are aware,
if they think lofty thoughts,
or simply don't care.
It's so hard to tell,
there's nothing to do,
but pass the green peas,
and the turnip greens, too!




By Ken Weiss
A CARROT IS A THOUGHTFUL THING!

A carrot is a thoughtful thing,
That worries what the rain will bring.
With all its neighbors, sore it grieves,
The gruesome gnawing on its leaves.

Of peas we could the same relate,
And from the lettuce, no debate.
The Fall's last katydid doth moan,
Unanswered calls: it's all alone.

These plaintive cries unnoticed, all,
By humans: blinded to the pall,
And hearing naught, can naught believe.
So, voiceless, plants no pathos leave.

We spare no thoughts for 'thoughtless' being,
Assuming only we are seeing,
Yet trees observe the sun all day,
With leafy retinal display.

We grant no ‘self’ to fish nor fowl,
Hard-wired deem the lions growl.
Thus poems are writ by fools like me,
Who can’t converse with ant, or tree.




By Anne Buchanan

I just hope
that
carrots don't dream.

But if they do
I hope they don't
dream
of having 
legs
to run away
on.

Legs and hips and feet,
in our image.
And arms to raise themselves
from the earth.

If they
were made in
our image,
not only would 
they
feel fear, but
they would 
have to confront
the ethical dilemma
of whether 
or not
to eat themselves.