Paradise Lost (the forbidden veg)

In that first Garden lived Adam and Eve,
Innocent as lambs, we are led to believe.
We’re told that an apple was the source of their woe.
This, I contend, was not really so.
For that serpent of old snaked, not in a tree,
But down on the soil, where veggies grew free.
Try this nice Cabbage! he temptingly hissed,
It’s truly a vegetable not to be missed!
Now God had once warned them; made them both pledge
Never to touch this prohibited veg.
But cabbage, said the serpent, is so good to eat! –
Packed full of vitamins, it's a culinary treat!
So, chopped and pickled, fried and boiled,
They scoffed it, and thus, was Paradise spoiled.
For the cabbage, though a wholesome, nutritious food,
Gave them Knowledge, and they saw they were nude.
Each covered their shame with a large cabbage leaf,
Then God looked in, and bellowed: Good grief!
Your innocence is lost! You have broken your pledge!!
You have eaten of the Cabbage, the forbidden veg!
And as they both cowered, no longer so clever,
He banished them both, from The Garden, forever!
And now, sinful humans, ignoble and savage,
Owe their mean fate to that ill-gotten Cabbage!

My Kingdom for a Cabbage!

A cabbage! A cabbage! My Kingdom for a cabbage!
King Richard the Third first cried,
Unaware, it appears, that a cabbage, in fact,
Is a difficult beast to ride.
It’s small and round and slippery, you see,
With nowhere that’s easy to sit.
And a cabbage will rarely take kindly
To a person on top of it.
It wobbles and shakes, unsettles your tum,
Annoy it enough, it’ll bite your bum!
Few ride for long, they’d rather walk,
Than end up stuck on a cabbage stalk!
Best think again, like King Richard, of course,
Who changed his mind, and demanded a horse!

Behold, the King of Cabbages!

We cabbages believe (Oh, yes! We all believe!)
And we are truly grateful, for all that we receive.
Because we know that from on high, upon His throne above
The Cabbage King He sees all things and radiates His love.
For in a lowly garden, surrounded by a wall,
He sent His one and only seed, to grow amongst us all.

It was a late December eve, the moon was shining bright
A seedling dropped into the soil, and sprouted overnight!
Turnips, leeks, and parsnips, all strained to get a peep
Of what was growing in the cold, whilst most were fast asleep.
“A miracle!” we all exclaimed, “for such a thing to grow!
In the depths of winter time, amongst the ice and snow!”

A fine upstanding cabbage, firm and large and round.
Such a cabbage never seen, to rise from frozen ground!
He spoke of love, and brotherhood, he taught us how to sing
And how to pray and not lose hope, and soon we called him King.
“I am not the King!” he cried, “I am just His seed!
He sent me down, to earthly ground, in this, your time of need!”

He told us of the Garden, located in the sky,
Where all good plants will one day go, when comes their time to die.
He told us of His Father, the mighty Cabbage King
Who sees, and hears, and understands, every earthly thing.
He told us to be patient, and humble, mild, and meek
And one day soon then we shall find, everything we seek.

But then, one morn, came evil Man, with knife so sharp and cold
And cropped our King of Cabbages, and took him to be sold!
“A mighty fine big cabbage!” we heard the killer say:
“This veg will earn a bob or two, this coming market day!”
“Rise up!” we cried in anguish, “It’s time to save the King!”
But we were rooted to the spot, and could not do a thing.

We watched, in angry impotence, our King being hauled away
And as the barrow rumbled off, each cabbage heard Him say:
“Fear not my fellow cabbages! Stand firm in wind and rain!
Fear not the droughts, and frosts and fogs, for I shall come again!
And when I do, upon that day, a blessed dawn shall rise
And men shall bow to vegetables and know them to be wise!”

We took those words and passed them on, to all who droop and mope.
So that, like us, with lighter hearts, they’ll stand and wait in hope.
Now, through the darkest winter nights, and long dry summer days,
We stand and grow, inside we glow, our hearts sing out His praise!
For, though just lowly vegetables, our thoughts are raised up high
As we await our turn to find, that Garden In The Sky!

Only Edward Lear knows…

Only Edward Lear knows…

…why the pobble has got no toes
and why the Dong has a luminous nose.

And only Mr. Lear knows what
or who, or why, is the Akond of Swat.

And you must ask Mr. Lear, for only he
knows why the Jumblies went to sea.

And only he is sure to know
what attracted the Owl and the Pussy Cat so.

And only he can ever let slip
The truth about the Scroobious Pip.

But such expectations are foolish, one fears,
For dear Mr. Lear has been dead for years.

If Edward Lear had eaten his greens as a child, this is what he may have come up with...

The Sprout and the Cabbage

The Sprout and the Cabbage went to sea
In a suitable egg shell boat.
The waves were so high
They thought they would die,
But viscosity kept them afloat.
The sprout cried out: “Oh, Cabbage, my dear!
Wrap your green leaves around me!
Hold on to me tight, and all through the night,
We’ll stay safe in this treacherous sea!”
But the cabbage replied, as they lurched to one side:
“Steady! You lecherous lout!
My life would be wrecked, if my family suspect
I’m at sea with a sex- crazed sprout!”

The Sprout, thus chastised,
Feared their boat might capsize,
And made no further advance.
When the weather had calmed
He declared himself charmed
By the cabbage’s virginal stance.

Then the moon appeared, with the stars above
And the Sprout serenaded his true Cabbage love:
“Oh Cabbage!” he sang, as he strummed his guitar
“What a beautiful big round Cabbage you are!”
The Cabbage’s heart, like the sea had before,
Pounded and swelled - could this be l’amour?
“Oh kiss me, oh kiss me!” the Cabbage declared,
And the Sprout leapt to do as the Cabbage now dared.


So the Sprout and the Cabbage spooned through the night
As the moon shone down a silvery light.
“My veggie! My dear!” they both called out.
“Oh Cabbage! Oh, Cabbage!” “Oh, Sprout! Oh, Sprout!”

In the morning, they woke, side by side
“Oh, Cabbage, my love!” the enraptured Sprout cried;
“Marry me Cabbage, and away we will go,
To a large open field, and there we will grow,
And ripen and bloom and have lots of seed,
There with each other, for that’s all we need!”

But the Cabbage replied “That’s all very fine,
But there’s things I must have, if you want to be mine!
Like quince, and mince, and a runcible spoon,
And shoes for a dance, by the light of the moon!
And money and honey, and a little pig’s ring!
So you’ll have to do more than just strum and sing!
To get all we need will cost a few bob;
I’m afraid, Sprout, it means, you’d best get a job!”

Sprout sadly sighed, for a working life
Was the price he must pay for his dear Cabbage wife.
And so, every day, he slaved away,
For the rent of a small double room.
But then every night, to their endless delight,
They danced by the light of the moon.
Yes, Cabbage and Sprout, each night they went out
And danced by the light of the moon.

Sprabbages

Cabbage mum grew larger,
It was that time of year
When cabbage mums got big and round,
And tiny ones appear.

Cabbage dad beamed proudly
As each green blob popped out
Then shook as a much closer look
Showed each looked like a sprout!

Cabbage mum recoiled in shock
To hear her partner shout:
“Have you strayed from the cabbage patch,
Canoodling with a sprout?”

Cross fertilised indeed, was she
And couldn’t figure out
How it was she’d ended up
With seedlings from a sprout!

For cabbages are vegetables,
They’re green and none too bright
And couldn’t ever comprehend
The gardener’s delight.

“My cross-bred seeds have finally worked!”
The happy gardener shouts:
“Now, shall I call them Sprabbages,
Or shall I call them Scrouts?”

The Rime of the Ancient Gardener

It is an Ancient Gardener,
Leaning on the fence.
“There was a cabbage, once” says he:
His look is most intense.

“A cabbage, once, indeed, there was,”
This man is such a bore.
I can’t escape, I know I’m stuck
For half-an-hour or more.

“This cabbage was a mighty veg”
The Gardener’s droning on.
I listen now with drooping lids
And wished I could be gone.

“It’s getting on, I need to go!
I have to meet my son!”
I try all these excuses, but
The Gardener witters on.

“White fly, white fly, everywhere!”
The Gardener wouldn’t stop.
My eyes are glazed, I’m in a daze,
I’m ready now to drop.

A miracle! Some gentle rain!
The Gardener gives a ‘tut’
And rushes off, a-muttering,
To shelter in his hut.

I, too, depart, with gladdened heart,
But, as I walk away,
I’m sobered by the knowledge
He'll be back another day.

As these recently uncovered first drafts show, William Blake was, amongst his many other talents, a keen cabbage grower...

From: Songs of Cabbages and Expedience

The Sick Cabbage

O Cabbage! You are sick!
A loathsome caterpillar
fat and crawling, hairy stick
Is, I fear, a cabbage killer!

It sought you out
and gores your leaves
I see your holes,
and my heart grieves!


The Cabbage


Cabbage, cabbage, firm and round!
In the cold and sodden ground.
What tiny fragile planted seed
Could grow such sturdy winter feed?

In what distant soil there lies a
Compost heap or fertiliser
Rich enough to feed you so
To build you up and make you grow?

When that Gardener most profound
Scattered seed on fertile ground
Did He foresee, please tell me true,
Did He who made the sprout make you?

Cabbage, cabbage, firm and round!
In the cold and sodden ground.
Such a tiny fragile seed
To grow such sturdy winter feed!

Valentine Cabbage

I bought my love, for Valentine’s,
A perfect single rose.
And she bought me a cabbage,
That’s something, I suppose.

I looked at it in puzzlement,
Uncertain what to do.
She said to me, impatiently:
“Now cook some cabbage stew!”

She handed me a recipe,
Claimed it was the best,
Gave me some ingredients
To ‘add a little zest.’

I toiled within the kitchen
For at least an hour or two.
Cooking to perfection
This special cabbage stew.

The stew smelt most enticing,
As I stirred it in the pot.
Eagerly, I poured some out:
And soon, we’d ate the lot.

We cleared our bowls in minutes
Declared it was delicious
My love said, with a twinkle,
“Tonight, let’s leave the dishes!”

All night long, our passions flared
Our hearts were both aflame.
We stopped, just once, to have more stew,
And then began again.

Since that day, I’ve memorised
The recipe for that stew
So, if our passion starts to wane
I know just what to do.

That’s why, within our garden,
We always leave a row
Of thick, rich soil, all clear of weeds,
For cabbages to grow!

Allotment Fever


I must go down to the allotment again, to the plot where my cabbages grow,
And all I ask is a trowel and a spade, and a packet of seeds to sow.
And a rake and a hoe and some organic spray
And some netting to keep all the pigeons away.

I must go down to the allotment again, for I need to cull the weeds
They’re growing so fast in the sun and the rain, they’re smothering all my seeds.
And all I ask is for weather that is … just exactly right,
And a healthy crop to plump and grow, without any mildew or blight.

I must go down to the allotment again, to put in some hours of toil
Clear slugs away, and snails away, and mulch and enrich my soil.
And all I ask is for soft, moist ground, unsullied by pebble or stone
And for white-fly and pigeons and all other pests, to leave my cabbage alone.

The recent discovery of this first draft of one of the Bard's most famous sonnets may, or may not, shed further light on the identity of the Dark Lady...

Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a Brussel sprout?
Thou art more tasty and more versatile.
Rough winds may shake those round about,
But summer sees you firm, with rounded smile.
Sometimes, as you stand rooted in the soil,
Whitefly and pigeons may assault your leaves,
And, spite of the gardener's eternal toil,
Your heart lies open to nocturnal thieves.
But know there is just one true end for you:
Your destiny is the simmering pot,
As part of a casserole, soup or stew,
Or a nourishing side dish, piping hot.
So long a source of vitamin 'C',
Cabbage, your iron gives long life to me.

Ozycabbages

I met a traveller from an arid land
who said: Upon a strip of loam,
amidst the shale and dust, and sand,
a mighty cabbage once had grown!
Its heart was huge, its leaves were green,
an old man claimed, with wistful looks.
The biggest cabbage ever seen!
Its boiling busied all our cooks!
But now, for all the locals’ talk
no cabbage traces can be found.
Not even one small cabbage stalk
upon that vast and stony ground.

I wander’d, lonely…

I wander’d, lonely as a weed
In cultivated ground
When I beheld – was bless’d indeed!
By something most profound!

A field of emerald cabbages
Each rooted to the soil,
Aloof from all life’s ravages
Produced by human toil.

Sturdy, round, as strong as trees
All standing there in rows
Impervious to frost or breeze,
Each cabbage boldly grows!

When I’m bored, or plain annoyed,
Assailed by modern savages,
My mind drifts back, my heart is buoyed
By thinking of those cabbages.

Norville, the Space Cabbage

Astronauts, Cosmonauts, are all in the race
To be the ones blasted furthest in space.
Monkeys and dogs were once both employed
To escape from the earth and into the void.
Out into orbit, and then to the moon!
Humans on Mars! - It’ll happen quite soon!
But don’t get excited, for it’s time now to share
The news that there’s others, already there!

For Norville the Cabbage, a few years ago
Built his own rocket – and not just for show.
Made out of scrap from bikes and old cars
It got him from Earth, and out on to Mars!
Launched from the garden, one dark, moonless night,
It rose from the ground in a smooth upward flight.
Spaceward and onward, like a small, twinkling star,
Norville and rocket, voyaging so far.

With room for one cabbage, and a packet of seeds,
And a nice bed of soil to meet all his needs,
Norville relaxed, secure in his place,
Comfy and cosy, speeding through space,
Until he looked out, and suddenly found
His spaceship was slowing, approaching the ground!
With careful manoeuvres, the way he’d been trained,
He bought the craft down on the Martian terrain.
He gave the ‘stop’ button a small but firm thump
As the spacecraft hit ground with a soft, little bump.

He opened the hatch and ventured outside
His crinkly green leaves all puffed up with pride.
“A small step for cabbages, that may be so,
But from small beginnings, then mighty things grow!”
Then, off to do tests: “Yes, water - there’s some,
The weather’s not bad, there’s warmth from the sun.
Soil’s pretty good, it’s got what we need
To grow a big cabbage from each little seed!”


He made himself busy, digging and sowing,
Within a few weeks, young seedlings were growing.
And within a few seasons, cabbages had spread
And the fabled red planet was no longer red.
For all those with eyes, it’s plain to be seen
That the surface of Mars is a patchwork of green!
Now a cabbage contingent, with no wish to roam,
Is happy and thriving, with Mars as its home.
And those in the future that touchdown will curse
To find out that cabbages settled there first!

The Brotherhood of Cabbages.


This poem is not a poem.
It’s a message sent in code
to a Brotherhood of Cabbages
that live just down the road.

The phrase “Great Holy Cabbage”
is their signal to advance
into the nearest cabbage patch
to dance their sacred dance.

So if you see some cabbages
in rapturous states of bliss,
dancing for the Cabbage God -
you’ll know that they’ve read this.

Winter Cabbages.

The sky was dark,
the air was cold.
The moon was bright,
the year was old.
I heard a noise,
from just outside.
A thump and a splatter,
with giggles and cries!
I peered in the garden
and saw such a sight!
My cabbages!
- having a snowball fight!
Savoys and drumheads
in the moonlit glow,
dodging and throwing
great balls of snow!
They saw me look
and promptly froze,
and sank back into
their winter doze.
While I watched,
they all played dead.
So I went back in
with a shake of my head.
I knew full well
once I was gone,
they’d start again
their winter fun.
And, in the morning,
I'd probably see
a crude little snowman
that looked like me.

A Windy Day

The wind blew hard, the wind blew cruel,
It blew the children into school.
It blew them right across the grass
And then it blew them into class!
It blew each child right through the door
Then blew them too, across the floor!
It blew them, next, around the hall,
Over chairs and up the wall!
Teachers cried out in despair;
"There’s children blowing everywhere!"
It blew them up, it blew them down,
It blew them round, and round, and round!
The wind then dropped, and that was it.
The children settled down… a bit.