seussy squash

hoorah for people with a seussian flare (and, possibly, too much time on their hands? too much reading of seuss to small children? i'm no one to talk, i wrote 'the grinch who stole valentine's" last year). here are two excellent examples of the human ability to be goofily poetic:
(i might request deadwood-inspired squash prose next, for my enchantment with squash is waning daily. there's so fucking much of the ball-breaking shit)


In the far-away farmland of the red wheelbarrow farm
Sat Wyatt, self-anointed, seed slinging king, short on charm.
A nice little farm-stand. It was clean. It was neat.
There was plenty of sunshine. There was PLENTY to eat.
The farmhands had most everything farmhands might need.
And they were all happy. Quite happy indeed.

They were…until Wyatt, the king of them all,
Decided the harvest was much too much small.
“I’m ruler”, said Wyatt “of the crops that I see.
But I’m way too uptight, that’s the trouble with me.
With this squash for a throne, I look down on my farm
But I can’t see beyond, thus I am quite alarmed.
This squash that I sit on is far too close to the ground.
It ought to be higher!” he said with a frown.
“If I could sit high on a custom posh and squash thrown
What a king! What a ruler! All my farmhands would moan.”

And Wyatt, the farm king, barked a command.
He bade to his farmhands, bring him more squash
And, pile them high with aplomb and panache.
He made each farmhand slosh pumpkins forward and back
And pile them precariously in a big pumpkin stack.
And then Wyatt climbed up. Placed his rump on the pile.
“I can see all of Denver!” he said with a wry smile.

“Mine O mine!” Wyatt cried. “Behold all that I rule!
I’m the king of all produce! Good lord I am cool!
I’m the kind of all turnips! And all organic food!
Of all things delicious both sautéed and stewed
I’m Wyatt the farm-king! Oh, marvelous me!
Perhaps the next season I’ll plant sugar snap peas!”

And all through the morning, he sat on his perch,
Giving sermons to patrons in his produce like church.
Until just about noon, then he heard a faint me-ow.
“What’s that?” snapped the farm king and he stared down to see
Way way down at the bottom a farmhand named Shley.
Just one of his farmhands, who, would no longer be quite,
Looked up, and said, “um, beg your pardon, king Wyatt
You’re a pain in my ass, my back, and my knees –
How much more squash must we slosh through the mud, tell me please?”

“SILENCE!” the farm king barked mercilessly
“I’m king, and you’re just a farmhand named Shley.”

“You slosh through the mud, I’m the king of produce!
I’m the almighty turnip and zucchini Zeus!
I’m the king of all veggies and organic food!
You just slosh through the mud, there is no time to brood.
My squash throne shall be higher!” his farm-fresh voice thundered,
“So pile more squash! I want more then two hundred!”

“More squash! Much more squash!” he hollered and yelled.
And the farmhands worked harder and sweated and smelled.
Just so the farm kings shrill voice would be quelled.
From all over the farmland, the farmhands they came,
Each carrying squash – their poor joints were aflame
And all of them sloshed mud all over poor Shley.
As they piled the squash to three-hundred-and-three.

Then Wyatt, the farm king, was seated so high,
He could see past the mountains that just touched the sky!
“Hooray!” bellowed Wyatt. I’m the king of field greens!
I’m the king of the squash! I’m the king of green beans!
I’m the king of the bees, as they buzz through the air!
Oh, joy! What a wonderful pumpkin throne chair!
I’m Wyatt the farm king! It is great to be me!
I’m the splendiferous squash god! He said with great glee.

Then from far down below, came a disgruntled plea,
From that plucky young farmhand, whose name it was Shley.
“Yo, farm dude, beg pardon…but I think you’re insane,
Do you know that you are causing your farmhands great pain?
I know, up on high, you are our great farm-stand king,
But we have enough squash here to last until spring!
We farmhands can’t take it. Our arms are like brie!
And besides, we need food!” said the farmhand named Shley.

“You hush up your yap!” Snapped the mighty king Wyatt.
“You’ve no right to talk, pile squash and be quiet.
I rule from this mountain of squash, all I see!
There’s nothing, nay, NADA, quite as high as me!”

But, while he was howling, he realized with surprise
That the full harvest moon was now on the rise
And its perigeal light would soon fill the skies.
“What’s THAT?” chortled Wyatt. “Tell me what IS that thing?
I just don’t have the time for celestial bling!
I can not allow it! I must go much higher!
Heed my words lowly farmhands, lest ye be fired!
Get the led out you farmhands, stack these squashes to heaven!
It should only take five hundred thousand and seven!”

But, as Wyatt, the farm-stand king, lifted his hand
And started to bellow and give the command,
That plucky young farmhand who had let out the plea,
That plucky young farmhand whose name it was Shley
Decided she’d had it. And had it she had.
She was tea kettle screaming and boiling mad.
And that plucky young Shley did an uncouth little thing.
She burped!
And her burp squelched the pumpkin squash throne of the king!

And Wyatt, the self-proclaimed-farm-stand king of produce,
That zealot organic-mad zucchini Zeus,
That king who sat high on his posh squash pumpkin stool…
Well, that was the end of the farm-stand king’s rule!
For Wyatt, the farm king, that king short on charm,
Fell off his squash throne, with a thud, to his harm.

And today the great Wyatt, that splendiferous he,
Is king of the mud. All because of the Shley.
And the farmhands, of course…all the farmhands are free
As all farmhands and, perhaps, all squash should be.


*based on yertle the turtle, or so i've been told



That Josh!
That Josh loves squash!
That Josh loves to nosh on squash!

That Josh knows not that I don't like squash
Josh knows that I like corn and peas
and occasionally macaroni and cheese
Still, that Josh thinks that a meal needs squash
But for me, that sort of veggie meal won't wash!

Josh learned to nosh on squash when he was a frosh
a frosh at Drury, ain't that posh!
He ate it in the Commons at noon, and while researching Daniel Boone,
in the library, and under a full moon, while traipsing across
the 40 acres so dear, while on his way to a party, we hear,
his squash obsession was plain to all, they talked about it at
Sunderland Hall

"He likes pumpkins, gourds, zucchini and more! Summer squash, winter
squash, acorn squash, Hubbard!
This Josh is a little weird, I think, he's sort of "out of the cupbourd"
Perhaps a little therapy would do, a little love of other veggies too.

So Josh was given only spinach from then, sometimes an occasional
tomato.
But his palate cried for squash, you see, and occasionally a potato.

A potato? What's this? Has Josh found new love? A new culinary
obsession?
Latkes, fries, mashed or hashed, will these be his new possession?

It seems our Josh has learned that tastes will come and go
but squash, dear friend is drawn on our hearts,
and he will always love it so.