You can bring me to the flowers, but not the flowers to me!

Photo by Gül Kurtaran on Unsplash

There was a dude
who bought a bouquet of roses

for a girl he really, really liked –

but the colours that leapt before her:
January’s spring! Quivering arrows;

hiding their thorns
in crinkled, silver foil

brought not joy – but, instead –
dismay to her eyes.

Then the girl said,

“Never mind this awful Valentine’s Day cliche,
but there’s something you have to know:

“you can bring me to the flowers,
but not the flowers to me!”

The dude, surprised by her words,
only had two words to offer: “But why?”

She continued, her mature stance belying
the terra-cotta freckles on her little hands:

“You see, my hands may bring them warmth,
but not the sustenance they truly need:

some water, sunshine, earthworms
to loosen the soil – or, even better – butterflies!

So leave them alone in the mucky dirt,
because that’s what they really, really like –

and bring me to the treetop walk instead,
because – my darling – that’s what I truly LIKE!”

© Zelda Reville

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all!

Pro tip: not all women like flowers, not all flowers are like women. Enjoy.



An infinite keyboard,
on which raindrops
play their circular melodies –

instead of do-re-mi-fa-so,
or A-B-C-D and E

we hear ‘plip-plip-plop-plop’

and little sampans

in their
uncertain ways.

© Zelda Reville


NaPoWriMo #5 – Nature: An Observation


The silver thread
from a spider’s web

floating freely, in the air –

no longer entrapped
by Arachne’s fate,
though still able
to hold twice its weight;

and was thus welcomed,
with the outstretched hands
of the salty breeze.

It waved its farewell
to the spider,
who hastily started
repairing its abode.


The tiniest
hairline crack
from an opened door

that tears the black fabric,

running stitches of gold
into the feeble protests
of gloomy basements
on a hot summer’s day…

Could someone please ask Dad
to replace that light bulb?


The silhouette
of retreating figures
in the sunset,

from the ferocity
of the receding light –

adequate to keep
the colour of plaid shirts
from bleeding into sidewalks,

but not enough
to erase
their muddy footprints
from the football field!

© Zelda Reville

This is based on Day 5’s prompt on the NaPoWriMo blog – a poem based on the natural world. It goes on further to say that it could be about a particular animal or plant, but I like everything that I see, and favouritism isn’t my thing…so I bent the rules a little here, hehe

The Eagle

The eagle soars,

the gleam of green
that informs
of his departure

and the wings
spread apart,

its body
to accommodate
both black and white.

I am reminded
of the structure
of ovoid trapdoors

that hold their
empty, stubborn gaze

in the eyes of
a 4-year old girl

who now
stares at me,
from beyond
a drifting cloud.

Her muslin dress
crinkles under
her feet
and dazzles my eyes –

that slow, sentient shift
in angelic light
split by prisms

and birthday parties past 30
sliding too easily
into depression.

What lies beyond
these troubadours
so whisper-soft;

yet stunningly voluble,

in that
lingering graze
of the fingertips
I sorely wished

belonged to mine?

© Zelda Reville

I like talking to unearthly muses who dance beyond my reach.


A desire
for a star

no longer


on the horizons…

like how the
flowers close
bitten petals,
one by one

in the moonlight’s glow.

in the cold morning –

the salt sting
waking tongues,

once dormant colours
to life.

Hands clasped

the mist shrouds
the mountains

as a newborn’s
bare head
is struck
by the sun.

© Zelda Reville

This was originally part of a scrap about the word ‘deciderate‘ buried in my notes for some time – I distinctly recall an article about constellations and this word was huddling amidst kooky constellation names. It sounded really pretty so…being true to form, I saved it for a rainy day 😄


月 (Moon)

Her smile

fallen blooms
of evening jasmine
still granting
cold concrete

chaste kisses

as she slowly
drew layers
of musk and lace

around a
voluptuous frame.

You held your gaze
with mine –

even as
skeletal trees
blotted out
your limpid orbs,

and buildings
swore to hide
your pregnant form
from desperate eyes.

I remember
when she
was once all mine,

galloping across
this dusty plain

dotted with
the seemingly
fewest of cares.

© Zelda Reville



I wish you could see
how the mushrooms poke
their white heads

through the cassopeia’s
browned sea of tears.

Do you think
it would make
for a comfy bed

to lay her down;

like these blankets
of creeping ivy

that weave
makeshift bird’s nests
in the spring?


Do you
that barn owl
whose face
appeared to me,

in many a fragment
from two or three dreams?

Not perched
on treetops
like how they do,

but stamped
in the grain of
that ornate cedar fringe?


Why must trees point
a perpetual why
to the cloudless sky?

How do these
5 o’ clock shadows
already ponderous

and why do
mosses grow
in places
where the lights
won’t reach?

I want to know

but when
I open a door,

another one
takes its place –


Opening a book
and closing yet another
won’t get you far,
my boy!

No use
that fig leaf
in tatters,

who sits
by the window-ledge,

for something
to happen…

© Zelda Reville

Nature, left wild to run and fly at its own pace. Like the planets that freely orbit in space…

End Of The Road – Robert Okaji

Another fantastic piece from Robert – profoundness uncovered within simplicity. The twists and the turns naturally unwind into the outback.


End of the Road (2002) Neither expected nor sought, truth arrives. One phrase, a minute turn of the wrist, and the beginning reverses itself, becomes vessel versus point, illuminating the reach: one sign, two paths. The agave. How far we’ve come to affect this place. Last season the flowers were gray and we knew […]

via End of the Road — O at the Edges