The Woman Who Does Not Trust Roses

The woman who does not trust roses
consults a dream her lover has left
concealed between sections of orange.

Breeze loves roses, 
both stem and bloom.
The woman who does not trust roses
reads by fingertip the morning moon.

Her lover's dream 
is of breeze in a secret bower,
and crescent hips gone almondine. 

for both "camera FLASH! at Real Toads, and Flash 55 hosted by my BFF Hedgy.


  1. Garnished with almond slices.
Usage notes
Unlike most English adjectives, almondine typically follows the noun it describes, rather than preceding it.
Origin From French.
Noun (plural almondines)
  1. A gemstone that is either a deep red garnet or a purple spinel.


hedgewitch said…
You had me at the title, and then walloped me even more on that second stanza, the visual in the third was, to use an overworked word, breathtaking...I love the way you craft each word in this, and the explanatory notes add a sweet gloss to an already lucent piece, which I might have otherwise missed, so thanks for that as well as for choosing this 55 to give your genius a full May Queen's playground, an oak-paneled study full of woodsmoke, and an attic of stars. I wish I could frame this and have it over my desk for when I feel like all poetry is dead.
Kerry O'Connor said…
This is so lush in the descriptive words. A heady feast for the senses with the rose, the orange, the almond slices vying for a place among fingertips, breezes and crescent hips.
Gillena Cox said…
Appealing!!! the breeze to waft all those scents and closing eyes to savour the colours.

Anonymous said…
As Hedge noted, you had me dead to rights in the title - and curiosity will feed the cat fat, right?

And wow - what a 55! It's really perfect, from the lacy petaled edge, along the prickle spine, deep into the reaching roots.
The words are elegant and graceful, rich for the deep heady scent (you know the one, the breeze is finally blowing warm and out of nowhere, the strong scent of a rose (the old world ones, the ancient ones, whether rustic or hybrids that have weathered time and pestilence) envelope you and suddenly you're elsewhere - in an ancient grotto/grove -
this is what this poem does.
And the closing stanza is just so wonderful - words like bower - who uses bower? and almondine are testament to your craft and wise knowing.
Yes, yes, may I have some more, please?
annell4 said…
That lovely scent of almonds, sweet mysterious, all the way through. A wonderful write!
Ellecee said…
This is lovely, fruit for the senses,,beautifully written,,
Sioux Roslawski said…
The last four lines are especially brilliant.
Brendan said…
What Hedge said. I'll never again work a thumbnail between orange sections without hoping a dream will squirt forth.
Other Mary said…
What a sensual poem. And I'm intrigued by the lover's hidden dream too. And I can't help myself, must ask - is she afraid of roses because they are full of pricks? Apologies!
Sherry Blue Sky said…
"The woman who does not trust roses
reads by fingertip the morning moon."
Oh my goodness! Such perfection in a poem.
kaykuala said…
Wonderful 55 Shay, brilliantly descriptive!

I think these characters will stay with me for some time ... haunting.
Vivian Zems said…
You certainly know how to titillate the senses with your words.😊
Anonymous said…
Thrilling poetry. I love that she knows ( she does right?) where the dream is concealed and that the breeze therein wraps up the whole piece for me.
grapeling said…
glad you missed the day of the week, to craft this ~