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La Vie en Rose
I came across that daft old ditty “Tiptoe Through the Tulips”
And wondered why its lyrics didn’t rhyme “tulips” with “true lips.”
I’ve learned, you see, that botany brings great linguistic power—
Like formulating works which vaunt the lilac and sunflower!
Now, had that song been mine I would have based it on some triolets
Within which I’d have mentioned rhododendrons, mums and violets.
I’d readily discuss plumeria and periwinkle
And lilies of the valley with a fond nostalgic twinkle;
I’d sing about azaleas and perhaps a pink petunia.
I’d praise the Venus Fly Trap (how can blooms get any lunier?)
There’s gladiola, honeysuckle and… what in tarnation?!
A marigold with fairy mold! Or is that a carnation?
A daisy—slightly hazy—and some sage from Abyssinia;
Gardenias, jasmine, lotus, iris and one crimson zinnia;
A peony upon a lea, a hill that’s daffodilly;
A slightly floppy poppy and a chilly calla lily;
Though laurel goes to those who throw a javelin and discus
I much prefer hydrangea, amaryllis and hibiscus.
But then I think of Edith Piaf’s song “La Vie en Rose”—
The perfect floral metaphor for love and how love grows.
A vision for the eye, a scent sensation for the nose…
That’s why of all the blooms on Earth, my favorite is the rose.
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Edelweiss
I’m not that unassuming bloom of song—
The one that’s pale and white and clean and bright.
Oh no, my naïve friends, you’ve got it wrong.
I’m tough as nails and grow from spit and spite.
I do not offer charming, star-shaped petals
For love, but as a patriotic symbol:
I’m etched on royal tombs, engraved on medals.
My home is out of reach unless you’re nimble
And fit to climb through lofty alpine passes
From Glockner westward to the Matterhorn.
You hike until your legs feel like molasses—
But find me and resolve will be reborn.
I’ve lived here since before the Romans’ time
Through jousts, two world wars, famine and disease.
Where rocky crags hold sway—that’s where I climb
Past crystal lakes, sharp peaks, and glacial freeze.
You think I sing of meadows, vales and fountains
But know proud edelweiss stands for much more—
No mere bucolic spirit of the mountains
But sheer resilience: blizzards, drought and war.
I’m master at surviving any blow.
Respect that when you bid me “bloom and grow.”
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Orchid Lover
The rainforest. A hungry jaguar roars,
A toucan caws and in the mossy-green
And damp I find her, beautiful. Pale pink.
She’s proud but spent. She waits with dignity
For dappled dusk to offer her release.
Ah, she was sultry once. So sensual;
Her lips were curved just like the Venus flesh
Polite society once whispered of
In sotto voce. She was sweet like candy,
And rosy-hued like coral from the sea.
Mmmm. Succulent like strawberries combined
With lychees—full of juice and overripe.
The femme fatale of flowers – how her tongue
And tantalizing textures made one thirst
For just one taste, one brief taboo caress!
Extravagant and rare, she carried echoes
Of feral elegance and worlds untamed,
Of jungles, flooding rain, of savage thoughts,
Of strange nocturnal visits—and yet she
Endured. For she was dangerous herself.
But oh, so ravishing! Transfixed, I see
Her posed and poised among Jurassic ferns.
My skin begins to tingle, my heart pounds.
So delicate she is. I press her damp
And silken petals to my stubbled cheek,
My sunburnt arms, the gooseflesh on my neck.
As she perfumes me with exotic scents
I close my eyes and breath in Tropic Eros.
I gently touch those tempting parted lips
With trembling hands. Those orchid petals may
Be fading but they still evoke the pulse
Of life and memories of lustful youth,
Of novel thoughts, hot whispers, wanton smiles—
Arousing and seductive, achingly
Erotic as that last forbidden kiss.
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Brian Yapko is a retired lawyer whose poetry has appeared in over fifty journals. He is the winner of the 2023 SCP International Poetry Competition. Brian is also the author of several short stories, the science fiction novel El Nuevo Mundo and the gothic archaeological novel Bleeding Stone. He lives in Wimauma, Florida.