The roses were invited,
planted behind the porch rail.
Ribbons of red to my right,
bright crimson blooms with burgundy tinged leaves
kissed by hummingbirds dipping, diving, drinking.
In front of me another hedge of roses,
dense bushy shrubs of fine leaves
and small bunches of pure clean pink blossoms
held on dainty stems —
miniature bouquets along the redwood rail.
A vine of cabernet curls and twines amongst the ribbon roses,
reaching through the rail;
it’s emerald leaves and peppercorn clusters of promised grapes
tickle the cushions of my chair.
Jasmine planted and forgotten–
found new life beneath the canopy of rose and vine.
It climbs the gate
twisting around the sturdy grapevine
and hangs heavy.
It’s blooms not yet open,
waiting to scent the summer.
Magenta spikes of Jupiter’s Beard
hold their flowers high like fireworks,
bold and brazen above the roses,
choking the lilac,
calling to the humming birds and butterflies:
Take my nectar!
They are the harlots of my garden;
uninvited, too loud and too bright.
Their burst of color shooting through the shrubs,
wrapping the roses in a jubilant embrace.