(O.L. Weeks Rose, non fragrant)
Sarah over at dversepoets.com is hosting today, poems about the meanings of flowers. This is my take. I have 60 some rose bushes here on the property, some 40 years old and older. Many just planted this spring. Husband dragged home 11 rose bushes from a movie set they were throwing away. All lived.
Lady Nyo
Spring Orgy
The roses are having an orgy.
They haven’t the decency to wait for the dark,
But ply their lust in the soft, morning light.
Randy Graham Thomas is leering.
Madame Carriere is blushing.
Her pink silk-petal gown flutters
As she twists coyly to avoid his embrace.
By 10am the sun warms their scents and foreplay is over.
The wind at 11am entwines the two.
Pistils and stamens are seriously ‘at it’
Brushing languorously over parts
An hour ago were covered discreetly.
At high noon in the heat of the day
Pollen is floating all over the air
And even the wide-eyed cats
Sitting under tender foliage are blushing.
The garden gnome is licking his lips
While a concrete hand creeps to his crotch.
This fall there will be rose-hips aplenty.
Red nipples packed with tiny seeds,
Evidence of a spring-time lust.
Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2018
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