Poetry’s Speakers
Write a short poem, and then write another from a different, perhaps opposing perspective.
The color draws me near
Not the red of the rose
But the yellow at the center
The first of the year.
Around me petals enclose
As I sample the nectar
The food I gather here
Will ease the woes
Of the brood after winter.
The brisk breeze carries a buzz
But I don’t know what it is
A sound I do not know
And then I found out what it was
The buzzing sound was his
I’m unable to speak “no.”
He does what he does
Taking from my anthers
Violated and left fallow.
Random Acts of Coffee 