Walls covered in a green growth that moves
Slow and clings due to code. Land barnacles,
much like those found in the ocean,
alive and holding on. Present but fearful that
to float or sail would spell a sure end.
What is the human expression of fear/cling?
Does it show itself only in intention?
Is it quietness when there is much to express, or
laughter in moments that are without humor?
Is it to be tender yet secretly ashamed of
one’s own tenderness or an impulse to cling
to ideas that may render oneself undone?
Hold-on, be quiet-green-mush until smeared.
Then, get mashed over sustained silliness.
There are some days I wish I could fly
higher than an airplane with my wings.
I’d look down and see land masses as tiny
See struggles within them, like the view of
invisible clay, minute and voiceless.
The unrest, that mirrors 1,000-years-ago, of
the fair and unfair, those that shoved and the
put-upon, would be wind-swept.
I would stare eye to eye with eagles, on my journey
up, stroke the throat of thunder and link my arms
softly with lightening.
I would move like my wings were monuments meant
To shape clouds.
And when my flight was over, I could return to
this walkable space with new appreciation for all the
energy above me. With acceptance of the un-solidness
of ground where sudden shift rules and no crust is
uncrackable, where all vines are breakable
and every bang of a nail, reversable.
Where shedding is an unapologetic king
welding evolution’s wand. The most sacred
law is movement and the muscle it creates.
And I’d then say… Amen!
Mankind is like dust blown in the eyes
of Mother Earth. She bats her lashes
and cries her cleansing tears.
Earth watches mankind battle like ants to build
reckless hills from which humans can one
day be banished.
Man’s view is blind to the signs of a growing
fire…Heat from foolishness scorches greedy
palms. Some groan, yet hold true to entrench
Mother earth looks on. Her gaze is steady.
Her timer ticks…ticks…ticks.
Beverly M. Collins’ work has previously been published in California Quarterly, The Journal of Modern Poetry, The Altadena Poetry Review, The Hidden and Divine Female voices in Ireland, Spectrum and many others.