Be It Resolved

By Abel Collins

I have freedom of speech,
They say.
It’s even guaranteed
In writing,
The constitution binding.

Equally, I must have the freedom to listen;
To hear and give credence,
To believe if I must
One thing or another.
Call that religion.

I do not want a captive audience.
I want them free and freely associated.

Everything’s written down in Washington,
Stored in marble halls where we keep the country’s warranties.

I have many rights.
But here’s the rub,
Rights are not possessions.
They are ideas that take form only in action.
Pend here
Upon notions
Do I have the ability to express these freedoms?

Consider speech:
First of all,
Every voice must carry through a medium.
Already, I feel a little restricted…
I mean; I want a medium that allows me to speak to everybody
I want to turn to all seven billion of you and say,

‘Whoa there, how’s it going?
We’re going to just take a little break here
Spare me ten minutes
A moment of silence to rest your mind on the beauty around you:
The spectacle of nature and the wonder of civilization.
This beauty in you
As you are their individual reflection.
Mostly though, rest your attention upon the beauty in the people around you.

Yes, in this we are all kindred
We share this moment
This choice to be aware of the beauty that always surrounds us
That we are integral parts of.

Let this kinship be trust
Now, everyone put down your weapons
Whether metaphorical or physical.
Accept peace, and let’s move on
There’s much to accomplish
Humanity to save
Stars to reach
We must work together if we want to get it done.’

Ten minutes of free speech is all I need,
But it’s really just a dream.
The sound of my voice does not travel very far,
And what I say may sound good,
But the volume is turned too low.

Instead people hear the clarion call to fear
Bullhorns on bully pulpits
Talking to the nodding heads of people entranced by the steady beat of war drums.
The volume is kept loud and constant

Because if we had silence to think about what they threaten
The hypocrisy would be so monstrous and obvious
The only recourse could be revolution.
Orwell.

Yet I do have this voice,
And though my freedom is not all I hope for,
I can speak with those beautiful people near to me.
Some may even exercise their freedom to listen,
And surely something will happen when I say,

‘We can all speak a little louder.
Help me turn up the volume.’

Cheshire Patience

By Abel Collins

The breeze sprints ahead of me
Jumping from one bent blade of meadow grass to the next
It rushes in green waves
That pass hissing and whispering to the edge of the field
If I listen in silence
With Cheshire patience
I can hear the song
But I can never discover the secret of the leaves’ words

The song rises and falls
Waking inhuman memories
Of thirsty roots
Joyous flowers
And triumphant seeds
It is a silken voice
Ancient as wind and grass
Yet young with hope and full of life
Ageless soft and sweet
I let the breath of it fill me
Stillness
Peace
I understand why the willows came here to weep
The tears are in gratitude to eternal beauty

Today in Haiti

Posted by: Abel Collins

Suffering incomprehensible to us unfolds
Torturing the fabric of time
Slowing life to a crawl.
Acts of heroism that will be remembered only by witnesses
Light hope in darkened hearts.
Muscles strain against rubble
Tears and a desperate thirst overwhelm all thought;
Thirst for water;
For help and mercy.
Why?
We ask and watch.
There is no reason.
There is only the hero,
The courage of action struggling against the dark.