John Collins is a native of coastal Virginia, USA and has been writing poems for many years, but after retirement he has begun submitting. His work has appeared in Dissident Voice; Pangolin Review; Fourth and Sycamore; Merak; and Aurorus and Blossoms.He is a retired Pharmacist and an Educator.

Nature Speaks

The wind, the sun, the tides, the day, the night,
each imposes its claim upon all life,
each bringing both restrictions and freedom,
each forcing but also bowing to the others.
The cold, how it wraps itself around all
surrounding with the unrelenting reality of struggle
in its presence, a reminder of natures tough control.
The cold, the heat, with their sweeping claims
as if pulled by a magnet, refusing to be forced away,
until nature’s shout of authority declares another’s turn.
Nature with its crushing claws proving its uncontested ownership.
The icy fingers from the north, the demanding heat from the south,
a battle, and each stamping a movable boundary of its own,
each bringing misery, each bringing comfort
and the march across the land comes with a forceful push
reminding all to prepare, reminding all to accept.
No notice of intention, no request for approval,
they all come as if they are fulfilling an assigned duty
and then leave a they have spoken their statements,
but always leaving behind messages, leaving behind reminders.


Here, there, everywhere.
On the sides of the roads,
on the rocky mountain sides,
the cracks of highways,
the crevasses of the canyons.

Here, there, everywhere,
they raise their heads,
blooming and thriving,
persistent, resolute
the wildflowers grow.

Here, there, everywhere,
refusing destruction,
with a death defying stance,
adapting, struggling, but always
demanding to be seen.

Here, there, everywhere,
they announce their defiance
declaring with persistence
asserting their rights to be
here, there, everywhere.