The Passion Collective

passion collective - A number of individuals working together with a compelling emotion or feeling

The Passion Collective.

col·lec·tive- a collective body; a gathering; a collection of extracts; a number of individuals working or acting together.

pas·sion- any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or hate.

pas·sion col·lec·tive- A number of individuals working or acting together with a powerful or compelling emotion or feeling.

It was a November afternoon that I sat on the front porch of my local cafe and deeply thought about an idea; Nothing out of the ordinary as I did this often and much. I drank lukewarm coffee and discussed with some old acquaintances the idea of a group of young adults putting together a “Rolling-Stone” type magazine/website; To tell you the truth, many talented people laughed and shook off the offer, for that I am deeply saddened because they’re going to miss one hell of a ride. I proceeded to reach out to all different types of people from all different walks of life, many haven’t even met yet. That is the beauty of it. It’s as if I'm placing together the pieces of a puzzle, slowly but surely. Our generation is in need of something refreshing. Our brains will race and our eyes will quickly process what lies before us. What lies before us is The Passion Collective, a collective production founded in New York. It will be fueled by talent, hard-work, and most of all passion. It will only work if YOU contribute your piece of passion to the puzzle. Everyone is passionate about something. I, Zachary Franck have selected a group of unique individuals who all bring something to the table. From poets to journalists, photographers to bloggers, sports enthusiasts to hip-hop heads, I promise you that there is something for everyone. I truly believe in this and I believe in you. This project will stay true to it's name, always.Unlike other websites/magazines,The Passion Collective will actually make you think. As Hunter S. Thompson once said, “Buy the ticket, Take the ride”. Please join The Passion Collective as we all embark on this journey together; Why would you watch the puzzle being built when you can help build it!?

The Door Opens and Closes

Authentic yet arbitrary,

Courageous yet classless,

Summer ambitions,

Autumn emotions.


And the sand falls through the glass,

Repetative yet necessary,

Time consuming, adrenaline and heroin,

Speed up to slow down.


If and when the circle becomes a square,

Cut the corner and create a triangle,

Symbolic but literal, both figurative and fascinating,

Shapes fill space, expressive yet effortless.


Simplicity is the key to locks of complications,

A saxophone on vinyl,

Symphonies written by singular epiphanies,

The door opens and closes on the same hinges.


by Zachary Franck

We're a Species of Cold Shoulders and Stiff Drinks

by Zachary Franck

In this watered down world of false pretenses

and worthless material objects that cost more

than love and hope, what are we to do?

Day by day, the world spins as eyes roll, we adjust the

Expensive costumes of our identities to fit just right,

I'd like to reside in a utopian state of mind,

But we're a species of cold shoulders and stiff drinks. 

If only we took advantage of the everlasting impressions 

Of our scarred truths and tattered youth..

If only...

Autumn Sets Fire by Zachary Franck

Woodlands echo with vibrant syncopation,

A momentous breeze brings silent vacation.

Rosebuds fade into crisp leaves,

Different colors fall from each tree.

Ripples drift in unison with the soft clouds above,

Lilly pads sat still in the sun and found love.

Shining hills of rolling pines,

Dirt paths without yellow lines.

Finches whistle at the pretty ladies as they pass by,

Up and over the branches, I wish their wings were mine.

Someday they will be,

If Mother Nature is kind.

This evening the horizon seems too low,

It should be much higher,

Summer nights send smoke signals,

Autumn sets fire.

Ben Durland

Day Nine - Sevilla

A pestilence of patience and a flower
Wrought in gold
Told the story of his father’s wealth
In faith, where lies a power.

Some would claim a moorish beast,
The fountains up and out
To-ward a singularity Judas
sought in peace.

The money comes from devil’s tongues though 

He cannot complain -
The devils, hung and burned they were,
Beneath the ancient bough

That felt the succinct suffering of 

The sanitary, bold

Beneath a permanence which
Wrought a golden dove.

Day Thirty six - Liverpool (cont’d)

The premises are closing now
virgin flower be speckled brown,
in the lofty fired youth
a momentary glimpse of truth:

in oceans we will find our way
when we are brave enough to stay
beneath - a world, though not our own -
lungs collapse and heart and bone

but mind remains, an after thought -
bits of what we learned and sought
out for all but life itself,
wrung the cracked and aging bell

which sounded, lovely through the sea
and meant nothing to you and me.

the methodist church on wine street

i like the way cigarettes make me feel
like I could sip a soft scent of sodomy
from a moving vehicle while you piss off the highway -
or hack at a billboard
with your back to the wall;
a knee to the balls like boulders
in a landslide.
keep in mind we’re all strangers whose
balls are more like stones 

that won’t pass without 

painful morphine punishment,
or some friendly encouragement
from a chiseled man with an optical odor

 © 2015 The Passion Collective