Incandescent Moth (For Celeste)
the incandescent moth,
born flying with maddened joy
towards the light...
heart purified by weeping,
healed by childlike wonder.
mind searching every crevice
for every dram of truth.
soul bearing the marks of the whip,
childlike hands that dare to touch.
a river bent on giving,
the moth, closer and closer still,
till wings become the dust of angels,
spread at the feet of beginning and end!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lonesome Farewell...
lonesome farewell...
wind blown dust,
cardboard boxes in the rain.
the doorknob broken,
the window nailed shut.
empty fields, briars and thorns.
a dead rabbit rotting
on the side of the road.
signs falling down,
tree limbs on the ground.
silence screams, waves of grief!
the smell of want, forgotten lips.
words cling like cobwebs
to the empty walls...
where are you now?
where are you now?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Long Conversation With God....
i had a long conversation with god...
and asked a lot of questions.
i looked up to see the setting sun,
embracing the mountains and the trees.
and somehow i knew...
there's a bowl for every hunger.
and night itself is a blanket,
even the moon kisses good night.
what i dont know is not important,
what i am wears no mask.
and the sound of the wind in the trees,
answers what i dont know to ask!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Swallows Up The Night
the lying tongue
betrays the hunger,
and walks into darkness
as the fire grows dim.
the tree cut in its prime,
and left to rot through the seasons...
the small boat unmanned,
is lost on the seas.
the knife that cut granite
lies on the mantle in shadow,
the fingerprints on the handle
too long unnamed...
the door swung open,
but no one enters...
the sound of the gnawing
swallows up the night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Past...
as long as we
pretend the past didnt happen,
and hide it from ourselves,
and our children...
we learn nothing!
one form of slavery and prejudice
to another... one wrong war
to another... the cycle continues.
the mistakes we've made
are rungs on the ladder,
the ladder we use to
climb up out of the mire!
dont hide the scars,
each tells a story!
the story of a people
striving to be human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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True Passion
people of color, sisters and brothers,
wash your hands cant lose the stain.
dont understand, another land,
their heart beats just the same!
we cannot live, 'less we forgive,
see our dreams in each others eyes.
let go of greed, fill the need,
let your prejudices die!
my religion is compassion.
swords to plowshares slowly fashioned.
we can be what we imagine...
unconditional, true passion!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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As If A Gift.... (Write Not)
write not...
from the need for fame,
or in the hope of success.
write from necessity...
the same necessity
that governs your breathing.
and from the urgency
of the darkest hour just before dawn!
write not for yourself...
for in writing for others
you will find yourself.
and above all, be honest,
always remembering simplicity,
and naked touch!
write as if a gift,
expecting nothing in return!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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As If Never!
your mouth tembles,
cannot form the word love;
your body storms,
breaking windows and doors.
your hands sweat,
your eyes close, and open.
the embers deep,
sputter, and flame...
beyond your control,
your winds laps it's tongue,
just for a taste,
for one stolen moment.
the earth stops turning,
poles begin to shift...
and mountains, cities, and
rivers swallowed in an instant...
as if never!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lips
lips...
written in darkness,
mouthing words
in unspoken language.
searching,
groping for reason...
trembling before
the soft underside
of the shell.
lips...
bruised,
and wanting,
saying much
with silent moves.
lips...
that pray,
and drench loving,
with the softest
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Flute... (Let Me In)
i am the flute,
fashioned of skin and bone.
waiting for the soft feel of your lips,
and the hot breath of your desire.
i am the cup,
made of memory and ache.
that only the waters of your being,
can fill!
i am the lantern,
left covered in the shed.
that only the hunger of your soul,
can light!
i am the raindrop,
clinging to the windowpane
of your secret need...
open the window, let me in!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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