Rises Above!
the well read soul
rises above his poverty,
and takes his brother with him.
only the ignorant take without giving...
their poverty, well disguised by possessions,
never goes away!
faith has nothing to do
with ignorance, with blind following.
faith is built on knowledge,
and honed through experience.
the person that stands up
in the middle of the storm,
and asks why...
has already spoken
the hidden name of god!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Face (Of Our Anger)
we rage...
lashing out in anger
at what we cant control,
what we cant seem to change,
at the loss we suffer,
at the helplessness we feel...
in bitterness looking
for a place to lay the blame.
fighting the shadows of our fears,
with the vengeance of our lostness...
afraid to open the door,
much less to walk through...
to find...
the face on the other side
of our anger,
is the same as...
the face in the mirror!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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What The Heart Allows # 2
nuclear strikes, the market spikes,
people too scared to pray.
bodies burning, the earth stops turning,
cant go, but you cant stay!
terror threats, oil war debts,
children born into slavery.
political balm, the last chill calm,
the turning point of history!
the first day of forever begins now.
tear it down, it doesnt matter how.
tired of lying lips and sacred cows....
the mind only buys what the heart allows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beyond
there is life beyond
the salt shaker on the table,
the hand that moves
the curtain, unseen.
the empty bowl, rain walking
through the grasses...
the child, the nipple,
stars appearing in darkness,
moving oceans with silent
commands written in a shell,
left unnoticed on the sands
that have never known footprints...
life beyond the cup,
the fire, and the shadows,
opening the bloom,
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Martin Luther King
Martin Luther KIng...
you were a torch
that lit a darkened world,
a beacon,
for all those oppressed,
a song,
for the downtrodden and weary...
you looked beneath the skin,
and saw the soul!
life cut short,
far too soon by
the forces of hatred and fear...
Martin, we need you now!
your vision lives in the
hope of the oppressed...
your determination our anchor,
your heart beats strong
in each of us who believe!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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God Speaks!
no more wars in My name,
no more diseases blamed on Me...
no more global warming storms
that leave a path of destruction.
no more hatreds, no prejudices,
no acts of violence under My flag....
no more words printed on your money,
no more heathen peoples left to starve.
no more conversions by the sword,
no more calamities called My judgement....
quit using Me for your doorstop!
take responsibility for yourselves!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Madonna
Madonna eyes,
looking down
to the beating heart
held in hands so gentle....
loving, molding, preparing
him for the pathway
to his personal cross....
Madonna tears,
falling warm and wet,
down the face that maps
the destinies of those that suffer....
tears that have names,
known by no other....
nailed one by one till death relieves.
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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One Heart, Two Souls
on the stand
by the bed....
a tiny locket
that you dont
wear anymore...
it holds the picture
of one candle burning...
this road has been long,
with ups and downs,
winding, almost coming back...
now diverges, into two
seperate roads unknown,
with no way to turn back.
by the necklace on the stand,
two bands of gold.....
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sleepless At Night!
i feel the heat,
the hurt and the suffering.
sleepless at night,
i see faces, i hear voices.
the eyes of the stranger,
write stories in my soul...
my lips stay parched,
my spirit panting, erect.
the sound of the waves,
deafen, and terrify.
my religion lies in the bodies
walking without home...
redemption the bedpan,
the nurse loving takes away.
the old man sweeping the steps,
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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That Smoke!
you smell like skin,
rain damp fresh plowed earth.
the ball in the glove,
the hammer strikes the nail.
and i know about fire,
love cries and hot wetness.
the frenzied clutch of fingers,
the gasp and the tremor.
the old wood stove,
in the corner radiates,
you feed it logs,
split by time's axe.
till drunk with sleep,
both dreamless and forgotten.
you turn your back
to a final wisp of smoke...
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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