We Who Whisper
we who whisper...
with our feet as we walk,
with our eyes turned inward,
with our bodies that weep.
we who weep...
with hands that tremble,
with quiet desperation,
with our prayers that build.
we who build...
with the ruins of our loss,
with our spirits broken,
with our hearts that bleed.
we who bleed...
with our trials and mistakes,
with our failures to reach,
with our love that whispers.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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What The Heart Allows
thoughts on fire, pure desire,
even the violent pray for peace.
broken plans, empty hands,
burning flags and stormy seas....
wont buy the lie, it's live or die,
waiting for the clock to strike.
drunk with loss, done paid the cost,
too many fingers in the dike.
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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Wild Law
trees talk,
wisdom of the elders,
exchanging secrets
with mountains,
older than time.
birds speak,
and honor the sky,
waiting, arms outstretched,
for flight....
rivers sing,
while the big cats pray,
the great herds stroke
the earth with hooves.
fishes gather,
flow with the water....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Blackbirds (For Smoky And Patti)
blackbirds...
the spindly children
of blood red skies,
walking barefooted
on the dusty path,
cawing!
demons?
no, the demons
walk upright with
sharpened swords,
cutting the tongues
from the beaks,
breaking wings
with moral hammers!
blackbirds...
spirits set out,
left to dandelion clinging,
and morsels of bread
thrown out by
those who belch rules...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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On The Cliffs Of Eternity...
i am a man,
but i was once a leaf.
i was once a river,
once a mountain,
once a cloud.
i have been wolf,
turtle, hawk, and snail...
i have been a storm, i have been the wind.
do you dare love me?
i have waited for hundreds of years!
the fire inside of me,
consumes and feeds!
i dont know your name,
but i know the part too deep,
and too wild and untamed
to be spoken as name...
i wait on the cliffs of eternity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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One Eye Blackened
dont speak to me of
what love is, and love isnt...
when the price of loving you
is scorched into my bones,
leaving my flesh smoldering
neath the tree where the owl waits...
maybe these are the sins Jesus didnt die for!
wars break out, clouds are shattered,
asleep in the hollow that was your body.
one eye blackened,
the other left to stare madly,
at the moon contained in a dropp of rain,
caught in the spider's web!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Key
i hold in my hand
the key to the door
to the room where
pretending no longer works
where half way trying
doesnt get it done
where just getting by
is no longer enough
where the truth doesnt allow
anything less, and doesnt
accept anything more!
where the image in the mirror
is real, and has to be dealt with!
and time is the reason,
and the driving force
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Torch of Freedom
we light the torch of freedom
when we put a name
to every face
a hand in every hand,
a cup and a bowl
before every hungry soul
we light the torch of freedom
when we restore dignity
in our every action
when we take responsibility
for every thought,
every word,
every deed.
we light the torch of freedom
when we give more than
we can afford to.
give unconditionally,
give without remorse!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Will Remain...
get away...
from the rat race
we call society...
a small house
next to the woods,
with a big garden spot.
green beans, corn, and tomatoes,
can and put back.
stack firewood in neat stacks,
chickens, maybe a cow.
it's gonna fall!
we have reached the breaking point.
go back to what matters.
family, spirit, neighbors...
living simple means free!
the kingdom of oil implodes!
only the kingdom of the heart
will remain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Christmas Zen #1
small children with dirty faces
playing on a cold floor;
rags stuffed in cracks,
'round the windowsills
roaches run up the walls,
Christmas music on the radio
cut off notice on the table;
young woman stares, half dreaming,
of stockings with nuts and oranges
(& the remembered scent of hot chocolate!)
crack pipe falls to the floor
as snow begins to fall
small children with dirty faces
playing on a cold floor
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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