Conquered Me
i climbed your highest mountains,
waded your raging rivers.
went stomping with elephants
through you darkest jungles.
stood between you and the gun!
walked barefoot in your snows,
sat imprisoned in your cell.
made the leap, and dared to fly,
wiped the tears from your face.
built a home for your heart,
with human hands and sweat....
bandaged your wounds,
took your curse...
how is it then...
that love conquered me?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Dont Want You...
i dont want you...
sexually,
if i cant have you
spiritually,
walking...
not behind me,
nor in front,
but beside me,
as my true companion.
i dont want you...
emotionally,
if i cant have you
eternally,
aware of each moment,
alive in each moment.
i dont want you...
conditionally,
if i cant have you
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Temple Of The Self
dead people, broken people,
everywhere you look.
mouths moving, cant talk,
empty pages in a book.
eyes glazed, half dazed,
afraid of their shadows.
bought the lie, never questioned why,
cant move unless they follow.
and the sound of the heart
shakes the ground.
hunger burns, the sea churns,
and babies drown.
you pray to God,
but your prayers fall amid the furor.
in the temple of the self
bowing down to the mirror.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Working And Committed (Response)
it is not the plow,
but the farmer's back,
and the farmer's legs.
it is not the hoe,
but the farmer's hands,
and the farmer's heart,
working and committed!
it is not the political system,
but the moral fiber beneath.
not the moral fiber of judgement,
but that guided by human compassion.
for the back and the legs,
and the hands and the heart,
are the working cogs of freedom.
anything done without love will fail!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A True God!
religious fanatics,
immoral moral extremists,
of all faiths,
has killed more people
in the name of god,
have spread more prejudice
and hatred in the name of god...
and have taken more
from the innocent and poor,
in the name of god...
whatever god!
than all the tyrants
throughout history!
true faith,
of whatever flavor,
is based in compassion.
any action done
outside of compassion
has nothing to do
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Child Of The Wind!
I am...
a child of the wind!
where it goes, i go!
where it ceases, i cease!
when it speaks,
it is with my voice.
when it rattles the shutters
on your windows closed...
it is just me,
wanting to come in!
when it moans and howls,
it is my body
burning for yours!
when it softly blows,
i am caressing your face.
when it brings the rain,
i am coming for you...
with a torch and the gift
of life renewed!
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Night
a very small candle by the bedside,
a stack of books that whisper and moan.
a radio i forget to turn on,
and an alarm clock that i hate...
dirty clothes sorted and stacked
like dreams that didnt go well.
a pack of Marlboro's, a couple old hats...
a window that leaks an icy breeze...
my old guitar and a rifle in the corner,
a few prayers that never got said.
your pillow haunted and cold...
i dont want to sleep alone.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sacred Common Things
i wake to the sound of weeping,
only to find it's me,
weeping for the world.
i wake to the feel of my hands,
reaching out for other hands...
only to find it's god,
both reaching and taking.
i wake to the smell of fear,
in skies ridden by gunfire,
in alleys reeking with despair,
in children that stink of hunger.
i wake to the taste of longing,
to love and be loved...
and arise once again,
to do sacred common things!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Snail Crossing.... (Part Fourteen)
and so we are but this...
the match struck ablaze,
for a moment and gone...
the flower that blooms for a day.
the rain dropp dissolving into the earth,
the small stone washed away,
when the river surges.
the memory of dawn
forgotten in the night...
the lonesome farewell of the snail
crossing just before light...
leaving only a small wet trail
as evidence of passing! , , ,
and the shout of joy,
that sounds like silence!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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