Outrage!
let me see if i understand this...
you go to 'liberate' Vietnam,
at the cost of thousands of lives...
you invade Iraq, and their fake WMD's.
you go to battle in Afghanistan,
using terrorisn for an excuse...
but you cant and wont
lift a damn finger to help
the people of Tibet...
a nonviolent people,
being abused, ravaged, raped,
and killed by The Chinese government...
who's sleeping with who?
and who do you think you're fooling?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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That Knows Me Well
when leaves turn with the colors of passion,
and fall to the ground in timeless silence...
i both shout with joy, and fall to my knees weeping,
a brother to the tree.
when moonlight sifts through my window,
and the darkness undresses with need.
i smile becoming the prayer,
the journey and the destination!
in small things i find universes,
in the common what you call god.
for this infidel has a heart,
a heart that knows me well!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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That Stands And Weeps...
i am the heart of stone,
the body of great mountains.
my feet speak their silent prayers,
my silence clothes their waiting.
i feel the passion, the beat of stone,
i am their embrace of both earth and sky.
you are the fire both hot and cool,
that defines the breath of their being.
i am the time only mountains know,
you the tick of the flesh born clock.
as eternity bows with humble need,
to know the intimacy that stands and weeps!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Being At Best Human!
i go to the church of human need,
pray to the God inside each face,
inside trembling calloused hands....
in tears on battle worn faces.
inside the broken hearted,
the beaten down, and the abused.
in the addicts need, the murderer's
repentance, inside evry child.
in the stray dog's lonesome....
in the cheater's remorse....
in those too tired to be
anything other than honest....
in naked sweaty grimy humanity
being at best human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Defining Love
love looks like...
the bruise on the face
of the man,
who stood between you,
and the oppressor.
love smells like...
the blood and shit
on the boots,
of the man shovelling
in the ditch,
pulling still breathing bodies
from the smoking ruins....
love tastes like...
the hungry lips,
that just gave you
their last morsel of food.
love acts like...
God, before you named 'him' God,
before you bound her in concepts,
drawn by your fears!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Nothing
i am nothing, then!
not more than what
i believe in;
not less than
what i do!
nothing...
not stars and infinite planets,
not dung or mounds of trash.
not song and dance,
not holy, i'm quite sure!
not the axe, the blade,
the bomb that falls...
not dead bodies in the ditch!
nothing...
not spew, not delirious tongues
searching forbidden lands.
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Disciples Of Silence
the disciples of silence,
speak not with their mouths...
for their hands speak the language
of the heart,
and their feet that of the soul.
whose prayers are written by ears,
whose breath is always shared.
whose eyes are open windows,
whose god smells of human need.
whose actions be but forgiveness,
whose thoughts are not restrained.
the disciples of silence keep walking...
living in constant dialogue,
they have no need for words!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Unattended!
you speak of love with an absent voice,
stumbling numbly down the stairway
to the basement where desire rumored lurks.
the man on the screen trills of wars,
and crimes committed beneath white shirts.
and the sweet Jesus prayers of the unemployed,
cut crack rocks on bare tables.
even the dog mourns the heated silence,
while turnips boil in a touch-me-not pot.
death taunts the branch against your window,
the broom stands unattended!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Steps # 8
the trees are alive!
even in the dead of winter,
if you're still,
you can feel their pulse,
waiting....
chainsaws and axes,
matches and hearth.
you are alive!
just below your numbness,
if you're still,
you can feel your pulse,
waiting...
chainsaws and axes,
matches and hearth.
God is alive!
just beyond your conceptions,
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Crucifixion
she drained every ounce
of being from his heart,
and left his body lifeless
in an alley...
took every ounce of feeling
from his senses...
every streak of light
from his darkened path...
took his every original thought,
and the identity of his desire,
and wadded them up like paper
for the fire...
now every reason she had to live,
every thing she ever knew about love...
all lie betrayed by her tears
in a shallow grave that she dug!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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