I Want To Know!
i want to know...
what the trees and mountains know,
what the rivers sing of,
the desire the wind groans with.
the passion of lightning,
and the echo of thunder.
the redemption written in rain,
the love in the dog's eyes.
the secret whisperings of bats,
the timeless wisdom of whales.
the peace of the turtle,
the mad gift of the butterfly.
the free spirit of darkness,
the salvation of dawn...
for i am all these things,
and they are me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Too Much, Too Little
too many angels,
not enough devils.
too much sunshine,
not enough rain.
too many guests,
not enough servers.
too much joy,
not enough pain!
too many votes,
not enough justice.
too many hungry,
not enough giving.
too many angry,
not enough involvement.
too much taking,
not enough living!
too many shovels,
not enough hands.
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If God...
if god had wings
he'd be a sparrow,
and fly the vast expanse of sky.
if god were water,
he'd be a river,
and forge new paths
through stone and moss.
if god were fire,
he'd burn away all the hatreds,
and leave us to build again on ash.
if god were stillness,
he'd quiet all the fighting,
and the world would sing
the songs of peace.
if god were flesh and blood,
he'd be the man in the mirror,
doing the work
that brings life to the living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Need I Say More?
the simple turn of the acorn,
holds the secrets of infinity;
a thousand Romes burnt and fell,
in each leaf exploding with ecstasy.
the Holy One came in the form
of a stray cat,
waiting to be fed.
while somewhere small children,
walk with angels in search of rice.
and carpenters hammer nails
as pumpkins wait to be carved.
tired old women wash dishes,
while childrens pictures shout.
and stars themselves are only acorns....
need i say more?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dead Poets
dead poets; old cars
junked in heaps
in front of
abandoned houses...
empty mailboxes
rusting to the
ground...
empty swings creaking
in the late evening breeze;
a bottle of wine,
half-empty,
moans in the shadows.
the fields have been picked,
nothing left, but sweat stained dirt....
even the embers have grown cold,
and the pot is empty.
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Heat Lightning...
heat lightning...
we speak hollow words,
build hollow houses,
live hollow lives.
poverty whispers,
we turn away.
poverty shouts,
we walk away!
orphans, or bastards,
we defile our beds.
our mothers lay dying,
our fathers forgotten.
the wheel turns,
we drink, and move on.
our sisters buried,
our brothers on the street.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hero and Tracks
train tracks,
or just tracks...
either way,
going nowhere.
girl on his lap
not wearing panties;
he thinks he's god,
or at least bulletproof.
gonna ship out tomorrow,
got 'hero' written on his forehead.
she's got 'gonna crash' down
inside her, written with invisible ink...
gonna stand by a hero's grave
stand alone in the pouring rain...
gonna stand on a street corner,
just feeding them tracks.
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If Tomorrow Never Came
when you lie in your lover's arms,
do you remember
those frozen nights,
when the fire had died....
moonlight hanging like ice
in the window bare...
the wet pool of love steaming,
clouds of breath hanging
in the air with unspoken desire....
the baying of the old hound....
and two sets of footprints in the snow
leading down to the water.....
the buckets on the porch,
an axe, and the old truck....
not giving a damn
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Leaving The Past Behind!
just a two-bit guitar pickin' poet
walking barefoot in dew damp grass;
the fire still shining in eyes
that have seen it all,
and then some....
nothing in his pockets....
grey hair falling 'neath his hat,
bathed in the morning sun;
a half smile on his hardened jaw...
going out to meet the devil,
or the Lord, tomorrow or infinity,
with a song and a dream
still intact.... and a heart
whose door opens both ways...
leaving the past behind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Revolutionary
a brown skinned leftist rebel,
marching through the slums,
picking up the beaten.
freedom for all,
and freedom for the one.
each and every one equal,
and responsible,
to and for each other.
take down the money machine,
beat the curse of privilege.
shelter for all,
and all are fed...
no more propaganda,
the truth is freedom.
a modern day Jesus,
healing the sick,
taking in the poor...
you know they'll kill him,
he's not white and rich!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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