Become Food!
your hand on the wheel,
Mayan bolt nonwithstanding...
where do we go from here?
my fingernails still dirty,
from digging and planting the seeds.
your eyes cloud over...
the promise of rain?
another chapter finished,
boots laced, and my hat,
your smile, a cup of coffee...
the dog waits at the door.
the mailman passes without slowing down.
the world keeps turning,
from dawn to setting sun.
and seeds become plants...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Four Horsemen
the thundering hooves...
the four horsemen come,
death and destruction,
the bed we've made.
the hollowed out chime,
the last clock on earth...
destiny beckons,
with hands torn and bruised.
the wave roars as if sudden,
a long time ingrained!
even the bodies whisper,
as if friends or family.
while the scavengers wait
at the foot of the grave.
the voice of God silent,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Gifts For The Soul
a poet is only an ear,
and a naked pen...
becomes less,
when he has a name,
even less a title.
the best lay down
their pens and
pick up shovels,
turning the earth in
stillness, season by season.
open the windows
and doors to the heart,
and sweep out the trash.
leaving gifts for the soul,
the tiny droppings of birds,
that just took flight...
a small mound of ashes,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hold Hands
lovers have forgotten
how to hold hands...
and children have forgotten
the wonder of being outside.
workers have forgotten
how it feels to be appreciated.
old people have forgotten
how it feels to be needed.
everyday people have forgotten
how it feels to grow their own food.
students have forgotten
the joy of learning...
the American people have forgotten
how it feels to believe...
in equality, dignity, and hope...
how it feels to hold hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If I Was A Better Man
if i was a better man...
i'd have done more
to combat world hunger...
to bring about peace,
to help the sick and dying,
to listen to the lonely...
to stand up for equality,
and to stand against prejudice.
to take in the homeless....
to forgive, and ask for forgiveness.
to understand without judging,
to love without asking
to be loved...
if i was a better man....
but because i am
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Too Familiar!
when the hand of God
expresses itself in strong fashion
in the life of a human being,
we make them into a martyr.
or we assassinate their character...
the ghosts of JFK, Robert Kennedy,
Martin Luther King, and John Lennon
blow strong inside the winds of freedom!
do we hear their voices?
do we feel their message?
and who's next?
and who will pull the trigger?
another puppet, another pawn,
or the body of apathy...
who looks too familiar!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Who Would Liberate!
we who would liberate,
must first feel the
hungry cry of freedom.
must feel the homeless
edge of despair,
must taste the colors
of skin touching skin.
must bear the blow of injustice,
wear the chains of the enslaved.
must walk inside the sorrow
that has no name or face.
must see what lies beneath prayer,
must wear the shoes of the oppressed.
must stand alone in the darkest night,
and set our selves aflame,
to be a beacon, to light the way!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Barefooted
walking barefooted
on broken glass....
playing a flute;
listening, listening,
for the sound of
the Lover's voice....
waiting, for the familiar
touch, for the smell
of the last rose opening
as the wings of autumn
approach.... listening,
for the sound of my own heart,
or the sound of planets evolving;
waiting for the gift of emptiness,
and the dance of flesh on flesh....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Knock Upon My Door...
as i sat quietly thinking,
i was startled by a knock
upon my door..
i got up and crossed the floor,
and opened the door.
a disheveled man stood there,
without speaking...
i felt uneasy...
there was something,
i just couldnt place.
his hair was long and grey,
his eyes were like fires.
his hands were beaten,
but there was a strength there,
and a sense of purpose.
i finally stammered,
'who are you? '...
he smiled, 'i am you! '
i let him in!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Nest Of Straw
if i make you a nest of straw,
and a firepit of mud...
and we make love in the moonlight,
in perfect rhythm with the wind,
will the silence know your name?
and when you arise with the dawn,
and step to the edge
to try your wings...
will you look back
just for an instant?
will you leave a tear
on a budding leaf?
and if by faith i believe,
in spite of, despite of....
and give you the body of my soul...
will you leave a marker by my grave?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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