Changing The Dressing!
changing the dressing,
carefully, so as not to hurt,
prayerfully, with old hands...
that have loved you for years....
stirring fires and creating worlds
of passionate fission....
that have worked with you,
believing against all odds....
that have wiped away tears,
and held our children gently....
on the edge of distress,
like so many others....
we are an open wound,
to be tended with care.
we are the scar of love's doing
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Impossible!
it is impossible to believe in compassion,
and to just stand by watching injustice upon
injustice being heaped on the backs of the poor!
it is impossible to be spiritual without being
human enough to feel the hunger of the hungry!
impossible to believe in love without being angered
when you see countless people being thrown
away and cast to the side like human trash!
it is impossible to remain silent when you can
hear the thundering tears of the children!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Safe And Sound
Jesus, and the third world poets
carrying their dying children
across the starvation desert...
the stench of disease,
poverty, and dead eyed
hopelessness, ... hangs
in the indifferent air.
if you dont know their names
they're not real, just pictures
on the news you turn off...
finish your supper,
throw out the scraps;
get in your cars, and
go for a drive...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Smelled Like Death
i used to think
old people smelled like death...
but now i think maybe
they smell like life;
life lived, life experienced,
life given, life worn...
or maybe like a bridge
that hundreds have walked on,
or the worn out shoes
of the walkers...
or maybe like the oak tree,
just cut down,
then left to age and dry out
for the fire...
or maybe like memories
of touch and taste...
or maybe like a riverbed now dry,
waiting on the rain!
it's a smell
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Stone Riddles (Carnivore)
carnivore...
the heart
consumes itself!
revenge...
suicide of
the soul.
bridge...
my body,
your body.
edge...
hard line
we walk!
smoke...
burning leaves,
body time.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Strip Me Bare
strip me bare
of all the things
that stand between
me and myself!
of all the fears
that stand between
me and you!
of the weight of all
that i have done,
replace it with the freedom
of all that i've given....
take away the wants
that have impeded my desire...
give me back the purity
that doesnt have to be defined....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Truth, The New Terrorist Threat!
they're macing unarmed
female protesters in new york city....
whose freedom did they threaten?
whose do you threaten?
in the land of the free
and the home of the brave,
truth has become the new
terrorist threat!
we stand on the cliff
overlooking now and tomorrow...
will we dare to leap?
will we dare to get involved?
there wont be a tomorrow
if we dont!
the true cost of freedom
is living in a way that
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Black And White! (Spirits And Flesh)
black and white,
not different kinds of souls,
merely skin tints!
Americans, and Middle
Eastern people,
worship...
not different gods,
but different understandings
of the same god!
and common people,
all around the world,
have worked too long,
for too little,
are tired of being numbers,
numbers without faces!
tired on being enslaved,
being treated as possessions....
for they have faces!
faces with hearts,
hearts with spirits,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The Wind....
darkness and light,
thunder and growl.
souls on the altar,
wings on the ground.
death and desire,
naked and hungry.
prayers spoken by eyes,
tears shed by hands.
Abraxas, broken windows,
both sun and the night.
murder and compassion,
theft and sacrifice.
clocks stopped by fire,
graves opened left bare.
snowfall in august,
bare trees mourn in wait.
and the voices, still the voices,
faces wearing names.
hands desperate grasping,
footprints left in the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Nothing At All!
woodsmoke,
frozen breath hangs,
time suspended...
the old neighborhood store
closed, building abandoned
to the rats...
a broke down Chevy,
a tent blown by the wind.
children hunched shiver,
the fire crackles and spits,
trucks race by going nowhere...
snow flurries, cracked lips.
a can of tomatoes, corn,
and green beans...
a couple potatoes,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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