To Destiny!
i cannot decide,
whether i be...
the spider,
the web,
the fly just caught,
or the moment before...
all of these, or none!
when a poet becomes
a simple carpenter,
trudging through life
with a hammer,
a few nails,
and a rusted saw...
looking for broken branches
to build an ark from!
one huge dark cloud
in a sky grown icy still...
writing thoughts on a notebook
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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We... (Stoned By The Struggle)
we, who are stoned by the struggle,
whose faces bear the marks of living.
whose hands tremble a little
as we unbutton the shirt...
whose eyes dim still see.
whose bodies smell like bodies,
whose feet need to be washed.
whose hearts whisper in the empty night,
whose souls restless roam the earth.
whose dreams have become the small things,
whose breath smells of brandy and smoke.
whose doors are unlocked,
whose beds are offered...
we, who are drunk with living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Few Old Men
there's still a few old men
who can shoe a horse,
plow with a mule....
build their own house,
hunt for their food,
and grow the rest...
talk to you about books
no one reads anymore....
sharpen a knife, bait a hook,
teach a boy to be a man...
and a girl that she's loved.
work all day and love all night....
string their own guitar...
treat a woman with respect....
stand beside you through
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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End Of The World....
i'm not concerned about the end of the world...
for me the world ends every day that we're
still fighting wars, that children around the world
go to bed hungry, that families are left homeless,
that men and women cant find jobs, that people
are denied justice and equality, that children cant
afford to go to school, that old people cant get
medical care, enough to eat, or a place to live...
that lonely people cant find love.... and that nobody
seems to give a damn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Forgiveness
forgive me...
for saying the wrong thing,
thinking the wrong thing,
feeling the wrong thing,
doing the wrong thing...
for taking what i could not
get any other way...
for not giving what i had...
forgive me for not listening,
for not getting involved,
for fighting when i shouldnt,
for not standing up when i should!
forgive me for being selfish
instead of selfless...
fogive me for not forgiving you!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Search For God
you search for God
in holy books & spoken codeine
kneeling before tofu altars
of your own convenience
but what you search for
has never been lost!
cant be defined by rhetoric's shape,
cant be contained by names, sects, or creeds...
& cant be bought with plastic card faith...
what you search for
is the space
inside the shell
the place where the sound
of the ocean
abides in stillness
you are that shell!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tears That Jesus Shed # 2
roaches run across the floors,
bars on windows, locked doors,
walls trembling with hungry fear.
tv's in a bare room,
gotta come down soon,
or go find the cure.
baby's crying hungry,
you aint got the money,
there's bruises on your face.
steal a car, rob a store,
got nothing left to live for,
disappear without a trace.
stamp the numbers on your head.
you're just one of the living dead.
one of the tears that Jesus shed....
one of the tears that Jesus shed!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Darkest Secrecy Of Night...
one who never thinks of suicide
has never been in love...
one who never dreams he's in prison,
has never been poor!
for me, i spend my time
with spiders and bats...
and i never close my eyes
when i'm sleeping!
god never painted the wheels,
on the wagon that hauls away souls.
perhaps those who are good,
never knew the value of sin.
if then i come again,
in whatever face, whatever shoes...
remember the scent of what you wanted,
in the darkest secrecy of night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Gun You're Pointing
the gun you're pointing
is not your manhood,
it's your fear....
of the risk of
giving more than the
ground that you stand on....
fear of the angry storms
of your need facing
the limits of your desire...
of the smallness of your soul
in the unexplored night...
your hunger shrinking
into the shell of a snail...
the loss of your identity,
your shaking hand....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Hand
only the human hand,
the caring hand,
the hand covered in blood
and filth, the hand swollen
bruised, and beaten...
the open hand,
not a fist anymore hand,
not afraid to let go hand,
never letting go hand...
feed the baby, plow the field hand,
stroke the face of
the old woman dying hand...
light the fires, sweep the floors hand...
the praying hand, the picking hand,
the paint the soul hand...
only the human hand
can touch with the heart of God!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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