The Painter's Wheel
the painter's wheel turns,
its bearings rusted, groan.
all too oft mistaken for thunder.
the human heart has
hidden chambers, and
passageways not discovered...
the smell of hope? or
burning limbs... clearing
the way for autumn.
the heart is at autumn too;
one last flash of color,
and then a time of rest...
what we seek for
is never further than
the tip of trembling tongues,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Resurrection Of A Sparrow
Magdelene's hot tears,
-human desire unleashed-
fell like agony rain
onto the bound corpse
of flesh made holy.
the stone rolled away...
a sparrow flew
towards light beyond conception.
and all of mankind,
-mouths agape-
stood silent by love's fire,
shuffling their feet,
counting victories by bodies!
while history itself,
-began anew-
yet no one heard
the shout of silence...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Scriptures I Hallow
the scriptures i hallow...
the newborn baby's cry,
the chant of fresh turned earth.
the grey echo of emptiness
in abandoned farmhouses.
the beat of darkness,
of the homeless streets.
the scent of freedom,
caught behind prison bars.
the cat's claw, the robin's egg,
hardened desire, and fertile wetness.
the needle broken, the spicket rusted,
the candle half burned down.
the hunger bowl filled,
the silence when all gunfire stops,
the sound of dirt on the casket!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Strong Women!
strong women...
hips that move oceans,
eyes that drink darkness.
hands that weave stars
from thoughts fine as silk.
lips swollen with storm,
tongues that crack icecaps.
the lioness roars,
and monkeys shudder.
volcanoes erupting,
storms tear off the roof.
soul emanates
from fresh cut trees.
hair sweeping the pillows,
nails digging into infinity.
and the soft gentle touch,
that restores sight,
and walks on water...
the scent of creation,
the hunger that rocks!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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As My Children....
i watched the old woman die,
and listened to her last breaths...
and all i could see was a small child,
offering me the feather of a sparrow.
i walked down to the creek and listened,
and heard the voices of a thousand years.
none were near, yet none were far,
i could feel them press against my skin.
do we come and go,
or is that just an illusion?
i think we just are,
yet we are not we....
by the way i named each of her breaths,
and raised them as my children!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Benediction
speak to me as if you knew me...
there are no walls, no distant shores.
the stones on the path will not
hurt your bare feet....
the fire will not burn your hands.
eyes fly like crows across distance,
be it across the room,
or across the world...
and pages are written
with the pens of angels,
to be thrown into the wind.
my heart cries for deliverance...
your tongue rests against my arm....
seize the moment, for there is no tomorrow,
the world waits in benediction!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Love You
i love you as the leaf,
shouting, 'i am tree'...
i love you as the piece of straw,
woven into the sparrow's nest.
i love you as the pebble,
dreaming, 'i am mountain'!
i love you as the rain,
licking the thirst of the grasses.
i love you as the weathered old oak,
bent and gnarled, still strong.
i love you as the cave,
and as fresh fallen snow.
i love you as time itself,
weeping as it sweeps your footsteps.
i love you as the wind,
coming when you need it most!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Need Not More!
i was born
of the wind and rain,
conceived by storm,
nursed by its path.
i hear the flute
that time ignores.
i dance in the smallness
of the tiny bud.
i pray like thunder
to a god that growls.
i wait in the silence
of the aftermath.
filled with the joy of survival,
and the weeping
of the mortal lost!
i am alive!
i celebrate the living.
i console the dead
with remembered moments.
i am nothing,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Table Shared (For Fela!)
let the door close quietly, friend.
the candle burns all the way down.
the books all closed, the letters packed,
the footprints of loving lost in sand.
the storm is over, the world begins anew,
the song of the grasses fills the stillness.
the trees still bowed in deep respect,
for one who came, raged, and breathed...
we are no more than small things done,
but certainly no less!
the laughter, the tears, the napkin folded,
the cup of companions, the table shared!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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They'll Debate!
small town, vacant store fronts,
set ablaze, and burning,
early morning February sun!
people stand and gawk,
by the old tracks, train forgotten...
childhood memories, up in smoke.
they call it America,
the land of opportunity;
freedom weeps, no one hears!
cars built overseas
powered by Middle East oil,
race by, headed for Walmart...
and tonight they'll debate
over family values and taxes.
somewhere, a church bell ringing,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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