An Offer To Pray!
a prayer group stopped a man
walking down the street,
and offered to pray for him....
he turned and said:
'dont pray for me unless
you have something i can eat...
maybe a cup of coffee...
and if you havent got anywhere
for me to sleep... maybe,
just a blanket, or a coat...'
he thought a minute, and spoke again:
'i tell you what, forget all that....
i dont want you to give me anything...
except a chance to work, and earn my way! '
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Moth And Eagle...
i follow the scent
of old dogs and stray cats,
for they already know.
i walk the fine thread
of the spider's web,
awed by awareness.
i hear the howl of the moon,
speak the language of the wind.
i understand that stars care not for names.
i sleep inside the sleepless palm
of darkness becoming light.
who am i? i shout, 'nobody'...
overcome with relief!
one moment cup, the next moment water,
formless taking forms....
filling the need, both inhaled and exhaled,
as much a moth as an eagle!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Without Names
when the destination
is but the journey,
and the fire we seek
is but a reflection
of the fire within us...
when the cross is a part of the body,
and the war we protest,
is the war within us...
when the leaf is known
as always tree...
and the dropp of water
contains a river.
when breath is hunger,
and love is fullness.
when the spirit is a finger,
and the soul is a foot!
when forever is a touch,
and death is a season...
when we speak without words,
and know each other without names!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Loved You!
when your father
looked into your mother's eyes
in that special way....
i loved you!
before the stones were hauled
to build mighty Rome...
i loved you!
before the fire was first lit
in that long lost cave...
i loved you!
before our ancestors
crawled up on the shore...
i loved you!
before land and sea
were seperate entities....
i loved you!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Most Beautiful Box (Response Number Two)
you can build
the most beautiful box
the world has ever seen.
you can line the walls
with fine jewels,
and carpet the floors.
you can adorn it
with beautiful pictures,
and have windows that face
the morning sun.
you can have doors
that open both ways.
still...
this box cannot hold
the sky, the wind, or the rain!
so it is with political systems.
no system can define freedom.
no system can define justice.
no system can define equality.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Window Forever, Nailed Shut!
wetness,
fallen leaves,
decaying....
the blood of
women and children
dripping to the
naked earth....
the tears of
the forgotten,
falling
like burning knives
on hollowed faces...
the distorted dreams
of the dreamless,
damp, and heady,
steaming the hungry
shameless void...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Voices
our love is spillt
onto winter's dead earth.
amid the rubble of
decaying leaves, and
unnamed frost...
only an echo
of living remains;
and the promise
born in memory
is not enough.
the arms and legs
of our passion
cut up as firewood
and left to dry.
our cries of hunger
diminished, fade
into the sounds of the wind
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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His Story
i asked him where he learned to write....
'tailing a saw in a sawmill,
milking cows, hoeing acres of garden,
building houses and interstate bridges,
dolphing cloth in the mills,
loading trucks and boxcars,
cutting wood, cooking on open fires,
drinking too much, giving too much,
fighting when i had to,
raising children, loving the same woman
for years, walking with my dog....'
he pulled out a smoke, and i joined him...
we watched the evening sun go down....
listening to his story....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love's Armor
i'm taking off this
suit of armor....
worn, bent, and rusted.
i'm laying down
my spear and my shield,
taking off my sandals.
let the flag fall
to the dirt....
fling the battle horn away....
i've given every ounce
to love's battle....
baby, i'm all in!
take what's left of this old man,
or let me wither away...
i've born your name
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Something More
there is a part of me in you,
in every move you make,
every thought you think,
in every sleepless night...
there is a part of you in me,
in every time i do the right thing,
every gentle and good thought,
in everything i believe...
there is a part of us in God,
and a part of God in us;
that cannot be seperated
and still feed the flame of living.
there is a part of love, and the whole,
written by our destinies.
you and i, and something more,
that words cannot define.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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