That Which We Judge
that which we judge
in others are usually
the reflections
of our own desires,
of the darkness within
that we deny!
be it murder...
have you never lashed
out in anger?
be it theft...
if you were hungry
without choice... would you?
be it lust....
dont tell me you've
never looked and wanted!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Simple Touch!
you touched my hand,
and raised this body
from the land of the dead...
you touched my heart,
and freed this soul
from the dark maze
of its own prison.
you touched my eyes,
and restored sight
to a blind man.
you touched my ears,
and filled them with
the song of every living creature.
you touched my desire,
and brought stone and fire,
and the echo of the whipporwill's song.
i touched you,
and the earth stopped turning,
rivers stopped flowing,
and mountains fell...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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And If There Be Peace....
and if there be peace,
it lies in this...
when stars collide,
and turtles bump in the night.
when the stray cat sleeps
in the homeless man's arms.
when the poet
becomes the poem....
when the carpenter
creates the world,
and the farmer divides
the land from the sea.
when the candle exultant,
lights itself....
and the wind puts it out
with a kiss...
when friends speak the language of ears,
and follow unmarked trails to nearness.
when the song becomes the grunt,
of life born inside itself.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Naked Infidel
i am the naked infidel,
strolling naked through your churches.
singing in your libraries,
chanting 'justice' in your courtrooms.
scrawling liberty on the walls
and floors of your Senate,
unlocking prison doors,
bringing seed to your fields.
hauling bodies from your mines,
bringing doubt to your classrooms.
taking your girls from the corners,
sending them back to their homes.
disarming your soldiers,
and feeding your hungry!
i extend the holy hand,
that is common and covered with dirt!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Kill...
we kill...
more people with the stock market,
than we've killed in all the wars!
with every gallon of gas we pump,
with the food we throw away.
with pain pills, crack, and meth,
with pornographic fingers.
with prejudice and discrimination,
and most of all, with religion!
with self obsession,
and the need to own.
with apathy and blindness.
with 'I, me, mine' grasping,
with judgements bound
by concepts derived from fears...
without thinking, without feeling,
without caring!
we kill...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Written With Nails (For Terence)
metal jacketed truth bullets
spat from the empty tomb
on the third day, ...
grave clothes lying empty.
human stink garbage sweat grime,
hands reaching for hands...
candles made of flesh,
matches of dried bones.
truth lightning gentle weeping sorrow,
food bowls held by shaking hands.
eyes that see, hearts that feel,
simply living, by the fire!
spiritual writings written with nails,
compassion's hammers, caring's shovel...
lifetimes building shelters,
and planting gardens for the poor!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ingrained
memory ingrained in the memory,
faces ingrained in the wood.
light ingrained in the darkness,
evil ingrained in the good.
poor man ingrained in the bricks
that built the rich man's home.
father ingrained in the child,
his destination, gone...
freedom ingrained in oppression,
moth ingrained in the flame.
tomorrow ingrained in today,
the nameless ingrained in the name.
courage ingrained in the fears
that determination overcomes.
God ingrained in the human,
left standing when all is done!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Inside Of Yours....
the sound you hear,
not someone knocking at the door...
not a branch blown against the window,
not the barking of a distant dog.
tis not thunder, or gunfire,
nor the shout of an angry mob.
tis not God, or Satan, or destiny,
not even the growl of the hungry.
it's not tomorrow, yesterday,
or the drums of despair....
not the low voice of doubt,
or the cry of injustice!
listen closely, be still,
stop thinking and defining...
for the sound you hear is just my heart,
beating inside of yours!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Scars (On The Face)
ecstasy...
the window broken
by moonlight.
the bastard star,
that licks the wound.
the fire that burns flesh,
and opens the casket.
the hammer
that breaks the shell.
love sap spilled
on a forbidden book.
the history of mankind,
written in charcoal.
the tears of the prisoner,
set free, drunk on freedom.
the garlic lips,
that tempt the hunger.
the hunger's howl,
and the silence of the wolf.
the lover's tongue
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Poor Have Souls Too!
the poor have souls too...
dreams, hopes, and desires.
their hands have worked the hoe,
pushed the plow, swung the axe...
have held their children,
and touched with love.
their needs are real,
and the same as all others.
their hunger raw and real,
their minds needing answers.
they dont need anyone else
to live their lives,
they want to live their own.
peace, warmth, food, and shelter...
and medical care!
doesnt seem like too much to ask.
the poor are still people,
and people need people!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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