Outhouse Walls
real poetry...
begins with
a hammer and a saw,
16 penny nails,
the sun at your back,
and a willing tree!
wiping the dirt
and the fear from
a small child's face,
with bare hands,
calloused and rough,
tender as the petals
of the long rose opening
in front of an empty house....
picking up the stray dog
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Vowing, To Be Better!
i am both the bullet,
and the victim.
the finger on the trigger,
the hand on the heart.
the hatred and the forgiveness,
the compassion that dares.
the sacred, and the demon,
the prayer and the scream.
both justice and injustice,
prejudice and understanding.
both ignorance and wisdom,
fearful, and a man.
i see both the light and darkness,
feel, touch, and taste them.
knowing that every breath i breathe,
is a choice!
every night i take off my image,
and examine my heart.
taking responsibility for my life,
and vowing, to be better!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Scar...
the scar on god's face,
looks a lot like
my mistakes and my failures...
yet she never speaks
a harsh word!
the limp as god goes walking,
smells like the times
that i have fallen,
turned away, or just ran...
yet she never says
what i already know!
the tear that god cries,
tastes like my selfish desires,
the times i've taken
when i should have given...
yet she never
opens that door!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Then Why Not I?
if the sparrow builds a nest
without the use of hands...
then why not I?
if the whale answers calls
from across the ocean...
then why not I?
if the tree stands through
storm after storm, season after season...
then why not I
if the butterfly lives eternity
in one precious moment...
then why not! ?
if the wind comes and goes
without home or destination...
then why not I?
if the mountain waits in stillness,
never asking what it's waiting for....
the why not I?
if the bridge knows only feet,
and the boat waits for oars...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Washington
They're selling plastic Jesus's
in the halls of the senate,
putting band-aids on open wounds
that ooze when you breathe...
Trading worthless paper, cigar deals,
'in God we trust', or not!
puffing out their ashen chests,
strutting like empty headed roosters.
And the children of the dream
bow their heads and blindly walk;
the meat grinder turns his wheel,
the spineless monkey dances!
An empire falls in sterile silence,
throw the helpless to the lions!
no food, no water, no oil, no power,
gridlock, and a broken bow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Laid Down God!
i laid down God,
and found the stranger
at my door....
hungry stare, dirty clothes,
nowhere to go...
i let him in!
i laid down God,
and found the orphaned child,
crying in the darkness,
the darkness that swallows souls.
i took the child in my arms,
and whispered, 'you are home'...
i laid down God,
traded my guns for hammer and nails...
began building houses
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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This Book!
small, tiny wondrous things,
all too easy to overlook.
moments of laughter shared,
soft conversations about nothing,
that were about everything!
meals cooked together and shared,
long walks on autumn evenings....
watching old movies and in the hero
finding the same path, the same journey,
the same mistakes, the same triumphs.
cutting wood and building a fire;
making love, and the moments after shared.
harsh words, and then forgiveness,
as easy as turning the page....
this book we've written together,
another chapter, another day!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Pound Of Flesh
you're a pound of flesh
you're an overdue book
you cannot take
what's already been took
now baby you've got the feel
and you've got the look
you're a pound of flesh
you're an overdue book
you're a prayer for judgement
you're a shooting star
blind man in the alley
playing slide guitar
you're way too close
to be going this far
you're a prayer for judgement
you're a shooting star
incurable sickness
you're a runaway train
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Stink
the stink...
human excrement,
starving mouths,
skeleton bodies...
breath short and aching.
blood on the hands,
violent scars that tremble,
in the darkest night,
burning out of control.
hatred fear,
that drives and shatters.
the grip on the cup,
broken, and shaking.
hot love molten,
howl, and moan...
the stars in the sky,
falling like hot knives!
silent prayers,
tongues ripped from mouths,
that move like fish,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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What Fools We Are!
we who would talk to god...
yet cannot understand
the language of trees,
cannot read the scriptures
written in grasses,
dont even know what the
sky tastes like!
terrified by the silence of mountains,
we run barking and braying
to priests hidden behind walls!
never hearing the words whispered
in the eyes of the dog,
never feeling the passion
inside the turtle's shell...
what fools we are,
running from a few drops of rain,
building great fires to ward off darkness...
we know not who we are,
or from whence we came...
what fools we are!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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