If I Kissed You Again...
if i kissed you again,
the rain would stop falling.
the great powers would lay down
their nuclear threats.
black and white men,
would work and walk together.
hungry mouths would be fed,
and the lost would be found.
churches would close,
and back doors would open.
the lines between nations,
would fade and dissolve.
old people would take in
children that have been orphaned.
the table would be endless,
the bowls would be filled.
every tear would be wiped,
hands would reach out with respect...
if i kissed you again...
the world would make sense!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Old Stray Cat....
what if i took my rusted axe,
and chopped up the cross
of my self-denial,
would you come and stand by the fire?
what if i opened my eyes
and you could see through them,
as if my heart were a window,
would you shake for just a moment?
what if i laid down this body,
and took up wings of flight...
would you hear and know the sound of the sky
moaning against my freedom.
and what if i stood on your porch,
with my painter's brush and my broom,
would you recognize the scratching
of this old stray cat....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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She Walked Barefoot...
she walked barefoot,
across them factory floors,
down that gravel road,
across the yard,
and into that old house.
she walked barefoot,
across them kitchen floors,
down that long hallway,
across the floor to the bed.
she walked barefoot,
between them garden rows,
out in the fields,
down through the pines
to the creek.
she walked barefoot,
down them hospital halls,
down the aisles of the church,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wouldnt Fill A Thimble!
Jesus was not a capitalist,
Buddha owned no stocks or bonds...
democracy has nothing to do with invasion.
freedom cant be bought and sold!
the earth is not 'property'...
salvation doesnt imply donation.
equality doesnt have limitations,
respect is a two way street!
much judgement, few qualified judges!
forgiveness has to be given to receive.
wisdom not bound by degrees...
no tomorrow unless we validate today!
love doesnt imply ownership.
and death is not the end!
what we know wouldnt fill a thimble,
what we seek to know already seeks us!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The End...
spraying the crops
with Agent Orange!
old people sitting in the cold...
babies born to babies,
with nowhere to turn...
young people living in cars.
one war over, another begins!
the price of oil goes up.
meth labs, break ins,
another business closing doors...
the lies and the promises
become even more hollow....
salvation, redemption, just plain survive!
the buildings on fire,
they just stand and watch!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Joy!
joy!
fallen multicolored leaves,
turning, crumbling, dissolving...
rainbows of flesh,
returning to the source,
feeding new beginnings!
joy!
breathing, touching,
listening with the heart!
the chance and the gift,
another day, another moment!
joy!
someone to talk to,
someone who cares!
who sees you just like you are,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Old Man's Poems
old man's poems
written from a distance,
time and experience demand...
aged like good whiskey,
taken in sips, not gulps!
hang like clouds at sunset,
can burst into violent storms!
make love to the soul long and slow,
simmering o'er the fire.
weep with sadness like slow rain
in the night where no one can see....
written in stone like an epitaph,
an unmarked grave on a forgotten hill.
howl in the darkness like a lone wolf,
whisper like a child's simple prayer....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Things That Own Us!
things that we feel are wrong,
and yet we turn the other way.
acts of oppression committed
by those in power,
and yet we close our eyes.
people around us in need,
yet all we worry about is ourselves.
inhumane actions that we allow,
by not standing, not speaking,
and not acting.
injustices fed by our indifference.
human rights violated to the tune
of our apathy, and our blindness.
hatred, prejudice, and violence
that we choose to do nothing about.
despair that we leave for others...
fears that we do not face...
these are the things that own us!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Trapped Anger
with your meth lab soul,
and your rusted down
single wide trailer feet,
prodigal, where will you go now?
your mother's tears,
her cigarette burnt quilt...
your daddy's hand tools pawned
for pills and diapers.
pictures piled in a box,
wrapped in American nightmare...
you hold your baby close,
staring at a blank screen.
high school hero, college dropout,
deserter, small time criminal...
you can still smell the sunlight,
cant see past the rain.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I And Thou!
i wont wear your clothes,
wont wear your shoes.
i wont live in your house,
i wont sweep your floors.
i wont share your food,
i wont wipe your ass.
i wont sleep in your bed,
i wont build your fire.
i will wear your clothes,
will wear your shoes.
i will live in your house,
i will sweep your floors.
i will share your food,
i will wipe your ass.
i will sleep in your bed,
i will build your fire.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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