A Nameless Old Poet
an old wrinkled man,
with hard eyes that cut like ice,
and bled tears soft and deep.....
smoked too much,
liked a drink after dinner;
tossed in sleepless rhymes
of faces he couldnt name...
colors drained to black and white,
throbbing in his hands...
carving the whispers of demons
and angels deep into the flesh,
pulling infinity from human misfortune....
possessed by a love
for the beaten and downtrodden,
carrying buckets of water
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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All Of This, And More!
the color in the stone,
the green in the grass.
the language of the wind
whispering through the trees....
the mountains that listen in stillness.
the baby's mouth, eyes follow suit,
the thundering wings of the moth,
majestic in flight.
the bleet of the sheep,
the low growl of the bear.
the rhythm of the water,
pounding the shore....
the moan of the lover,
universal and primitive.
the scent of the rain,
just before it comes!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ashes And Debt...
they dress for the slaughter,
in thousand dollar suits.
faceless and colorless,
spinning webs of deceit.
with tongues made of plastic,
bony fingers on buttons.
drunk on the rush,
worshipping neon gods.
pick your next president,
sell your job in a blink.
foreclose your grandfather,
kill your son in a war.
the american pinnacle,
with eyes steeled by drones.
they drink blood for breakfast,
and oil for dessert.
manipulating classes,
the propaganda of fear.
prejudice and patriotism,
it's all over quick!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Footprints in the Snow
footprints in the snow.
tiny unnamed orphan lifetimes
that melt without a sound
and are lost forever.
candlewax melted to the formless,
mountains worn down over a millennia...
the faces of wrinkled old men
and newborn babies, one and the same.
the fleeting dance of a butterfly,
a river singing across centuries.
70 years,50 years,20 years, ...
or maybe just tonite!
coming back over and over again,
or dissolving like ash into the wind.
a dropp of rain, or the surge of an ocean,
stone stacked upon stone, or thistle?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Are (My Path)
you are my path,
my journey, my song.
the sunlit table,
the book, and the cup.
the baby's soft whimper,
the angry stare at the news.
the pot that simmers,
the meat, and the bone.
you are the fire,
built 'neath the trees.
the hug of the limbs,
the forever of the roots.
the sound of the lone bird's wings,
in a sky no one touches.
the smoke from the chimney,
the cork in the bottle.
the spider's web,
the quilt turned down.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dead Soldiers, And Bones!
dead soldiers...
beating on tin drums
with bones,
that used to wear faces!
small children singing,
songs of coming and going,
leaving the eerie taste
of things forgotten.
the field fresh plowed,
drowned by morning rain,
waits for the bodies
that seed the future.
while priests chant
neath stained glass windows.
the sun weary with bringing,
finds its way on the path.
the fresh dug graves
mourn with the ache,
longing for the thrust
of love's denial.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Forgiveness (Realization)
forgiveness is the energy
of realization...
realizing, the person you're
mad at or hurt by is just an
extension of yourself, another
part of you. realizing, the act
they've committed against you
is just a human act, whether
done on purpose, or without
thinking... realizing, that you
commit similar acts in your day
to day existence...
realizing, not forgiving, holding
on to the anger and pain, only
hurts you yourself! it becomes a
form of prison, self-imposed...
realizing, the mistake is not the
person!
forgiveness, the realization of
freedom in relationships!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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It Dont Smell Like Freedom!
'hippies, nuts, and the like...'
i went from hippie
to blue collar Joe
to respected businessman...
from renegade,
to family man,
church, and community.
and it took
getting ran over
by the corporate train,
to bring me back to myself!
primordial, raw, honest,
knocked down, get up,
hand in hand...
heretic, sacred dance,
moment to moment...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Rings Of The Tree
the wrinkled skin of the old woman,
carries 70 years of loving and passion,
giving, touching, listening, and caring,
flowers planted and children birthed,
all night love making and all day working,
thankless simple acts of living...
bow down, and worship!
the blind old man's bruised hands,
built houses, furniture, fires...
fought for the right, prayed for forgiveness,
stroked the body of passion....
grew food, poured drinks,
taught the boy to whittle,
turned the pages of countless books...
kneel in respect!
and dammit... take care of them!
love them!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ashes
it took ashes...
for me to draw
a picture of your living
in black and white...
yet containing all
the colors of your being...
it took ashes...
for me to lay down
all my wants and desires,
and the fear of losing you...
it took ashes...
for me to quit pretending
that this kingdom
is invincible...
and this island will remain...
it took ashes...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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