From Greece To Rome
we took the Greek ideal of democracy,
and built it on bloodied shores.
wearing the mask of white righteousness,
we destroyed all in our path,
and claimed the land for god and freedom.
we fueled it with African slaves,
bodies sold on the block.
we built the land of equality,
as long as you were male and white,
had money, or owned 'stolen' land!
finally, women took the right to vote,
but we urged them (god's will) ,
to stay home and bear children.
black people were emancipated
to 'colored only' restrooms,
and a seat at the back of the bus!
/to be continued/
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Believe.... (Chant Four)
i believe...
in unlimited passion,
in touching, tasting,
and smelling,
in diving into the pond.
that it is not always
the answer we seek,
but the right to question.
that the perceived seperation
between man and god,
is a creation of man's
conceptual thinking!
that kindness is the key
to understanding...
that solitude is most often
self imposed!
that the true warrior is gentle,
that the sparrow is our guide.
and that communication is the key
that unlocks the door
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Next Great War
the next great war
this country will face
will be a war within
it's own boundaries...
the stench of poverty and
injustice has become too foul...
the old, the homeless, the
forgotten ones have been pushed
too far, left with too little...
and the sound of righteous anger
rips through the air...
now the largest minority
is the common man and woman...
the faceless ones bought and sold,
and left to die on black and white tv's...
and the time has come
when there's no more taking
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Keep Looking For You
i keep looking for you
somewhere behind your face,
where the signs of life
still flicker and tremble.
where ice flows melt
with your fleeting touch,
and the scent of you falls like rain...
i keep looking for you
somewhere just beyond the distance
that seperates us from who we are.
the thin veil between light and dark,
the door for which you are the key.
i keep looking for you
somewhere behind the bars,
where anger shatters like glass
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Spinning Wheel....
spinning wheel...
turning in the sand.
God didnt die...
you did!
the body taken down
from the cross silently weeps...
the tears sound like rivers,
and buds on the limb!
the bottle on the table,
containing the self...
falls to the floor,
and shatters!
the floor wet
with desire and breath.
angels dance barefoot,
the glass shimmers with light!
the wolf cub curled,
so close to the fur.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Moment Of You
small tiny prayers,
passing thoughts,
a moment of you....
maybe just the sunlight
sifting through the blinds,
the wind blowing a branch
against the windowpane.
the sound of the train
on the distant tracks....
the ticking of the clock
in the dead stillness.
a child laughing and talking,
walking down the road....
a sudden pain in my heart,
that lingers, then is gone.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Born, Buddha Dying!
the buddha in me
looks like the buddha in you,
smells like, tastes like,
feels like, talks like....
i feel your need,
for you are part of mine.
you taught me about love,
when you were hurting.
the buddha in me,
reaches out to the buddha in you.
we inhale and exhale,
and night becomes day.
the buddha in you,
the question and the answer.
each a part of the other,
one must be for both to be.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Lover, And The Loved
if the wind could cry
with human tears,
and sing with a human voice...
if rain was the medicine
that healed the wounds,
the balm that freed the scars.
and if fire be the soul,
and wings be the spirit,
would you come with me?
if my body was the meat,
and your heart was the knife,
would we feed a lonely world?
if my tongue was the brush,
and your eyes were the picture,
whose hand would guide the way?
if this day was eternity,
and i was the bridge,
would you walk across the chasm?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Doing Small Things
doing small things...
with big hands,
old hands that shake a little,
fumble a little,
but know their way.
aches and pains,
memory's reminder...
and all in all,
it's a good day to be alive!
eyes grow dim,
but still have a spark.
pages written and sealed
for whatever comes.
the soul ferments,
aging like good wine.
two glasses on the table,
waiting... for the guest to arrive.
cant change the past,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The Ashes!
break out the windows,
kick down the doors!
stack all the old furniture...
and set fire to it!
the windows....
...through which we stared at life
......safe from its touch!
the doors....
....we closed in our fear
......of who we are
.......and what we see
...........in each other.
the furniture....
....we sat on and laid on
.......while the cries of the struggling
.........and the hands of the hungry
.............reached out...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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