Revelation...
i am...
something more
than my regrets,
something less,
than my dreams.
more of a carpenter
than a sculptor,
more of a farmer
than a savior.
dented, bruised, dusty,
and often busted.
i know the darkness
as well as the light,
sometimes better!
peaceful, but not a pushover,
will fight when cornered.
know about your jails,
and the prison of self.
been a drunkard, been a healer,
a mad lover, an unholy priest.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Intent Of The Heart
i've made mistakes
in my life that have
hurt a lot of people....
i want to make sure
that what i'm doing now,
helps a lot of people.
it begins with admitting
and taking ownership
of my mistakes...
walking in forgiveness,
forgiving others, and myself,
as i go....
making every step count....
fully aware of the motives
behind each action....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Becomes The Poem!
there comes a time...
when the artist lays down the brush,
when the carpenter lays down the hammer,
when the lover walks out the door.
when the child turns away
from childish things.
when the mother steps back,
and opens the door.
when the old man stomps out
the fire with his boots.
when the sky falls,
and the earth rises.
when the poor just will not
take it any more.
when the sacred reveals
itself in a back alley.
when the truth steps up
and cuts the throat of the lie.
when the wind returns
from whence it came.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Bells Ringing
bells ringing...
thousands and thousands
of bells.... ringing....
the chorus of crows,
the sound of the whip
cracking on thousands
of backs, , ,
black and white,
brown and red....
the fat-bellied ticket taker
stands with hand outstretched...
cant pay the fare... cant ride....
left standing on the corner
of lost, and nameless.
marching to death, leaving
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Knock On The Door!
a knock on the door,
be it demon or angel?
i cannot bear
the suspense any more.
the knob cold in my hand,
the door sticks,
then jerks open...
nobody there, only shadow and wind.
crossroads and forks,
and hurricane damage.
the scar on my heart
bears your image,
and your name.
loves beats against
the window of longing
that your body fits
like clothes well worn.
we die again and again,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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To Be Passed Along!
longing...
driven by the wind,
to where, i dont care...
believing,
with no reason to believe,
against the turning odds...
getting back up,
slower each time,
in spite of time and the aches
of a long weary road....
going....
just keep on going,
with eyes that see,
and ears that hear....
giving.....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Glass Partition
she lives her life
behind a glass partition.
shuffling papers, washing dishes,
sweeping the floor.
sipping on sterile water,
her hands squeaky clean...
even her cat's been declawed!
he comes in from work,
both tired and bruised.
his pants are dirty,
his hands ache and throb.
pours a small drink,
and lights up a smoke...
sits quietly with an angry stare.
two worlds revolving,
two distant shores.
the phone rings, wrong number,
there's a knock on the door.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Neath The Tree (Where The Hoot Owl Waits)
packing my bags,
my flute and guitar...
the laces of my boots tied.
an old shotgun,
a couple of books,
my hat pulled down low.
leaving a candle,
a couple of prayers,
and the memory of song....
nothing left to say,
nothing left to give,
nothing left undone.....
by the moonlight
in the cold, down
this long winding road....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Answered!
i looked in the mirror,
and saw all of time,
the history of the ages,
creation and destruction.
saw passion and faith,
wars, freedom, and hunger.
saw the murderer and the murdered,
the philosopher, and the thief.
saw both justice and injustice,
ignorance and understanding.
saw peoples of all colors,
crying out for help.
saw fury and forgiveness,
saw beauty and ugliness.
saw the face of my neighbor,
saw the image of God...
i shook my head,
and looked again...
and saw an old man familiar,
saw the hand of the wind...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Epilogue (Conclusion)
i am a child of weeping,
i cannot lie or pretend.
the voice of those that hunger,
the face of those in need.
the cry for justice amid injustice,
the stand for equality and fairness.
the torch of liberty and human rights,
that burns without identity.
the sweat of god fallen
on the dust covered road.
the whimper of the holy child,
held in his mother's arms.
the needle laid down,
the slave set free.
the prayer of urine and blood,
the common body of love seeking love.
the hands and the feet,
nothing more and nothing less.
and destiny, but this,
to paint with raw color!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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