Muddy Footprints
blue lights in the parking lot,
faceless cars speed by
on rain swept streets....
ghosts march in pedantic rhythm,
in the land of 'no touch, no feel'....
the gas pumps beeping,
always beeping.... shadows
feed shadows... a stray dog
dead on the side of the road....
'can you spare a coupla dollars? '....
heads turn, and walk away....
a young couple walking the tracks....
going nowhere, hand in hand.
you can smell the vacant buildings,
can hear the glass break
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Opens Both Ways
walking into death...
hands that grasped for so long,
learning to let go!
we spend our lives
in front of the easel...
and now the paint begins to dry.
at best, our dying
is the culmination of,
the fulfillment of destiny,
perhaps...
it finalizes the giving,
leaving the perfume of identity
hanging in the air.
we make love on a bed of pine needles,
small impressions on the ground.
the earth turns, the tides return,
the fires gone dim with stillness.
nothing to fear that we can change,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Timeless....
timeless...
the smell of fresh cut grass,
the taste of sweat on a lovers neck.
the sound the shovels make
filling the grave,
and the moment just before
when life fled into the sunset.
the burnt fringe of the letter
you saved from the fire.
the echoes of passion...
in a box in the closet.
the silence just after
the guns stopped firing,
just before the world found its way!
the spoon in the bowl,
and the peace in the stomach.
the blanket, the fire,
shelter for the night.
the whisper you hear
when only god could be talking,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Respect (An Awareness Poem)
respect!
for all that lives,
for all that breathes...
for life itself in all
its constantly evolving forms....
for every moment,
for every casual brush
of a caring hand...
for the individuality and
the differences...
for in the differences
we find sameness!
not to change
a rainbow to
a mountain...
a hawk into
a turtle....
but to take each
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Have Been Men (For Juan, And For Me!)
we learn...
somewhere in chapters
written in dust, ...
with temples turned grey,
and tired sunset eyes.
leaving tiny fragments of heart,
spread in the darkness...
to become fireflies for the poor.
with bent backs testifying,
and well worn boots.
love turned to echoes,
drawing blood from the veins.
simple hands working silently,
weaving on the master loom.
leaving only the scent of our passing,
for strangers to comb.
having lived and given,
and nothing more asked.
we turn with gratitude to the door,
and tip our hats to the night!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Who Will...
who will make your socks, your shoes?
those left barefoot in poverty!
and who will make your beds?
those who sleep on dirt floors!
who will grow your food?
those whose children are hungry!
who will bring you your oil?
those whose blood stains the sands.
who will write your poetry?
those held in your tiny cells!
who will build your houses?
those who sleep in their cars!
who will build your roads?
those who wander with no direction!
who will you send to war?
those who grew up on the abject streets!
who will march for your freedom?
and whose head will they demand?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Bears Our Names!
sometimes i think
that those of us,
the old road warriors,
need to pack up and go...
go where we have to go,
do what we have to do,
give what we have to give...
to bring the change!
we have both seen,
and felt the wind.
have touched the fire,
have reached to the sky.
we have loved with a passion,
they dont even know...
the scars we wear,
are our own!
maybe if we make the sacrifice first,
it will bring courage,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Halls Of Eternity
sandaled feet, dusty streets,
Sumerian wheels turning...
pages of history written in histories
of those that came after....
walking with the gods,
listening as they spoke of
worlds far across the universe...
tales of the flood, creation and beginning,
all handed down to them....
and handed down by them....
a whisper in time, merely an echo,
as if a stone dropped in a pool...
and now our own world,
crashing headlong o'er a cliff;
do we dare believe time is over?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Journey
when you can look
in the mirror,
and see your self naked
without running like hell...
the journey begins!
when you can look
at your every action,
judging your self honestly
by motive and intent...
the journey begins!
when you can give away
all that you cling to
without asking for anything
in return...
the journey begins!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Have To Find...
we have to find,
that which is real in our lives...
that which is of real value.
we seek eternity, but it is in
those moments we are most human
that we experience it.
we would seek god,
but god is not lost...
god appears to us in chance encounters,
in moments that we have the chance to be human,
when we have the chance to listen,
and so help bring change.
even our failures are victories
if our intent is compassion.
our legacy then becomes the hand extended,
the simple act of caring...
and our wealth that which we've given.....
that which we seek to find is already there!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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