Human Chronicles (Part Two)
and here in the United States...
the flag of freedom desecrated.
betrayed by our own greed,
by the sins of 'I, Me, Mine'...
carrying the weight of the wars,
the patriotic lies,
the lives taken,
the peoples abused.
the karmic curse
of Native American blood,
the bodies of the slaves,
buried beneath the hanging tree.
the muffled cries of the immigrants
who did our farm work,
and were herded like cattle.
the ghosts of the common workers
pounding the unemployed streets.
too long, too long,
we've closed our eyes.
too long, too long,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Still Tugs (At The Leash)
i rose from the grave,
and brushed the dirt from my eyes.
i shook the chill silence
from my bones,
and walked through the last door.
i stood on your porch
for the longest time not speaking,
watching the wind blow the curtains,
listening to the creaking of the boards.
we are no more than the last step,
no less than every mile.
your reports of my death
fall on deaf ears...
i can still taste the sweat of god,
can still feel the murmur and the quake.
and when i lie down,
i dont want to be alone!
you can fill the empty grave
with memories and cold tears,
this dog still tugs at the leash!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hunger Is!
broke and busted,
wandering the streets...
with nothing but the clothes
on your back and
the shoes on your feet...
and havent eaten in two days.
the mission's closed,
no soup line today...
and you start staring at the trash cans,
behind houses, behind restaurants.
you watch people walking to their cars,
people going into stores,
hands in their pockets, or
pocketbooks on their shoulders...
just looking for a chance.
numb to the fear, to any feeling,
to the sound of sirens,
to the sound of voices talking and laughing...
and there's no right or wrong...
only then, do you know,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Man To Man
bossman, bossman
crying in your gravy;
call me worthless, useless,
just dont call me lazy.
hard to keep your houses,
hard to keep your cars.
turn your head, lift up your nose,
so you cant see my scars.
count your money, count it well,
is my picture on each bill?
come on down to this poor man's town,
and i'll show you what's really real!
truth is, i'm fed up,
not going to take it any more!
i'm not your boy, not your trash,
not your excuse, not your whore.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Random Freedom Thoughts
a man is no more
than the smallest act
of giving he leaves behind.
a true patriot
embodies the ideal
of freedom and equality.
we live all of our lives
searching for what we knew
when we were born.
our concepts of God,
like a microwave dinner,
the real thing much better...
and totally different!
religion the drug
that keeps us from expressing,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Deep Into The Wood
the scars of love,
ingrained and stamped
into the wood....
rivulets worn deep
into the face of stone...
the coming of spring
in a brown crumbling leaf....
the light trapped
on the bottom of
the cave's darkness.....
the look of fear hidden
in the lines neath your eyes
as you brush lightly with death,
and squeeze my hand
against the cold....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Turn To Rust
turn down the wick!
there's a time for fighting,
a time for prayer, and
a time for just being...
in stillness.
you and i have felt things,
known things, seen things,
that most people never notice
in their mad rush to the grave!
feel the wind blowing through
the alleys, tugging at the doors
of vacant buildings... you know
its name... it has been
your lover, and your companion!
watch the sunlight dancing through
the shadows, lapping up darkness
like a thirsty dog... i am that dog!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Five Sacred Truths
nonviolence...
hands open and empty,
hearts open and given.
bodies laid before feet,
spirit given for direction.
no gun, no hatred,
no fear, no greed...
can put out the light
of compassion!
truth...
accepting nothing less,
settling for nothing less...
at all costs, without hesitation.
freedom...
has to be for all
to be for one!
equality, diversity,
responsibility...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love The Children!
when the money is gone,
and they've taken everything away...
they padlocked your house,
and repoed your car...
the years have passed,
have taken their toll.
even the fires of love,
burned down to embers...
at the end of the day,
at the end of the road...
all you have left are the children.
they carry your heart
to a new day and a new world...
love the children!
every child that is born
carries the holy seed.
whatever it takes,
love the children!
a Jesus, a Buddha, a JFK,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Questions I Ask Myself...
whose voice do you hear?
whose blood by the door?
whose body before you,
lifeless in the night?
are you then prayer,
the reason for prayer,
or the answer?
whose tremble in your hands?
whose guilt etched in your face?
whose give did you take?
whose mouth left hungry?
are you then forgiveness,
the reason for forgiveness,
or the need?
whose god did yours kill?
whose sons did your war murder?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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