Anymore # 2
by the light of the day,
by the light of the moon.
the black horse is coming,
cant get here too soon....
forgiveness doesnt come with nuclear tears,
you cant buy back the moment by selling the years,
we are no more than our dreams and our fears,
if hurt's the disease then love is the cure,
a man bows his head, a woman endures,
catastrophe is close, but salvation is near....
and as the wind blows hard on freedom's shores,
we stare in the mirror and unlock the door....
our sons their victims, our daughters their whores,
we're not gonna take it anymore!
.......just not gonna take it anymore!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Follow (Bhakti Flute)
i follow...
the sound of the flute,
the footpath of the sparrow,
walking on air
to infinity's arms.
the rustle of the skirt,
bare feet on the floor.
the hum of the pot,
simmering on the stove.
the cry of the spider's web,
falling ever so slowly...
from its home in the corner,
safe from the broom.
the lick of the dog's tongue,
both raw and gentle.
the snail trail of the bead
of sweat on your neck.
the pole shift of your hair,
from brown to grey.
the quake of your lips,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Liturgy....
liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
of the soul.
words shaped like photographs
made of wind and tears.
simple things...
simple doings!
the same shovel
digs the grave,
digs in the garden.
barefoot,
and half naked,
no need for words,
no fears to console.
live without regrets,
leave it all on the table.
do the work, and move on.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Looking For Tornadoes
some of us are born,
looking for tornadoes...
and spend our lives,
singed by lightning.
flying madly like moths
toward the flame that devours,
scarred by the beatings,
just living to feel...
loving the unspeakable,
touching the untouchable...
we smell like the disease,
while eating the cure.
driven by the need,
lost inside the wind.
but the flesh we eat
is none but our own!
set free by weeping,
we walk on the sea.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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There Can Be No Freedom
there can be no freedom
when your own children are
going to bed hungry.....
when your workers stand
in jobless lines called by numbers,
not by names....
when your farms are taken
by the banks, and your tractors
sold at auction....
when your homes are foreclosed,
your small businesses shut down,
and they bail out the banks
with your retirement!
when your President stands by,
and does nothing,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Written In Human Blood
i heard you crying...
i dont know your name....
i can almost see your face,
can feel the warmth of your tears.
i felt your hunger,
twisting at my gut,
sharpening my stony glance,
and the set of my jaw.
i was driven by your lostness,
walking forever going nowhere.
with no beginning and no end,
no country, and no home.
i was angered by your scars,
could name each and every bruise.
i walked inside your chains,
in the darkness of the fog....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Shadows (Forgotten Day)
the scrape of the razor
against his shadow dreams;
voices on the tip
of the tongue of his thoughts....
the smell of ashes and sulpher...
the imprint of a rose petal
in his palm.... bare limbed trees,
and it's not even winter.
in the shadow of the mountain
that he couldnt quite climb....
great black birds swoop the skies
that almost touch forever.
scriptures written with sticks
in the soft clay of the creek bank....
spider's webs, dead frogs, and
the whimper water makes
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Somewhere
somewhere, i dont know,
we're having lunch
in some sidewalk cafe...
fresh, crisp salads,
and black coffee
with a shot of brandy...
and somewhere, i dont know,
they're playing music
on an outdoor stage...
we're sitting side by side,
with no need to be anywhere.
somewhere, i dont know,
we're walking hand in hand
thru the evening streets,
just listening to the sounds...
somewhere, i dont know,
in a rented room down by the tracks,
you come to me wearing nothing
but a necklace... and the rocking
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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To The Young Poets!
there comes a time
when the fire we have tended,
calls for new hands.
when the wind we have rode,
beckons for new friends.
and when the path that
leads to discovery,
needs a new body, a new soul.
when the battle for justice,
calls for new voices.
leaves turn brown and fall,
and winter snows come.
but spring always returns,
with new leaves and new song.
take what we have given,
and build an even bigger fire.
spread your wings, taste the sky,
past the limits of our endurance.
and when you get to the top
of the highest mountain...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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No Words (For Hune)
i could write volumes about:
the barking of dogs,
the stampeding marching song of ants.
the screeching grate of the snail crossing pavement,
the sound of the fire flickering on the candle wick.
the hymn of the rain before it hits the ground,
the jubilent sound of the rose petal opening...
the scream of the autumn leaf
just as it begins to fall.
the sharp intake of breath,
when the tree sees the saw.
the heavy breathing of silence,
that brings darkness to night....
real language, without pretension,
or forethought...
without the need to grasp as 'i or me'!
the infinite language of a silent god!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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