Otherwise Bare!
a bicycle with a flat tire,
propped against a brick wall.
the old hose with a hole,
thrown to the side.
the old man in front of the tv,
from morning to night.
a dog collar by the ashtray,
a coffee pot grown cold.
a flashlight that doesnt work,
a pair of shoes that never fit.
books packed in a box,
at a three dollar yard sale.
the suit bought at goodwill,
waiting on the funeral.
the last pack of cigarettes,
an empty pack of matches.
love sleeping on couches,
a screwdriver with a broken bit.
a heart that smells of mothballs...
a block of cheese and a knife on a plate,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I'll Help You Dig!
i studied revolution in jail cells,
got my education on the streets.
sold my soul to the devil,
more than once...
prayed for rain with the best of them!
met god down on the corner,
gave him a cup of coffee and a light.
spent all night in lonesome graveyards,
listening to the voices of the dead.
worked your assembly lines,
did your farm work.
hauled trash and emptied bedpans.
crawled in and out of the window of love,
been a fool a thousand times.
all i know is all men are my brothers,
women are my sisters and my mothers.
if it hurts you, baby, it hurts me too,
pass the shovel, i'll help you dig!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Final Chapter
there's a small fire burning
in the corner of a room
he had not seen
for some time...
the kaleidoscope of tiny breaths'
each one personal and real;
like tiny sparks with names
long forgotten....
the heart is a kingdom
of it's own making and design;
full of the precious now lost
in the howl of the night.
and he stands on the precipice,
angry, tired, bitter....
without choice, without meaning...
and no reason to be.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hard Man To Love!
i know...
i am a hard man to love.
too busted up to be pretty,
hard headed, opinionated...
headstrong and stubborn.
i fall down a lot,
but i get back up.
keep on walking,
eyes set hard on the goal.
passionate, a little crazy,
sensuous, starving, touching,
daring the forbidden.
folllowing the sound of the flute...
and the footsteps of the Lover.
maddened with desire,
soft hearted,
yet demanding justice!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sacrilege
mercury, and bullets,
the dead dont lie!
the used bear the marks,
on their backs, in their eyes.
and the price of the present,
the childrens' lives.
we bury our dreams
with guns and knives.
the earth weeps for us,
as the sky falls down.
cant see beyond our mouths,
cant hear the sound...
and the tears of the fallen,
stand like puddles of rain.
you can wash your hands,
cant wash off the stain.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Are Human
the truth
is not bound
by legality,
neither the free man!
if what you do
is in accordance with nature,
and in rhythm with the breath
of humanity's longing...
do it!
even the rocks sing,
the trees pray,
the wind moans and howls,
the rain weeps...
should we do less?
with every bite you take,
feel someone else's hunger!
every time you make love,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The Name Of Freedom...
we give a young man a gun,
and tell him to go kill in
the name of freedom...
we assure him that God is
on his side.
and he goes and kills and
commits atrocious acts of
violence...
and the defense contracts
grow, we secure more oil...
the war machine feeds itself!
this young man comes home to no job,
no real future, limited benefits,
and pretty much no help.
and he has to try to sleep at
night, hearing the cries and
the screams of the dying, of
women and children...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lingers
shotgun shells,
and kentucky bourbon;
long howling nights,
bound by the moon/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood.
lingers.
the fiddle weeps,
while the mandolin prays.
old hat pulled down,
feet dance to the sound/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood...
lingers...
broke down and busted,
carried by the darkness.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Same As I
i get so tired
of writing poems
about suffering....
but everywhere i look,
all around me,
people are hurting....
and try as i might,
i cant close my eyes,
cant shut my ears up
to the sounds of need and want.
and i cannot be silent
as long as there's one person
who is not free,
one person whose rights
have been violated....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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It Is Finished!
i've been to the place
where dead men weep.
where spirits go
that cannot sleep.
where near is far
and far is deep...
and i kept the silence!
i've tasted the wine
of human blood.
known the flower
still in bud.
danced in the moonlight,
bathed in the mud...
and kissed the fertile wind!
i've cried the tears
of oppressed and broken.
tended the fires
well past smoking.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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