It Will Find Its Way To Shore...
did love then crucify you?
or are you a victim of circumstance?
is then the ground you walk on shaken?
did the last star fall from the sky?
did everything you believed in crumble?
did your very heart walk out the door?
do the tears you're crying taste like blood?
does the very night sound like a hammer?
and now the wind comes as your only soulmate...
as water drips from the faucet of your being.
does the scar burn across your breast.
do your eyes hurt with longing?
you cant believe it now but you're not alone...
and dawn will finally rescue this night.
close your eyes and ride the wave,
it will find its way to shore!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Voices Of The Children
how many times will we turn to the wind
and hear the voices of the children?
how many bodies, how many graves,
before we forgive and are forgiven?
who makes the choice?
and who has the voice?
whose hand can stop the killing?
who defines liberty?
brings back community?
brings back the touch and the feeling?
and when will we know
they'll never be tomorrow
unless we live today?
will we find God in each other,
in our sisters and brothers,
in what we do and what we say?
how many times will we turn to the wind
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Years Of Travel...
lover...
the tongue severed,
chopped in tiny pieces,
laid carefully in a box,
that sits silently screaming
on your shelf!
the heart does not know
faces or names,
is not bound by distance,
1000 miles, or 20 feet
across the room...
that seems even further.
we die a thousand deaths
at each other's feet.
love's crucifixions,
bodies wrapped in cloth,
and perfumed.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ashes For Justice!
when i die,
you can burn
this body,
and take the ashes
to the street
down in front of
the housing projects,
where people live
day to day,
moment to moment,
just trying to survive...
or you can take them
to the countries ravaged
by starvation,
and pour them out
on the side of the road
where families are dying...
or you can take them
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Real Men...
real men...
dont threaten.
real men dont lie.
real men dont take
at the expense of others.
real men dont quit.
real men dont make excuses.
real men dont follow blindly.
real men dont abuse women.
real men are good fathers.
real men live by respect.
real men dont seek violence,
but dont back down.
real men get involved.
real men face their fears,
and their failures.
real men own their mistakes.
real men dont judge.
real men pray with the same hands
they wipe their buts with,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Sky (Belongs To All)
i saw Jesus
in a drunk tank
in Oklahoma,
after i watched
a man die...
found Buddha
in the stillness
on a cool basement floor...
felt the Tao,
on a mountainside,
listening to water
running over rocks.
i found myself,
again this morning,
in the line outside
the homeless shelter.
all of this, and more,
in families torn apart by war,
in the addict who does what he has to,
in the poor, and hungry,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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This Hallowed Path
we, who've walked this hallowed path
to where rivers meet and mountains kneel.
who discovered fire in long ago caves,
and found treasures in books long sealed.
who took the hands of the orphaned child,
and held the old woman as she passed.
who laid down weapons and took up love,
and sought a future not bound to past.
who toppled kingdoms with peaceful truths,
who loved much at the cost of dying.
who valued a kiss over the world,
who gave beyond the cost of trying.
who stand at the gates of eternity,
having left nothing more than the living.
having lived nothing less than the loving,
left behind as gifts for the giving.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Burn Down The House
47,000 factories shut down
over the last decade in America....
we still export more oil than
we import....
there's not a damn stitch
of clothing in my closet
that reads 'Made In America'...
you tell me!
it used to be you worked
and fought like hell to send
your kids to college....
now, dont worry about it,
they'll end up in prison
with all the unemployed teachers.
and the gulf between the elite
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am Troubled!
i am troubled...
lord, i am troubled.
i hear the cries
of starving children.
i feel the bombs,
burning up the night.
i smell poverty,
and i taste injustice.
i shudder at prejudice,
i write the prayers
of the forgotten...
and sign their names
on unmarked stones.
what have i done...
lord, what have i done?
with this life,
this path, this cross.
i feel guilty,
and i know their suffering.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Nature (Evolving!)
every person,
..Buddha nature,
....evolving,
returning....
uncarved blocks,
waiting for the Woodcarver's
...deft hands,
cutting away imperfections,
weaknesses in the grain....
returning to cosmos,
...an ant working,
a mountain slowly
changing shape over time....
evolving,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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