Pure Egg.... (Break The Shell)
even the light we see
is merely the echo of light....
we always want to 'go there'...
never realizing we 'are there'...
we long for heaven,
heaven is within us.
we say, 'i found god'...
but god was not lost!
we search for wisdom,
while plodding barefoot
through the wisdom of ages.
we fight to be free,
not realizing,
we are inherently free...
we long to love another,
yet we are love.
what we are,
and what we know we are...
therein lies the problem!
if the leaf is the tree,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Boat Waits
the wolf runs night's paths
with hungry eyes...
magnificent in the moonlight,
panting with desire.
following the scent
from which he came...
he stops in the clearing,
and howls!
the hawk soars the skies,
as if a path.
over mountains and valleys,
in and out of clouds.
eyes intent, with furious purpose...
with wings that taste and touch,
intimate, yet scorched!
the wind blows, the waves come in,
and go out... the boat is empty!
leaves fall from the trees,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Meaning Of Life
doth molten steel have a memory,
a sense of past and future?
does the tree shout for joy or weep,
when it's cut down and into firewood?
does the river have a destination?
does the moth call the flame god?
does the dirt thrown on the grave
whisper kind words of farewell?
does the unconceived baby remember dying?
doth not god shutter at the name god?
do the funeral and the wedding dance arm in arm?
does the tear sound like laughter before it's cried?
is anger gentle when no one is looking?
did darkness weep when man 'discovered' fire?
is not war just a contraceptive?
is not the question the answer?
be not death the meaning of life?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Melting Pot
many colored drops of rain,
as if the rainbow melted.
childrens' voices crying out,
different sounds, different languages.
all the same language.
millions of hands reaching for
a hand searching for a bridge.
hunger, need, and the emptiness
that drives, that prays, that bleeds.
all the same language.
kindred souls wrapped in fallen leaves,
that crumble, and return to dirt.
millions of eyes turned inward,
under the same sky, looking for tomorrow.
all the same language.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Old Men Remember!
old men remember
things young men never
even see, running headlong
in their quest for battle....
so busy trying to change the world,
trying to mold the world,
trying to make a name,
trying to make a difference....
that they forget to swallow!
and yet when time comes and goes,
it's not the big battles,
not the victories and defeats....
but the small things...
rare moments stolen, and lived...
simple breaths, taken and shared,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Price
we should have learned
in Vietnam... but no,
we keep aggressively
opening the doors...
keep our finger on the pulse
of those we would control...
wherever there's a dollar to be made!
we liberate for profit!
while in smoke filled rooms the
plans are made, ... to dominate,
to shape, and to destroy....
and somehow freedom becomes
enslavement... it's all good!
the bodies of women and children
killed without thought,
rot and stink in the ditches.
oil, power, turn the dollar wheel!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Racial Gun!
the racial gun
has always been pointed
at the masses....
by those who control us
for their own benefit.
'keep them afraid of each other,
make them hate each other,
tell them they're different! ....
anything to keep them
from realizing they're all human,
and joining together! '
anything to keep us from rising up,
and throwing off the chains
of oppression!
folks, there's only two kinds of people....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Just Before Storm (Walking With Rilke)
staring across the chasm of forever,
if my body be the bridge,
then yours,
the cup, the fire, and the lantern!
the wind wrote of love,
before there were humans!
scriptures written in trees,
mountains, and hollowed out caves.
your lips,
breath, and understanding...
your heart,
pure awe!
do we 'speak with the tongues
of men and angels'?
or stuttering fragile words,
repeat the wind?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Speak Of Liberation
we speak of liberation and shudder...
yet birds leave the nest for the last time
without so much as a tear.
trees shed their leaves
without falling to their knees.
rivers run for the sake of running.
the wind comes from nowhere,
bound for nowhere...
never murmurs or complains.
the snail crawls into infinity,
leaving only a trail for the sake of memory.
our grandparents long dead,
still speak to us in our dreams.
and the ocean that twas our mother,
is at peace that we have gone.
as god crawls out of the box,
that we put our name on...
much as clouds wink without a face.
what is there to be afraid of?
we are so much more than what we've lost!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Whole Lifetimes
we travel whole lifetimes
through the mud and the mire;
struggling, fighting, loving,
dreaming, believing against all doubt...
to find our brothers and sisters
lost in the passings,
in the comings and goings,
of birth and death...
to find the face of our mother,
in lands foreign and strange.
to do the work of our father
in the ruins of our shame...
to know each other,
the scents familiar;
and hear the sound of our own hearts
beating in another's return!
we travel whole lifetimes,
on this journey together!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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