Looking For Tornadoes... (Part Two)
and redemption tastes,
like an old book or our scrotum.
with nothing left behind,
to barter or trade.
standing naked before god,
without a thought of excuse...
bastard trees defiant,
curse the saw and the fire!
and small children whisper
to the trees and the stone.
men with colorless faces,
shovel the dirt.
young girls drunk on cheap wine,
shed a tear and fix their faces.
young soldiers lay down their guns,
and grin with silent understanding...
a moment, a brandy....
and one last smoke!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Woman
i look into your eyes
and i still see.... the most
beautiful woman that ever lived.
i still see... fire and rain,
the soft touch of a hand,
the laughing pajama dance...
i still see... the mama who watched
with passionate dedication...
the woman who made love
in the dirt...
the smell, the touch, the feel....
listening to dylan and tom petty,
taking in stray cats.... walking the dogs...
the woman who gets mad, can be
tender and sentimental... who
cooked for her dad and me....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Naked Poem
i unbutton your blouse
with a naked poem...
the same poem that lit the fire
on a snowfall morning....
brought you breakfast in bed.
the same poem that held the baby,
and wiped the tears from your face...
that wrapped around you
when we buried your daddy....
that kept the lone candle
burning all that night....
that helped you pack to go,
and opened the door
to let you back in....
that stood in front of you
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dead In The Wombs
those same children
who died in the waters
that swallowed Atlantis....
those same children,
starving 'neath Africa's sun....
dead from the bombings
in Iraq, Afghanistan, and soon Iran....
their bodies thrown into dumpsters
here in the United States....
dead on the borders,
dead in the oil filled waters,
dead on the cocaine streets,
dead in the prisons...
dead in the colleges,
dead in the unemployment lines....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Half Drunk In Jesus Town
church bells ringing
down by the mission
walking these streets again
down by the old feed store,
and the row of empty buildings,
listening to the ghosts of the past.
the railroad tracks stand silent,
that old train dont run anymore.
here and there people walking,
aint nobody talking,
stray dogs and broken bottles,
stopped to light one last cigarette.
i can still hear my mother calling,
can still see my daddy's tired eyes,
can still hear the preacher, and
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Knowing That You Dont Know...
you cant change the wind,
you cant change the rain.
you can change the tracks,
but you cant change the train.
you can change your mind,
but you cant change your heart.
you can change the light,
but you cant change the dark.
you can hold the truth,
but you cant hold a lie.
you just keep holding on,
until the day you die.
you can hold your peace,
but you cant hold the clock.
you can only hold the fire
until it gets too hot!
you can touch the earth,
but you cant touch the sky.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Waking up!
the smell of coffee brewing,
dark, and strong and heady....
sunlight working its way through blinds,
and the nip of autumn air.
the song in my head no one
else can hear, coming from nowhere....
the sharpness of things seen,
and things not easily seen....
thoughts pulling like undefined gravity,
driving me to get up, and go again.
time passes, leaves fall,
but the tree remains, strong and steady,
ready for the coming storms.
something deep inside my darkest hour,
affirms that spring will come again....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Do Not Own Me!
you do not own me!
you do not own my body!
i will not wear your chains!
i take off my shirt,
and show the marks on my back
to the world, defiant to the end!
you do not own my mind!
you cannot tell me what i can think.
you will not tell me
what i can and cannot read!
you cannot tell me what to believe.
i do not buy your lie!
you do not own my heart!
you cannot limit my ability to feel.
you will not tell me whom i can
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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His One Demand!
morning half-frozen,
open the door and go...
issues hang like clouds
on the horizon...
bigots and racists,
money bred liars,
blowing smoke on the scene,
and the movement continues.
more and more people,
more and more voices,
standing up in all corners,
change has to come!
right way, wrong way,
too many jobless, homeless,
too many left without...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am... (A Man)
i am...
both the disease and the cure,
the sin and the sinner.
i am the hunger and the taste,
the arrow and the strike.
i am both penis and spirit,
the hunt, and the hunter.
the hint of love, and raw longing...
i am an old man,
and an ageless storm!
i am romantic, and sensual,
a warrior of the spirit.
i am failure and excrement,
jeans torn at the knee.
i am anger and compassion,
the bitter, and the bittersweet.
i am beginning, dust, and formation...
i am ending, death, and the unknown.
i am the memory of life before,
and the hobo soul that will return.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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