Truth... Demands An Audience
i keep watching
old people dying...
with unspoken living,
trembling on their lips.
truth...
demands an audience!
the silent screams
of mountains and rivers defiled.
even the trees whisper,
the sad hurt of poverty.
the wind cries of justice,
in the empty rooms of god.
do you tire of this flame?
wish i'd go away?
give it time,
even my footprints will disappear.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Her Voice
i believe there is a God
i can hear her voice
in the tears of the homeless
of the hungry, of orphaned children
of the young woman lying on the
kitchen floor bleeding
in the hollow ache of the young
man who just killed a family
with his M-16
in the stink of helpless
on the young boy raped
in the prison cell
in the vomiting anger
of the man who caught his wife
cheating, and shot her
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The List!
i came to age
in the land of Nixon,
and J Edgar Hoover....
when if you even breathed
the truth you made the lists,
the lists that no one saw!
from the America of LBJ,
the slaughter of the Kennedys',
and Martin Luther King....
and open war on the students
at Kent State who dared to stand....
against an unholy war....
civil rights, flag burnings,
draft card burnings....
women's rights, and change....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Truth About War
all wars are wrong!
war is killing masked in ideals.
most of the people killed
in wars are not soldiers,
- often women and children.
we dont have the right to invade,
to conquer, or to mold other countries.
we dont own them!
we dont even own the earth
we're living on.
killing is wrong.
all of life is sacred.
we dont have the right
to take another's life.
we dont have the right
to play God...
we're not even very good
at being human.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wail Of Poverty
i hear the wail of poverty,
feel the constant pressure
in my chest...
staring with eyes,
hardened and hungry,
looking for a break.
working past the point
of numbness,
sleepless under the weight...
i hear the cries of small children,
with every step i take.
i smell the anger,
and it smells like me,
the cold sweat of desperation.
the bullet phone,
or papers served,
one step from the edge.
i taste the tears
that men dont cry,
and the cold silence
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Affirmative Communication
affirmative communication...
we as humans are diverse creatures,
with diverse beliefs, histories, and needs.
we share the common bond of being human.
that is the beginning of the bridge.
we are not meant to be exactly alike.
but we are meant to flow with each other.
beginning with respect....
i am what i am, you are what you are...
and that is good.
let your words be tempered with kindness.
harsh words, excessive profanity, are forms of hate...
hate never accomplishes anything!
never judge anyone but yourself.
forgive for the sake of your own forgiveness.
listen... for that is how we learn....
and when it comes to matters of god...
dont preach god... be the god
you want others to know!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Freedom Demands Action!
this be not a free country...
as long as one child goes hungry,
one child cant afford to go to school....
as long as there are unemployment lines,
as long as there are vacant houses,
and homeless families.
as long as our sons and daughters
are sacrificed to the gods of war.
as long as our elderly cant get medical care.
as long as they burn and ban books,
as long as one is censored for speaking truth....
as long as the religion we profess
denies the rights of other religions.
as long as the young gay couple,
who want to adopt a child,
a child that no one wants...
cant get married.
as long as justice is bought and sold,
and is different for different colors.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Old Hands And Old Eyes....
old hands unbutton
the blouse of the day.
old hands make coffee,
open the dusty blinds.
old hands wash a few dishes,
make breakfast for the dogs...
old hands feed the stray cat,
make toast and wait.
old eyes caress the sunlight
as if an old friend.
old eyes see the work,
yet stop, to touch the morning.
old eyes kiss the trees,
the squirrels, and distant mountains.
old eyes ache with longing,
and amazement.
old hands and old eyes
begin the journey anew.
listening intently for the footfall,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Man Standing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
held the earth
in his hands...
until time and storm
finally had their way.
the man standing
in the shadows,
plowed and planted,
season after season,
till winter grey
closed the last door.
the man standing
in the shadows,
built a house
and a bridge...
and swept room and porch
till it was finished.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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True Companions!
take off your hat!
come on in....
black coffee, good books,
good wine, moments of stillness,
and conversations of the soul
that last all night....
you came from where?
that's good! tell me,
where are you going?
are you tired of walking alone?
do you need an echo?
questions for your answers?
or answers for your questions?
or do you just need to feel
someone breathing beside you?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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