Hang Up The Phone

hang up the phone...
let the voices in my head die down.
outside it's raining in layers,
and the cat curls against the steps.
cars pass like ships on uncharted seas,
and we are no better.
each day a battle in a war no one wins...
you looked at me with sadness,
and something i almost remembered.
we sat at a table in the park with the dogs,
and watched a deer stamping and snorting.
now you lie asleep in front of the tv,
and i'm alone with my thoughts.
somewhere deep inside beneath the turmoil,
the flame still burns on a candle forgotten.
who and what are we, if not human?
why breathe if we cannot feel?
damn the storm, i'm not afraid of the darkness...
my feet curse softly and walk into the rain!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am (You)

i am...
the shadow inside your shadow,
your breath, and your smell.
the memories of your childhood,
and the day your father died.
the cats that came one by one,
the forty dollar runaway.
the forbidden love, and the dare,
the loss, the grave never tended.
i am childbirth, and the baby,
nursing at your breast.
i am the snake in the garden,
the spider in the outhouse.
the kerosene heater, and the iron skillet.
i am the galvanized bathtub,
the water bucketed up the hill.
i am the want of spring,
the passion of summer,
the turning of autumn,
the final stillness of winter.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Know, I've Been There!

in each heart
there is a universe
never before seen, ...
i know, i've been there!

in each soul
there's a photograph of God
that's unlike any other, ...
i know, i've been there!

in every mind
a dream different but the same,
a thought that finishes, needs finishing, ...
i know, i've been there!

in every destiny
an individual path,
yet a part of the whole, ...
i know, i've been there!

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Only We That Are Confused....

the mountain has no sense of duality,
and the leaf knows it is a tree.
the river doesnt worry about
where it came from,
and where it's going....
and the wind finds home in journey.
the butterfly finds eternity in a moment,
the wolf speaks for all with a single howl.
the night knows that it is day,
and the day knows that it is night....
the turtle paints with Van Gogh,
on the inside of its shell.
the dead drink brandy with thunder,
the rooster crows and infinity hath spoken.
the bear greets the salmon with repentance,
and the salmon bows with humble gratitude.
winter kisses autumn one last time,
while spring dances in the womb.
and god abounds in each and all...
it is only we that are confused!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Death

the shadow lurking
just outside my window;
faintly smelling like spring rain
remembered in the fall.

the first lips you kissed,
the first time you tasted
your own blood.
a good cigar, and
a shot of french brandy.

the film of time
covering the eyes.
taking away sharpness,
finding form in the vague
and near forgotten!

a Bible that smells
like damp newspapers;
shovelfuls of earth,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love Has Its Own Scars...

love does not sleep with clouds
and flowers...
nor wait patiently on dawn!
but with the barrel of the gun
cold on bruised lips,
with the torn flesh of moonlight,
at the height of the storm.
love never enters by doors,
but steals through windows...
speaks fluently in the language of hurt.
is the beginning of wars,
and their only end.
wine bittered with poison,
water still and pure!
rises in flight without warning,
tears the gutters from the roof.
shouts with silence,
and rhymes poverty's nails.
has its own prayers,
names its own gods...

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Speak With Kindness (Or Do Not Speak At All)

speak with kindness,
or do not speak at all.
speak not of judgement,
you are not the judge.
speak not of salvation,
let your living be your scriptures.
speak not of scriptures,
let your actions be your holy book.
speak not as apostle or teacher,
speak as a human being.
speak not of god,
then god will speak through you!
speak not as a man,
for you are woman too.
speak not with hateful malice,
for love does not work that way.
speak not as a prophet or seer,
speak as compassion made flesh.
speak not of morality,
speak of connection.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tis Breath, Then...

tis breath, then...
wrought with infinite longing,
that called light from darkness,
and being from non-being.
that, spent as wind,
calling forth waves from oceans,
calling forth land from water,
blowing dry and forming.

tis breath, then...
calling male and female to join.
calling trees and mountains to tangle.
defining hill and valley,
both far and near.
calling forth fire from imagination,
calling thought from inertness.
calling music from stillness.

tis breath, then...
calling tribe unto tribe.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Empty Paper Cups

i do not wish to be great,
to turn and bow on the final stage.
i have no desire to be the train,
just a common plank on the track.

i do not brandish light for the blind,
i walk among shadows without a noise.
my name could be key, wellhouse, or pump...
my voice the sound of a sparrow hatched.

i taste like old trees,
and rain falling from a rusted gutter.
i've had long conversations with dogs,
walked window ledges with cats.

i know the stories of old tires,
i've hung my hat on rusted nails.
i pray in the moonlight with spiders,
and sing praises to the ants.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dont Talk To Me!

dont talk to me about Jesus,
when you wouldnt sit down
and eat with Him...
dont talk to me about patriotism,
the only flag i allow
is the one that burns.
dont talk to me about freedom,
bought with the blood
of Native Americans...
Asians, Africans, Middle Eastern peoples,
and renegade fugitive Irishmen.
dont talk to me about equality,
when you treat your women as possessions.
dont talk to me about morality,
dont even go there!
dont talk to me about sexuality,
when you hide in darkened rooms,
doing things in secret
that dont rhyme your Sunday prayers.
dont talk to me about truth,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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