Dark Southern Skies
faded sign falling down
from an abandoned mill
mailboxes full of
unopened bills
houses with no curtains
old cars up on blocks
all the stores are empty
all the doors are locked
dark southern skies
no one's home anymore
no one hears the cry
no one sweeps the floor
man without work
his woman turns away
dark southern skies
and there's no one left to pray...
empty crib gathers dust
a Bible by the bed
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Jesus, And The Sheriff's Dept
the sheriff's department finally
raided that old run down church
you know, the one over on
the bad end of town
hell, the whole neighborhood
was trouble... there'd been reports
of a meth lab nearby.
anyway, no one went there
but minorities, trailer trash
and a few illegals...
and that Hispanic looking dude
that ran it you know, 'Jesus',
passing out food and prophylactics,
taking them wired out kids to rehab...
helping those unwed teenage mothers
learn to take care of their babies,
and to take responsibility...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Trembles Your Thoughts
i am the brown skinned lover,
sweat wrapped in shadow.
the window left open,
the latch broken by desire.
i am the turpentine taste
of the dangerous and forbidden.
i am the graveclothes left
by the door to your room.
i am the rabid dog,
howling against the wind.
i am the moment before
the storm tears down the house.
i am hunger sharpened
by the loss and the fury.
i am legs uncrossed,
quivering and damp!
i am love dares the bullet,
and taunts the noose.
i am the shackles broken,
the sinews of deep want!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Where There Is....
where there is breath, there is hope.
where there is hunger, there are faces.
where there is injustice, there is need.
where there is doubt, there is truth.
where there is prayer, there is searching.
where there is understanding, there is compassion.
where there is slavery, there are bodies.
where there is hurt, there are hearts.
where there is sickness, the need for healing.
where there is prejudice, there is fear.
where there is condemnation, the need for forgiveness.
where there is a moment, there is eternity.
where there is involvement, there is change.
where there is loss, a chance for freedom.
where there is war, the deep cry for peace.
where there is darkness, there is light.
where there is truth, hope abides!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Shouting...
i cannot sleep for this constant shouting...
the shouting of trees, the shouting of alleyways,
the shouting of rats crawling through trash.
the shouting of needles and Family Bibles,
the shouting of flags folded and given.
the shouting of machines, abandoned and morose,
the shouting of fields gone barren.
the shouting of poverty ripping color from being,
the shouting of hunger in faces silent.
the shouting of guns loaded and unloaded,
the shouting of clinics, filled without names.
the shouting of prayers wriiten in pavement,
the shouting of rivers filled with sewage.
the shouting of birth, and the shouting of death...
the shouting of love, distant and forgotten.
the shouting of god, in doubt's innumerable forms.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Eternity
i felt eternity for one moment
and it was like...
the first night we made love all night,
watching our children being born...
standing naked in the yard
during a thunderstorm at night...
a new set of strings on a Martin guitar.
as if God had escaped from the great churches
built & watched over by self-righteous men;
and blew like the wind across the fields
of time & space & understanding.
as if the Great Mother held me to her breast
while the waves lapped at my feet...
and i felt the rhythm of silence
in a single beat of my heart.
i felt eternity for one moment,
and there was no difference between
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Family Farm (Season After Season)
his granddaddy built
the old house from the
ground with his bare hands....
that old tractor has plowed
fields season after season...
how many winters has
that old barn seen?
how many buckets of water
from that old well?
how many children
conceived and born
under that tin roof?
how many times has
that fence been mended?
how many potatoes and
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Justice, Equality, Compassion, Human!
i spit hammers and nails,
can taste bullets and swords.
my eyes are the bodies
of the innocent that lay dying.
my fingers touch the ribs
of small children starving.
my tongue's made of coal dust,
oil, and death by profit!
my ears hear the cry of freedom
from the cells of the oppressor.
my heart sleeps neath the bridge
with the homeless family at night.
my fists smash the lie and the liar both,
my arms carry the weight
of the working class's lives.
covered with the stink of poverty,
i shed the clothes of pretensions,
apathy, and human greed.
and my desire grows hard
when i see a better day...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Even When Alone
the blackened plow,
the blood stained glove.
the hammered blade,
some call it love.
the bottomless well,
cant drink enough....
the blackened plow,
the blood stained glove.
the eyes of hunger,
empty face of loss.
the wheel of man
turns despite the cost.
when you're lost at sea,
and your ship is tossed.
the eyes of hunger,
empty face of loss.
and still the takers take
till the blood is drawn.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hiding From The Broom!
i walk the paths of stillness
into the setting sun...
in the company of dead poets,
and a few mongrel dogs.
we come to a clearing,
and gather wood for a fire,
waiting on the night spirits to join us.
my hands are broken,
they cling to nothing and no one.
i see with my ears,
and listen with my eyes.
my soul rhymed by darkness
dissolves into dust,
while crickets chant eternity.
i return to an empty house,
curtains pulled, door flung open.
lighting a candle, i sit on the floor,
waiting for death, or morning.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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