The Magdelene Poems
magdelene
be it so...
they would name
the holy one's lover
a whore...
and so give her a cross
to be borne for generations!
magdelene, # 2
what secrets we shared,
in the breathless moments
just before dawn...
while creation and destruction waited,
and the stars themselves wept,
as if knowing!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Conversations: Angels And Demons (Part Two)
the trucker went on speaking:
'you know, it's even worse for
the old people.
they dont draw enough to live on,
cant pay for their medicines, the
rent, the lights, and still buy food.
and their kids are scattered, or so
close to the edge trying to raise their
families, to just survive, that they
cant help...'
'yea, i was behind an old man in the
grocery store line the other night...
just buying dog food, Alpo canned dog
food. the cashier asked him what kind
of dog he had... he just shook his head.
i knew what that was! '
the trucker replied: 'you know, my mom's
over across town in that rest home. i felt
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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If There Is a God
if there is a God,
then He/She has
to be pissed!
bearing all the blame
for decades/centuries
of wars, countless
genocides...
famines, earthquakes,
starvation, and disease...
all the atrocious acts
committed by mankind
in the name of God!
and now we live in a nuclear
world, with the threat of
total annihilation...
God?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Looked At You
i looked at you,
and saw the fugitive
in my mirror.
i looked at me,
and saw the child in you.
i looked at God,
and saw the stranger waiting.
i looked at the stranger,
and saw my brother in need.
i looked at freedom,
and saw the bars of the cell.
i looked at the bars,
and saw my spirit walk free.
i looked at anger,
and saw forgiveness waiting.
i looked at forgiveness,
and saw the hands of love.
i looked at my body,
and saw the bird leaving the nest.
i looked at the nest,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Posting Pictures
i'm going to quit writing poetry,
and start taking pictures...
pictures of the homeless,
the jobless, the hungry,
the war victims, drug victims,
crime victims, victims of oppressive
regimes, beaten, imprisoned, threatened...
starting right here!
the elderly left to die in want,
those left to live on the street,
families sleeping in cars,
parents burying their children...
smoke stacks smoking,
nuclear disasters, oil spills,
mountains being mined,
timber being cut...
lonely people walking alone!
small children crying...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Thoughts On Revolution.... (Number Two)
when we speak of revolution
we often speak of justice...
do we understand the concept?
justice has nothing to do with
class, religious beliefs, skin
color, or economic station...
it has nothing to do with revenge!
it cannot be used for political
purposes...
justice looks, smells, tastes, and
feels the same for all people!
justice is marked by a true sense
of equality.
doesnt sound like what we have now?
therein lies the reason for revolution...
it we dare to risk all for change,
we must do so to restore human dignity!
all people must have a chance... to live,
to love, to have shelter and work.
there can be no prejudice allowed!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am Nothing.... (A Body)
i am nothing but the moth,
drawn to the flame.
no more than a body,
borrowed by god!
no more than the tear,
that no one else saw.
no less than the hunger,
that you feel.
i am nothing but the cross,
and the hurt Judas felt.
the day Buddha died,
and the day you were born!
the broken down shelter,
made of branches and leaves.
the mother holding the sick child,
through the unending night.
the rose that bloomed,
out of season unnoticed.
the last prayer of the prisoner,
walking to his execution.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Resurrection
speaking metaphysically...
if you've never carried a cross,
or wore a self-imposed crown of thorns,
you cannot experience resurrection!
the life we're trained from birth to live,
on a see-me, feed-me premise,
is a form of death,
aka, a type of hell!
in order to redeem ourselves,
to validate the experience of the human condition,
all that is body, the outer body,
the body that sucks and grinds,
has to die.
we have to let go of the concept
of freedom in order to be free.
the image has to be shattered,
in order to find the truth...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Day, And The Coming Day!
we are the day,
and the coming day.
the cities painted with despair,
the houses built left abandoned.
the seeds we altered,
the trees we cut down.
the mountains we mined,
and the seas we defiled.
the peoples we left homeless,
left to die in poverty and hunger.
the ships we sent to the moon,
the smoke from the great factories.
the daughters we sold into slavery,
the sons we executed on profit's battlefields.
the lie, the drug, and the drug of the lie!
the temples we built
to gods that taught us to kill.
the prophets we killed with righteous indignation.
the bodies we left in our prisons of justice,
the flags we wore to defile our hearts.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Time That God Walks
why does deliverance feel like
the old woman's jagged fingernails
digging in the dirt?
while poetry screams from
weeping willows and dead spiders...
light finds it way through crack and crevice,
dancing in the little boy's palm!
there is a song that dwells
in things that seem most still.
graveyards come alive in the dead of night.
and streetlights write history
on streets deserted and quiet.
while lamps shine in closed windows
as a testament to memory.
this is the time that god walks,
her long hair grey with suffering.
and stopping on the corner she lights a smoke,
while stray cats rub against her bony legs.
'if only they had drank the cup of suffering,
they would have known! '
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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