The Lover's Chronicles (Part Two)
no, not yet! take my hand, let us
walk towards the setting sun. the
mountains seem closer, the trees
whisper and wait. for the night
brings its own sounds, a new and
deeper closeness, breaking down
the barriers of the need for concepts.
open your hands, close your eyes, listen,
then let go! of every image you have
of self, of want, of need... the bird
leaves the nest and never looks back,
no longer clinging to a world made of
straw...
i will love you, first with stillness,
then with sounds heard for the first time.
i will bring you taste, richness and raw.
i will bring you healing, that searches
your unnamed sorrows for joy. i will listen
to your heart, and hear. i want to know
you before we touch... i want to touch
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Enough!
dead tired from work,
fell asleep in my chair.
woke up with a start;
dreaming of sex, and death,
and the ten thousand things
i worry about, but cant change.
get up,
sweep the floor,
pour a cup of coffee,
stare out the window...
night falling over the trees
like an anvil.
who am i?
a scarecrow with
a cardboard heart,
an adjustable wrench,
broken, and discarded.
a candle melted down,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Handprints On The Knob!
bound and cuffed,
i break through
the paper veil
surrounding your body,
and lap at your heart
with my tongue.
you broke the sparrow's wings,
yet he flies with the memory
of flight and pure desire!
you speak softly,
and the waves are stilled.
even the moon
loses it's grip!
small children draw your image
in the dirt with holy fingers,
and whisper, 'mother'!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Spontaneous Electricity (The Journey)
every time i reach what i think
is the end of my road... something
happens...
storms come, destroying everything
behind me. the moon comes out, and
i find another fork in the path.
voices whisper, and tell me it's
going to be all right... just keep
walking...
i find i own nothing, not even the
clothes on my back... my memories,
merely twigs for the fire.
and what i thought i knew, no more
than tiny sparks in the darkness...
so letting go, i move on...
tired, and weary, too often alone...
i want to pray, but keep looking inward.
i stop to rest, and look up... that same
star from long ago... my spirit humming,
i rise up and go...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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There Is A Poison....
perhaps there is a poison,
in that which we love most.
be it the hands grasping,
or the memories that cling...
while stardust falls silently,
like dandruff from burnt eyelids.
and the god of our childhood,
packs up and leaves.
is it easier to burn the body,
or stick your fist through the glass?
while the child that you love,
rides away on a donkey....
as we're playing cards with the devil,
betting photographs and hearts.
people stand in line for this,
those with money and unconscious.
and lovers lose their voices,
somewhere in the shout of silence.
i pray for all the children,
who lie hungry in my thoughts.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Long Grown Cold
thunderstorm, and ashes...
wild horses running free.
wolves panting in the darkness,
owls shudder in the night.
bats hang upside down, and then die,
like falling stars disappear.
i lick the walls of your soul,
until my tongue bleeds.
water dripping from a rusted spicket,
the old tree split by lightning.
i kiss your eyes, and death stammers,
even word hesitates.
longing tastes like sap and old books,
sadness precious hangs and falls.
you dig your nails into my heart,
the waterfall frozen in time.
stone throbs, pines pray needle prayers.
there's no direction in the darkness,
only pulse, and animal souls.
then i awaken with a start,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Vacant And Cold!
are we then human?
what does that entail?
we light our cigarettes
off the heads of starving children,
drink wine made from
the blood of dead soldiers.
even our gods see through colored lenses!
afraid of the truth,
we chip away at the stone.
turning off our lights to undress.
perfumed by the scent of dead animals,
shamed by the stink of human need!
'Jesus died for our sins...'
we hold our sins close
as the price of oil!
eating multi-lingual tacos and rice,
we chase His brother across the border
on a migrant worker's pay!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Food Awareness
when you go to the store
and buy food... do you think
about:
1. where it came from
2. where and how it was grown.
3. what kinds of seeds and fertilizers
...were used...
4. what kinds of pesticides were sprayed.
5. who worked the fields
6. how were they treated, how were they paid
7. who drove the trucks who hauled it
8. how much fuel was used, at what cost
(both in dollars and lives)
9 who stocked the shelves, and rang you up
10. are they paid enough to live on
11. how much electricity and/or gas
....did you use to prepare it, and
....at what cost
12. when you eat it do you think about how
....many of your neighbors are hungry
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Three, Maybe Four
a shot of bourbon,
swirled and enjoyed
in the mouth,
chased with a beer,
and two ibuprofen...
the arthritis eases
until three, maybe four,
in the morning.
age silently aches,
as if the heart and the body
play together on an empty corner,
no change in the cup!
but the mind still remembers...
smells, feelings, bulletproof
and hungry, always hungry.
dawns alone on a mountaintop,
making love in the snow.
fires, good fires,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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No Longer Free
angry people standing up,
marching, joining hands....
the taste of the lie,
gone bitter.
unholy wars,
corporate greed....
slavery rears its ugly head,
taking different forms.
greed takes the future,
and barters for oil.
the hands of the masses,
empty and hungry!
those who stood silent
and took it all without a whimper,
now have had enough!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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