We Are Not Alone

tired, so tired...
She laid Her hand
on my shoulder,
and whispered:

'can you not see
the sky, the clouds,
the wind walking
through the treetops,
sunlight dancing on
raindrops clinging to
the long grasses....

can you not hear
the howl of the wolf,
the cry of a new baby,
the moan of the wind....

be still, and know
that God is with you! '

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fear Of Death

why do we fear death?
our fear of death is based
in our fear of living, or more,
our fear of not having lived!

life is a calling, an adventure,
a mission, a duty....
the gifts we are given, the
trials and turmoil we go through,
prepare us for what we're called
to do....
each living person's calling is unique...
and no one else can ever judge...
we judge ourselves by what we give,
and how much of our 'selves' we are
willing to risk!

we often have to 'die' in order to live...
die to our mis-conceptions, die to our
clinging, die to our own petty wants....

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am (Still Being Born)

i am, become...
i am the dust
of the Great Depression,
the bodies falling from windows,
when the stock market crashed.
i am the victims of Mccarthyism,
the troubadour of the working class.

i am the young boy hanging
from the arch above the door.
i am the woman washing clothes
in a stained old sink.
i am the old man stacking firewood,
i am the young man bulletproof.

i am the lovers' cry,
the backseat of a car.
i am the preacher,
the bride, and the groom.
i am the simple hard worked for,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Nobody Lives Here Anymore

scarecrow in the yard,
eviction notice on the door.
the walls stripped bare
smell of ham and beans,
the sounds of laughter

and crying trapped
in the cobwebbed corners.
across the street a homosexual
man peeks through the curtains,
his breath of amaretto and nuts...

watching the old man and woman
pack the remnants of a life
into a car, nowhere to go.
setting down his cup he walks
out the door, across the street....

starts carrying boxes without a word.
till all is loaded that can be loaded,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am (Life Calling)

i am...
nothing evolving into nothing,
the well worn handle of the hoe.
hand me down shoes, the melon sliced,
the plate handed to the grateful.
i am the end of religion,
and the rebirth of the spirit.
i am the gay couple wed,
and the old man and woman,
married for forty years!
i am blindness to the color of skin,
and kindness without expectation.
i am the end of nations,
a new beginning to the world.
i am peace that never thinks of profit.
i am both Jesus and Judas,
i am the end of oil's dominion.
i am the plow, and the mule,
the carpenter and the farmer.
i am man and woman equal,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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An Immigrant Here!

i am an immigrant here,
i claim no nation,
choose no side...
but this earth is my home,
formed from it's dirt,
it's bottomless oceans...

my friends are trees,
mountains, and rivers...
the long grasses my beard,
the great plains my soul.
i am the birthing of spring,
the death of the snow...

i am an immigrant here,
many colors, all human.
i am the hunted, and the hunter,
i am the pounding of waves
held in the tiniest shell.
i am wind, fire, and darkness...

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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By A Thousand Doors

perhaps now this ark is finished,
i can smell the distant dawn.
the light against the window be no stranger,
nor the sound of bare feet in the night.
the crows gather neath the pine tree,
as the wind prepares to die.
voices fallen from the trees,
mine a cloud, a branch, a stone.
it seems tonight the stars finally answer,
all this time i thought i was alone.
a child is born, a life is taken,
streetlights blink in perfect time.
while redemption sleeps in alleys,
and poets silently sweep.
the heart revealed no longer journeys,
for the destination be now the feet.
the tears of god gleam in the darkness,
a stranger's kiss, a soldier's prayer.
infidels gather jewels cast aside,
feed the hungry with human souls.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cry In The Night...

one last drink,
and a cobblestone prayer,
a hat creased by dreams,
boots made of flesh.
nickels and dimes,
revolution and light.
while shadows dance,
amid cobwebbed desires..

and the sparrow's lament,
mourns over buildings lost.
over lives soon forgotten,
over hunger and loss.
while the faces of children,
burned into the grain.
to the words of a god,
forgotten by name!

now liberty's nails,
rust beneath the load.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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To Face The Storm

i am he who plowed and who swept,
that held your tears in trembling hands.
that carved your voice into the willow,
that whispered to stars in your name.
i am she whose back twas arched,
who brought you from the land unknown.
who suckled your hunger and filled you with awe,
who held your hand on walks of amazement.
and i am the tint and the hue of change,
the anvil and the forge....
that brought you from the shores of webbed feet,
to the ache inside the howl of the moon.
i am the lover that took your longing,
and entered your secret garden...
i am the wind that blew the curtains,
the sweat that glistened on your body.
now i am the urn, the casket, and the flowers,
words spoken in silent mourning...
but whose soul lies in perfect rest,
and whose is left to face the storm?

poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Gather.....

i go to the place
where dead people pray...
i walk the stark streets,
struck dumb by poverty's tongue.
i follow voices into alleys
clothed in broken glass.
i lick the scars off buildings
where rats gather to dance.

ghosts never chant, 'i am black, i am white'...
they moan and simmer with calloused hands.
there are no heroes, no martys, no priests...
only the small boy in the doorstep,
with a broken kite.
who are we, who are we?
the sweat stained pelvis thrusts.
while armies gather to feed the crows.
and gods shatter into pulse and need,
orphans walk the womb lost without sight.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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