The Disease....
homelessness, joblessness, and hunger are not statistics.
they are people, with real faces, real hearts, and
real bodies... made in the image of god.
has nothing to do with race, religion, language,
sexual orientation, or citizenship...
it has to do with basic need....
a dollar in the cup, a prayer, and a shaking of the
head will not do!
these people are part of your family.
bottom line, we are responsible... for each other,
for the state of the world, for need, for poverty...
and we are responsible for our own indifference!
we cannot begin to say we believe in god, any god...
that we are a moral and ethical people, that we believe
in justice and equality, and that we are human...
without addressing and eradicating these atrocities!
if we do not become the cure, then we are the disease!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Always Coming Home
why is it every time
i think of the south
i can taste...
cornbread, beans,
fried chicken,
hell, everything fried!
barbeque, good whiskey,
southern baptist revivals,
dark eyed girls moaning,
fresh turned earth on the plow,
oak split by the axe,
squirrels, rabbits, and frogs...
and yes, the hanging tree,
the buses partitioned by hate,
the factories sucking life's blood,
now shut down and haunted.
the milk cows gone dry,
and doors that are now locked.
the meth lab taste of plastic,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Deliver Me
deliver me...
from the fury, the noise,
and the roar of the wheel...
deliver me...
from my own insecurities,
my unconscious greed,
and my self driven fears.
deliver me...
from my conceptual understanding,
my limited knowledge,
and my worship of knowledge.
deliver me...
from all anger and hatred
in whatever disguise...
deliver me...
from being driven by
mouth and stomach unchecked,
from what i think i need.
deliver me..
from my countless mistakes,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Modern Day Hobo
i've been walking this old road
for too damned long.
i know every turn,
and every sign.
i've fallen, got back up,
i know every puddle, every stone.
i've searched every alley,
i've paid the cost by time.
a modern day hobo,
a drifter, a singer, and a fool.
a friend to the end,
a crutch and a tool.
my wings are dirty,
and my heart paid the debt.
the feeling you remember,
i'm the face you forget...
i've climbed your mountains,
i've crossed your rivers.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Swollen....
he staggered a little
as he walked against the cold.
he was an old man, his hair long,
his beard unkept.
his clothes were ragged, his coat torn.
at the head of the alley,
they had the young girl's car
blocked in. she was out of the
car and trying to fight them
off.
one of the thugs slapped her.
the old man heard her cry for
help as she fell.
picking up an empty bottle,
he lunged into the fray, swinging
wildly and making animal sounds.
he caught one of the boys on the
side of the head as the bottle
shattered.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Justice And Equality.....
justice and equality...
two very human dreams,
and the hope that allows us
to bring children into the world!
cannot be defined by color,
nationality, religion, or sex...
cannot be regulated by class,
cannot be different for those
who have and those who have not...
cannot allow poverty,
cannot allow hunger,
cannot allow oppression...
to continue!
must be worked for...
everyone has a part,
everyone has a responsibility.
respect,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lost In The Grain
like an old picture,
hanging on some dusty wall.
in a room where no one goes,
down at the end of the hall.
lives drawn in crayon,
by hands that have since grown old.
lost somewhere in memories,
by a fire that has grown cold.
we were the wind and rain,
the ones who wouldnt love in vain.
the river steady, the sudden change,
the mountain's silence, the midnite train...
we were the wood lost in the grain.
you gave up your heart,
i gave up my home.
we burned a trail
in the dark just before dawn.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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By Unmarked Graves....
i read the labels of soup cans,
the poetry of mechanized food.
while children starve in the back seats,
of cars up on blocks.
and cell phones pray with neon glow,
to the souls of the fathers
buried in unemployment lines.
heartless bastards wave numbing flags,
guarding the border, masks and rifles cocked.
bars on the windows of pregnant schools,
where freedom unravels with sterile yawns.
the fields are quiet, bodies decompose...
crows pick fruit from trees long dead.
microwave Jesus's fill plastic bowls
with fingers severed from forgotten hands.
live or die, most choose death!
young lovers taunt roaches on motel walls.
the wheels of justice groan in the heat,
and darkness erect, prophesies.
the labels of soup cans,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tis Breath, Then.... (Part Two)
tis breath, then...
(and still spirits dormant in the night,
leaf, stone, branch, river...
forgotten ants, snails, and crickets,
spiders with infinite webs.
the wolf's howl in waiting,
the owl perfectly still.
worms working silence,
the wings of small birds...
waiting, waiting, waiting...)
tis breath, then...
carrying the plague of war,
deep into the ignorance.
walls built of fear,
and the hunger that devours.
draining color, caged, and panting...
breath crying out for breath,
sorrow unto sorrow...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Just Another Ant....
if sin then has a face,
has it stolen my mirror?
if then a body,
must it seem familiar?
and if a voice,
must it sound familiar?
who do i pretend to be?
that which i hate and despise,
that which i fight against...
be no further away,
than the door to my heart!
and ignorance itself taunts at me,
from the comfort of my chair!
for i am both the song and the noise,
the murderer and the man of peace.
i am both human guilt and eternity's virtue.
i am the wings of angels,
and the anger of the demons!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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