The Prison Door (Clangs Open)
the prison door clangs open,
the man in me set free.
with nothing left
but the clothes on my back,
and feet that know
the way home...
rain begins to fall
with the coming of night.
i seek shelter beneath a bridge.
staring into the blackness
i see, i think i see...
one solitary star.
a star that tastes like bread,
and meat scorched by the flame.
that feels like warm blankets,
clean sheets, the bare skin of a woman.
a light that pours, invades a room,
and fills the room with living.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Conversations With Hune (Part Two)
does rain fall,
or does the earth rise?
is the moon the mistress of the sun?
do trees mourn when leaves fall?
do mountains dance when the earth is sleeping?
do wars express man's heart?
are they blood sacrifices to man's fears?
are the gods men worship
merely extensions of their selves...
be the self the disease,
or the cure?
does love always demand crucifixion?
and who is it that we crucify?
is the darkness of night
any different than the light of day?
who wrote the book
before there were words?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Karmic Revolution!
Reagon babies lying dead
on the Middle East sands....
oil battles there, even to
South America!
American workers stand in line
to buy the goods they lost jobs to...
bailing out the banks
with more borrowed money!
more Chevy's sold in China,
than are sold here!
Japan's Hiroshima cars
flood the market...
their kids stay in school,
their workers have jobs!
yet still whaling, and nuclear disaster!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Human Race!
to overthrow the yoke
of oppression, we have to
first come to an honest
assessment of where we are!
not only where we are,
but how we got here...
we cannot put off the blame
on other people, governments,
or even corporations! where
we are is where we've allowed
ourselves to be!
when we sit silently by and
watch our human rights be taken;
when we allow profit at the expense
of people to become the norm....
when we allow the rape of the
environment to pad the pockets
of convenience... when we go to
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Epiphany, Dead Man Walking
i learned to walk again,
the day you drove away
and left me standing in the drive...
i learned to see again,
staring at old photographs
in a book hid away.
i learned to think again,
thinking, and rethinking
every move and every action.
i learned to feel again,
struck dumb with waves of sorrow,
with blood on my lips.
i learned to cry again,
in the dark and sleepless night,
when no one else could see.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (Your Lover)
i am the broken branch,
blown by the wind.
the key left in the door,
of the empty house.
i am the creek spilled over,
the frog on the bank.
the pot stained by time,
half filled with water.
the young woman giving birth,
and the nurse by her side.
the box of canned goods,
left on the porch.
i am the body naked,
sleeping on the silent bed.
the son killed in the war,
the picture on the wall.
i am the softness of the moth,
long left the body.
i am the kiss of lovers,
at the risk of loss.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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It'll Be Allright
i met God today....
the little boy with tears
in his eyes, lost
in the grocery store....
i took his hand and
walked him to the front...
he looked up, and said:
'it'll be allright! '
i met God today...
the old man across the
street trying to load
his old truck....
i stopped mowing and
went over to help him...
boxes and bags, everything
he owned...
'got anywhere to go? '
'it'll be allright! '
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cannot Be Confined (for Romeo Della Valle)
the truth...
cannot be confined
to concepts,
or even words.
sometimes what is felt
is too deep to express.
or perhaps the spirit moans,
and only a few can hear...
usually the ones
who've been beaten the most.
that fire in the gut,
that burns the last thing
grasped for...
and leaves the heart as naked
as the whore on the corner.
but even she knows
more than priests or philosophers...
she lies sleepless in the dawn,
with the taste of blood in her mouth!
and the small boy cold
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Whatever It Takes!
fuel prices keep rising,
and it trickles down.
grocery prices skyrocket,
people walking behind empty buggies.
small businesses shutting down,
people left without work.
either the rent, the light bill,
or a little something to eat,
you've gotta choose.
over half the people in this country
on the edge of going under.
and it's as bad or worse
around the world.
where does it stop?
where does it end?
the elite continue making money
on the backs of the poor.
starting wars, drilling for oil,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Walked Away
what if i just walked away?
laid my burden down
at your door
pulled my hat down low,
turned, and walked away
without a word
somewhere wolves run in packs,
and whales swim together
and birds fly south, wings
beating in unison
babies are born to young couples
who hold each other in awe
and the homeless man under
the bridge watches the sun rise.
and an old man plays his guitar
on the porch his grandchildren
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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