Homelessness In Winter
back about 30 years ago,
living on the streets in Charlotte...
finally found a job... was lucky enough
to have a place to take a shower...
sleeping in the backseat of a broke
down Ford Maverick... cold winter...
got up and walked 4 miles to work
every morning,4 miles 'home' in the
evening...
went on for a couple months before
i got a place to live...
so yes i know what homelessness
feels like...and i cant help thinking
about all the empty foreclosed houses....
empty houses, homeless people....
back then, even if you couldnt find a
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am (Identity)
i am, become...
i am the misconception,
and the fatal blow.
the angered action gone astray,
by the passionate soul.
i am the mortal in immortal,
and the man in human...
i am the patriot who rebels,
the soldier who puts down his gun.
the man who burns down the house
the day before the bank forecloses.
the worker whose pay they cut,
the citizen whose rights they took,
the husband and father, family gone!
i am the prisoner who's done his time,
the sinner baptized again and again.
the friend who takes the fall,
and gets back up to lend a hand.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lantern
he lit his lantern and
walked out on the porch,
with his old dog
by his side....
he could see the wind
walking through the trees,
wrapped in the stillness
and comfort of darkness...
how long had it been?
25 cents a gallon gasoline,
Marlboros,25 cents a pack!
working all week for 55 dollars....
sawmills, factories, milking cows,
a hoe and a gallon jar of water.
hanging the gears on his old truck...
cold beer, making love all night....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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State Of The Union (In Closing)
we, the working people
of America, demand our dignity!
we demand equality, and fairness!
we are all immigrants here!
yet no human being is illegal.
we demand the right to work,
and to educate our children.
we demand shelter, and healthcare!
we are a hard working, hard fighting
people... we demand a
hard working, hard fighting President!
we know that you are limited
by the hand of the controlling elite,
at the mercy of the corporate machine.
dont be just a figurehead.
your choice!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am... (The Rage Of Love)
i am the gun,
in the hands of the thinker,
the last road, the last chance,
the last prayer, the last door.
i am the sickness,
that greed inflicted,
that apathy wont touch,
that stinks at the table.
i am the parents,
burying their child,
i am the stranger,
burying the parents.
i am the poor,
denied the word freedom.
i am skin of color,
covered by tasteless white skin.
i am the rope,
hanging from the rafters.
and the holy book
that tied the noose.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Some Peace Of Mind
so tired and weary,
i cant go on.
tired of facing
the night alone.
climbing the mountain,
only to fall.
pounding my fists,
against the wall.
there is a wind,
that has no name.
that stills the heart,
and eases the pain.
there must be a home,
on down the line.
i just want...
some peace of mind.
how many battles
can you fight and lose?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Song Of Longing
i am the tiller of unplowed fields,
i am the owl waiting for night.
i am the male wolf,
panting in the starlight,
following the scent that maddens.
i am the hunter with sharp edged spear,
i am the storm that pillages the night.
i am the woodsman whose axe be ready,
i am the tom cat patrolling the slums.
i am the wind that blows out the candle,
i am the fire that consumes...
the smell of blood, the taste of wetness,
i am gunpowder stains on the trembling hand.
i am the web, and i am the lair.
i am the waves tugging at boundaries.
i am the window left open,
the fire untended.
i am snow covering the grave.
i am the night, erect and hungry.
i am the dawn, waiting on the unmade bed.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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On The Sacredness Of Life
i watched and listened as the young
woman confronted the older woman
for her pro-life stance...
'i understand that you're pro-life,
and while i admire you for the intent
of your stance, i have a few questions...'
'go ahead, it's pretty cut and dried.
life is sacred from inception.'
'what life, or better, which lives? '
'all life! '
' well, let me ask you this...
did you vote for the man who sent
your son off to war?
a war in which he dropped the bombs
that killed hundreds of people,
many of who were women and children....
a war in which later his plane was shot down,
and he was killed?
did you vote for the man who voted to
cut off unemployment benefits,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dance Naked #2
pull back the curtains,
tear down the walls!
open the forbidden door,
break the egg, and fly!
hold the child dying
of cholera in your lap.
wash the feet of the leper,
wipe the old man's ass...
kiss the cheek of the boy
who hung himself.
pick up the homeless man,
feed him, take him to a shelter.
clean the old woman's house,
help the single mom with her kids.
pick up the prostitute on the corner,
and offer to take her home!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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