The Action Of Pumping!
pumping the handle
of the old spicket,
bucket in hand...
i am the handle,
the water, and the spicket...
and two feet who,
without a name or regret,
silently do their job,
walking back up the hill!
all generated by the
action of pumping!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Waiting For The Strength
i often walk in the quiet of the evening
with Mary Magdelene....
listening to the sound of her voice,
as she speaks of things
that men do not understand!
and after she leaves,
i stand by the stone,
waiting for the strength
to push it away!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wasted
it's very hard
to have the courage
to find a cause worth
dying for....
it's just as hard,
and takes just as much
courage and commitment...
to find a cause worth
living for...
too many of us
take the road inbetween,
and our lives are wasted!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Sad Statement
it's a sad statement
on the 'land of the free',
when the fights at Wal-Marts
during black Friday rushes,
received more news coverage
than the abuse of those protesting
for the rights of America's workers....
a sad statement.....
enough said!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Woman's Rights
no man ever owns a woman!
her body, mind, and spirit
are her own...
no man has the right
to legislate a woman's body,
to judge a woman's thoughts,
to fetter a woman's spirit.
if we're really lucky
we get the chance
to walk beside them!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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By The Fire... (Part Four)
it is not ignorance we should fear,
but our addiction to ignorance,
fueled by indifference and self centeredness...
the door is not locked, unless we lock it.
the chains are not real, until we don them,
and parade around like they're jewelry!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Damnit... (To Live!)
i dont want to sit at a keyboard
and send messages...
i want to sit at a dimlit table
in a quiet corner bar,
and talk, really talk!
i want to make love in a library,
slow dance in a laundromat...
i want to pee on the grave
that bears my name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Even More!
we too often forget
that love is unconditional...
that it is demanding,
that it must be all and not less...
that it gives to the point of bleeding,
that it forgives terrible scars...
that it takes and one must be willing,
to die or even more!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Life
my life...
played on an old
Gibson guitar...
played in B minor...
with an occasional shot
of thunderstorm and rainbow,
and black coffee sunrises....
and moments of passion
burnt down like
the candle by the bed....
my life...
my gift to you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In Human Flesh!
you find it hard to believe
that God came to earth
in human flesh...
i state to you,
that God comes in human flesh
every time a child is born!
the sacred is as close
as your heart!
even the stars are made of dust...
is a newborn baby any less?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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