Eric Cockrell

Hunger They Feel

i cannot and will not stand
to watch any living being go hungry...
whether it be homeless people,

street bums, addicts, or small children...
and even dogs and cats abandoned
by their 'owners'....

the hunger they feel
is a part of me...
drives me like a harsh wind...

morsels of food, whatever i've got...
come sit by the fire....
we are one!

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Mouth And Heart!

thoughts unbound,
evolving, taking form,
becoming formless....

permeated by rust and fire.
yes, flesh rusts!
hangs like a doorknob,

waiting for the key!
identity becomes sameness,
diverse, and yet joined....

you and i are mouth and heart,
searching for the plate!
footprints, and returning,

we tug at the latch,
or merely the wind!

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Blood Becomes!

black and white,
brown and yellow,
hands disappearing
into hands...
we leaves the sites
of graves untended,
walking towards life,
with both grief and joy!

the smoke still lingers,
and the smell of wet ashes.
but we are more,
we choose to be more!
faces long lost
gather purpose, and names,
as blood becomes,
our peace and our striving!

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Bombs Falling (Who Pays The Price?)

the horror of
...bombs falling,

...bodies running,
........split apart,
...........torn to shreds,

warm pulsing blood
...screaming injustice
......from earth plowed

by patriotic greed.....

which side?
...doesnt matter!
.....both wrong,
.......both lies;

children's eyes,
...fixed, staring

[...] Read more

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Spiritual Rape

cultural genocide....
white people, white God,
stripping Native Americans

of the basic rights to be....
who they were, who they are!
with violent force stripping

culture, language, faith, and
way of life.... baptizing,
into colorless sameness....

call it being civilized!
call it salvation!
call it progress! ....

call it spiritual rape!

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Suicide (Distance)

the long slow breath
of your indifferent stare...
miles away, across the room.
your words ring hollow,
and your face disappears
in the gloved hand
that dares not touch...
i planted flowers by your grave,
but i fear the birds
have eaten the last seeds...

i die on your cross
in a land you dare not go to...
behind a door
you choose not to open!

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The Box!

a slap in the face of ignorance,
a small fire on a cold, cold night.
the brush in the artist's hand,
the hand that empties the litter box.
the gun that jams,
the coffee that boils.
the prayer of a small child,
answered in his mother's arms.

all i ask, and ever want to be...
forgotten form, formless remembered,
the box that holds the gift!

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Trees!

i speak for the trees this morning,
majestic in watching silent yearning...
decades and lifetimes wrapped

into every grain and knot....
leafy blanket for the burning
embryos of wing and child.....

the last statement of an angry god
whose voice diffused into forgetfulness,
whose open hands were ignored!

cut, and fallen!
the legacy of man!

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Where Nobody Lives

i can taste my desire
on your lips, turned bitter
with the wounds of time...

your body walks
apart from your soul,
strangers on diverging paths.

passionate ashes blown
by the wind, falling like
charcoal tears on a silent tomb.

with only the sound of a screen
door banging in the wind...
a house that smells like a home,

where nobody lives!

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With Before!

a poem...
a letter kept
in a favorite book,
too long on the shelf.

the memory of your lips,
whispering in a language
that only the wind knew!
now your silence betrays...

we are the grain
too deep imbedded!
the tree itself
cannot remember!

the door that wont close,
the broken pane in the window.
the pot now empty,
charred with before!

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