A Land Gone Black
the sound of gunfire
rapes the virgin night...
another innocent goes down....
the soldiers of petroleum
buy a whore, a dime, a quarter.
dine on the flesh of children;
pray to the neon god.
waving the flags of mouths
that only speak with teeth.
nothing holy that cant be bought....
step on bodies without faces,
piss on the graves of babies....
winner take all, all is nothing!
and the wind of the beast
knocks at the blackened windows....
in the empty houses of the poor,
the worthless, the forgotten.
the sound of gunfire rips the stillness....
the gods of anger and self
fornicate in the stench,
keeping time to the rhythm
of oil rigs in a land gone black!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
A Land Gone Black Global Nightmare
A Land Gone Black global nightmare
seems to be a spectral image that haunts
global interaction political world trade
commerce sets base minimum price
virgin land is exploited for all resources
ripped greedily but not wisely ground
renewable resources solar wave wind
are discarded with industrial grip contempt
for decades by oiled robber baron despots
once I thought in a Moment In Time
“The flash of the president’s pen
deals with the life of men.
Starting a war settling a score
all happens so far away.”
But the poor ever suffer among us
eyes of sick starving children accuse us...
“the soldiers of petroleum
buy a whore, a dime, a quarter.
dine on the flesh of children; ...”
Inspired by the poem ‘A Land Gone Black’ by Eric Cockrell. “The flash of the president’s pen” quotation is from the poem ‘Moment In Time’ by Terence George Craddock. Second quotation “the soldiers of petroleum” is from the poem ‘A Land Gone Black’ by Eric Cockrell.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Gods Of War!
you have made your gods
in your own image.
and so you follow war
to the brink of your own
extinction!
yet the mouths of the souls
that you starve and slaughter,
speak the names of the god
that you've forgotten!
she answers with faces,
faces you choose not to see!
you dig the graves of your children,
to feed the beast within!
you arm yourselves with moral justice,
dress the lie in prideful prejudice.
but the howl in the night
is not the wind!
it is the cry of the blood
on your hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Epilogue (Part Three)
shivering nails,
black and white coffins whisper.
bodies without heads,
strewn in the sand.
the taste of gunpowder
on my lips.
i bow, but cannot pray!
the sound of the oil rigs,
the coarse rhythm of greed.
take and destroy, take and fulfill!
the cry of sea life,
the gurgling choke,
soon to be the children
of flaccid men.
buildings like bodies,
stripped empty and bare.
the memories smell
of life that once was.
empty, and pulsing,
with the want of need,
no one hears the ghosts within.
hunger and homelessness,
heroin and Jesus.
the shelves are bare,
the mother's eyes are bleeding.
the nameless and unwanted,
cast aside in the storm,
while ghouls walk amid
the rubble of the lie.
sing for me, pray for me,
take my hand, take my hand...
even when i close my eyes,
i still hear, still feel,
the faces of the wind!
and god, if there be,
in each and every tear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Revolution, And Snow
beginning to know...
how Pasternak felt,
long Russian revolution...
gunfire, exploding...
neighbor fighting neighbor,
the poor battling the elite...
for cause, for ideal...
people disappearing,
work camps, Siberia...
unmarked graves...
long harsh winters,
snow like death wrapped
around windows and doors.
wolves howl, primordial call....
in the name of freedom,
betrayed, and forgotten...
poems stolen from the heart,
by the candle's last flicker....
the cry of humanity
lost in the gunfire and the snow...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Oblivion
thunder and lightning, gunfire,
the stench of death...
we race towards oblivion,
cant feel, cant get our breath!
drum beat and shadows,
lost in the blinding heat.
dead poets and childrens' bodies,
rubble beneath our feet.
smoke fills the air-
trees fall, rivers run dry.
fighting over a loaf of bread,
and the last bowl of rice.
ghoulish gasoline prophets
ring the bell, count the cost...
old people put out on the streets,
now all is over, all is lost.
forgotten faces lost in the roar,
demons dance on unmarked graves.
the bell of freedom rains down fire,
while we hide like fugitives in caves.
and the sound of the wheels,
louder and louder till we're deaf!
we take and burn and use
till nothing good is left
and the face of our hell
is just the face of our desires.
we turn away from those around us,
while our hunger feeds the fire.
thunder and lightning, gunfire,
the stench of death.
we race towards oblivion,
cant feel, cant even get our breath!
smoke fills the air,
trees fall, rivers run dry.
fighting over a loaf of bread,
and the last bowl of rice.
and the sound of the wheels,
louder and louder till we're deaf.
we take and burn and use
till nothing good is left.
we race towards oblivion,
cant feel, cant even get our breath!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Sounds Of Living And Dying
listening to the sounds,
earth turning seasons,
waves pounding against
distant shores... fishing boats
setting out to sea....oil rigs
pulsing in demonic rhythm...
big trucks barreling down
faceless interstates... tractors
getting ready to rip the earth....
babies being born, lovers
groaning with passion...
gunfire, bombs exploding!
the silent whispers of the homeless...
gravediggers digging graves.
carpenters pounding nails...
elephants trumpeting, lions roaring,
the hawk's wings beating against
the sky.... and the old woman
dying... the empty room echoes
the prayers of a forgotten life.....
the sounds of living and dying,
anguish and ecstasy... amen!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fogging Up The Windows
the sound of a small child crying
hungry in the night
of a young woman sleepless
waiting for daylight
the sound of church bells ringing
not too far away
the sound of an old man dying
remembering how to pray
the sound of two hearts breaking
a thousand miles apart
of the last tear a fallin'
unseen in the dark
the sound of lifetimes wasted
of a love that didnt last
the sound of memories forgotten
of a time already past
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
the sound of the nails driven
into His screaming hands
the sound of salvation
entrusted to a man
the sound of bodies falling
of buildings swept by flame
the sound of different voices
whose souls are the same
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Blackened...
blackened steel...
blackened faces,
blackened hearts,
blackened roads...
blackened eyes,
blackened dreams,
blackened prayers,
blackened gods...
blackened memories,
blackened fingers,
blackened windows,
blackened rooms...
blackened thoughts,
blackened nails,
blackened shovels,
blackened tomb!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Next Great War
the next great war
this country will face
will be a war within
it's own boundaries...
the stench of poverty and
injustice has become too foul...
the old, the homeless, the
forgotten ones have been pushed
too far, left with too little...
and the sound of righteous anger
rips through the air...
now the largest minority
is the common man and woman...
the faceless ones bought and sold,
and left to die on black and white tv's...
and the time has come
when there's no more taking
to be done.... unless, it's the
taking back, of our lives,
our country, and our freedom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Soldiers
soldiers, soldiers,
marching in dead time.
ghouls without faces,
in mechanical rhyme.
paid for, paid off,
eyes open and blind.
hearts severed from the soul,
soul severed from the mind.
gunfire, racism,
treat women like a toy.
grown men without mothers,
fathers, just boys.
gang bangers, pimp daddies,
kings of purgatory.
bad drugs, bad days,
and nights without joy.
cant pay the rent, get a job,
and prison becomes their school.
no hope for nothing more than nothing,
trapped by the have not rules....
soldiers, soldiers.
pawns in the rich man's game.
victims of unholy anger,
and gods that have no name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Always Walking, Never Alone!
always walking, never alone...
be it the wind,
whose voice has comforted me
for longer than i can remember.
be it darkness,
my lover, passion unfolding.
be it the lights in unknown houses,
signaling life to the traveller.
be it the whisper of stone,
and wood aging and holding.
be it the cry of emptiness,
vacant buildings, desolate streets.
be it the smells of food cooking,
of woodsmoke, of flesh on flesh.
be it the taste of rain,
the cold touch of falling snow.
be it the stillness of graves,
row upon row, life upon life.
my god walks with me,
naked in the night.
we listen for the whimper of babies,
the meow of stray cats.
for the sound of the shot,
and the body falling.
for the key turning the lock,
and the creaking of the swing.
for the perfume of the pines,
for the man picking up the trash.
for the heart moaning
low and gutteral in need.
for the sound of the man weeping,
having given up,
and the woman that holds him.
for the prayers of small children,
and the echoes of longing...
always walking, never alone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Plenty More
On the radio wave, they call call to the grave
Is wrapped up in glory to fool the brave
They tell a tall story of all those that gave
All that they had for the freedom they'd save
On the TV broadcast, they said it won't last
All over by Sunday, consigned to the past
The cleanup starts Monday despite the bomb blast
A brand new beginning the die has been cast
CHORUS
There's plenty more where that came from
Five megatons of oblivion
Sent with love from the Pentagon
On a laser guided Neutron Bomb
But a satellite link said it's worse than they think
They can't find the body, it's causing a stink
The guy in the Oval is back on the drink
And Uncle Sam's poodle's in need of a shrink
It's been a full year, the famillies can cheer
Their sons & their brothers are now in the clear
The war is over, but it would appear
That those left behind are all living in fear
CHORUS
Loot shoot, gunfire salute
How many innocent die every day
Loot shoot, gunfire salute
innocent die from the games that you play
Deceit & deception, there's always some deception
Like the unjust executions dat they forget to mention
You stop, stare & wonder but a you mek di blunder
Your enemies draw near wid di sound like rolling thunder
Torture & detention, there's always some detention
For the fall guy' the patsy, the one dem never mention
You play your war games & play with innocent life
You keep the dice rolling with elaborate lies
Loot shoot, gunfire salute
How many innocent die every day
Loot shoot, gunfire salute
innocent die from the games that you play
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Children!
those brown skinned babies...
starving in Haiti, Africa,
and around the world.
laying dead victims
of bombing and gunfire...
are our children.
those white skinned,
black skinned babies,
born into the housing developments
and trailer parks,
into crackhead pill popping
poverty... those,
are our children too!
those blood stained babies,
found in desperate dumpsters,
our children, again.
those unborn babies,
born into hopeless situations,
or never to be born
into a world cold and hard...
our children too!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Stolen By The Lie
chained down, spread-eagled,
to the floor of a van....
being taken back to the lie...
that, waving flags, kills babies
not yet born to mothers
without faces or names...
subdue and enslave
in the name of holy freedom...
only held by those
not of color....
marching to the M16 beat
of tyranny driven by oil....
no flags burning?
perhaps they should...
wrapped on the bodies
of souls stolen by the lie!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Do They Come Clean?
at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?
homeless people, young girls
sold on the block,
hungry children, AIDS victims,
gotta watch your stocks.
black and white, brown and red,
gunfire and poverty;
kids afraid to go to school,
aint no profit in honesty.
SUV's, invaded countries,
oil doesnt buy liberty.
the takers take, the hurting weep,
at the cost of dignity.
politicians lie, preachers sell
narrow minded philosophies.
prisons full, bodies in the street,
the faces of reality.
smoke fills the air, oil fills the seas,
trade the future for the fix.
unemployed standing in line,
faceless numbers, brick upon brick.
close your door, shut your windows,
turn up the sound....
of anger, despair, and loss....
cries for help as they drown...
tell me....
at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Black Crows
Darkness and light, wrong and right
thoughts bleed and dissolve, dreams evolve
paper and smoke, churn and stroke
prayers drip like sweat, slavery and debt
White trash fires, unholy liars
truth falls off the edge, desire walks the ledge
political drugs, who picks the judge
hammers of fear, moments lost to years
Graves open and close, nuclear rose
black shadows turn, pages crumple and burn
lightning or gunfire, stakes higher and higher
death clock chimes, wind thru the pines...
black crows on the lines... black crows on the lines...
Mothers crying and cold, babies bought and sold
welfare Cadillacs, anxiety attacks
trailor tub meth, lonesome last breath
kneeling by the bed, prayers for the dead
Runaways lost, who pays the cost
nursing home ghosts, headstones and posts
pictures turning yellow, goodbyes and hellos
people folded and spent, no messengers sent...
Graves open and close, nuclear rose
black shadows turn, pages crumple and burn
lightning or gunfire, stakes higher and higher
death clock chimes, wind thru the pines...
black crows on the lines... black crows on the lines...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The war poem
War is woe
War is pain
War is when you've nothing left to gain
It is the sound of people at battle
It is the sound of gunfire rattle
It is when you know you're time has come
You hear the beating of the drum
We all know that war isn't right
so please God let there be peace tonight
poem by Bill Frakes
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Which Side Do You Belong To?
i hear the cry of the hawk and the rabbit,
i feel the talons tearing flesh.
i smell gunpowder, and bodies burning,
i hear the sound of boots on the road.
the groan of the tanks turning without faces,
the buzz of the drones flying above.
the mechanical order, as life is destroyed,
the cry of babies on their mother's dead breasts.
the mourning sisters who bury their brothers.
light making shadows on all the colors of skin.
the shout of the flags, the bowls left empty.
the bolt of the rifle, the knife slid from the sheath,
the sound of the falling just before impact.
the cry for freedom on the lips of the martyr.
the pages of the holy book turned down forever.
the prayer of justice over equality's grave.
the soldiers of poverty who fought against all odds.
the sound of dead elders drawing in their breath.
the wind named liberty howling and lost.
the fingers of the child touching dead lips.
the song of the bruise, the scar, and the dream.
the smell of flesh bartered for hope.
the last drink of daylight, the dark night unending.
the face of eternity in slivers of moonlight.
the star of humanity falling from the sky.
the presence of god, and the absence of presence.
the mountains crumbling, the rivers gone dry.
the last trees walking into the distance.
the sound of the chisel carving in stone,
the last tear wept by the shadow called being.
and i turn and i stand in the name of dignity,
holding in my hands the pages of history.
the moment lost to vast infinity...
saying, tis now, or never,
truth counts the cost...
which side do you belong to?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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All The Same!
i am the illegal immigrant,
picking your fruit.
while my children are hungry,
and my wife scrubs your floors.
the young black man in your prison,
the anger of the poor.
i am the books,
you forbid us to read.
i am the Vietnamese family,
whose children speak english.
the young Sioux poet,
whose words sound like tears.
i am the white man's reservation,
and the white man's god....
the sound of the gas pump,
the feet of soldiers marching to death.
i am the grandson of the miner,
who never came out.
the body of the union organizer,
buried beneath rubble.
i am the picket line,
the cold floor of the cell.
i am the old woman who died,
alone in her nursing home bed.
the sound of the church bells,
on midnight's empty streets.
i am the needle and the crack pipe,
the sound of the window breaking.
i am the whistle of the train,
so near and so far.
i am the child adopted,
by two women in love.
i am the mission, the soup line,
and the shelter....
the body in the alley,
and no one cares.
i am the song of America,
i am the wind of freedom.
i am the torch of justice,
the bridge that has no name.
i am the god of many colors,
and all the same!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Praying For Emptiness!
walking barefoot down the streets
of the holy city...
listening to the sounds,
the whimper, the cry, and the roar...
praying for emptiness....
the clock beats in rhythm
with the sidewalks and the walls.
the smell of burnt flesh
hangs in the air....
'Jesus Saves' painted on a fence....
oil rigs and chemical sprays,
fields filled with unmarked graves.
windows broken, doors sway, rusted hinges,
cars abandoned, vacant buildings,
dead bodies, eyes lost stare!
the spirits of the children
sing haunting and low...
words pierce like nails,
the birds hear and weep....
a hand gun, a needle, half pack of smokes....
nobody saves the night from the dawn!
praying for emptiness...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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