After It's Gone!
wild eyed strangers...
kids wearing dirty clothes,
and hand me down coats.
people walking, head down,
in the early morning cold.
just a few stores open,
the price of gas up.
smoke rises from chimneys,
all is quiet, as if waiting,
for the next storm to come.
life goes stumbling down,
the mail falls from the box.
families sleeping in cars,
gotta move with the sun.
the town clock strikes, echoing,
the steps of boots long worn...
empty buildings shout out
the rage of the dispossessed.
all that was, or could be,
now nothing more...
than the bitter taste of coffee,
two hours after it's gone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Gotta Move
I gotta move
I had a taste
I gotta move
I gotta me me off the face
Like peter radiator
I heard that he got bashed
Yeah, he got sainted
You know it wasnt for the cash
I gotta move
I had a taste
I gotta move
I gotta get me off the face
He told me
In heaven
That every
Everything is fine
Yeah, that would make a good movie
Yeah, that would make a good record
I gotta move
I gotta break
I gotta move
I gotta get me cross the lake
And then he stopped to say
Before he went down
This is the worst place in the sun
I gotta move
I had a taste
I gotta move
I gotta get me off the face
There was a jack who coiffed it
He came from my home town
He was a prophet
Some kids they put him in the ground
Got coffee
Got donuts
Got wasted
Erased head
And what do they say?
Hes not afraid of the present tense
And talking back is a bad defense
I gotta move
I gotta break
I gotta move
I gotta get me cross the lake
I gotta move (4x)
And then he stopped to say
Before he went down
This is the worst place in the sun
I gotta move (5x)
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Smoke Of My Handgun
this 10 mm handgun made in Austria
is in my hand.
My coming days are curious
say frightened about what i shall do next with it.
My temple is calm.
My head is full like a cup filled with hot water.
There is no taste of coffee
It is 4 o'clock in the morning
And the streets in this town are all empty
Of people.
There is the possibility of using this handgun
To kill those insane witnesses
Dragging me to a crime that i have not done
Though deep within i want to do it.
Kill! kill! Kill! Shoot them with all the bullets
Of this Gun
This is what my mind is screaming.
My cousin is afraid of the possibilities of
My life.
I am not. I am certain. There is no way that a smoke
From this gun should come out
Without a Reason.
It is fragile, and so light, and Like all truths
No hand can capture it
And hold it forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Capture The Moment
Snow on the hilltops
All night and day
There was snow
And the whiteness turned
In some places
With long steps
Tired steps
Of someone
Carrying
The burden of his life
Besides warm clothing
And some worn out shoes
Socks those were fuming
For the wet sock
Why not seek love in hills
Covered with snow
Why a beloved is not born here
And why there is not
A mad man of the snows
Snow is not as cold
There is intense heat inside
And the beloveds of the snow
Let’s sing for them tonight
Let’s tell them to lit heavy fire
Let those chimneys emit smoke
Smoke the symbol of hope
And the fire burning
The smell of baking food
And the sweetness of the beloved’s
Warmth
Let us invent a story of love
As the hills covered with snow
And the pine trees carrying the weight of snow
Bent down
And the distant houses
All covered with a thick white blanket
Sleeping
And some young girls
Making breads and hot tea for the loved ones
In the early morning
As more snow
Rains from the skies
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It would be neat if with the New Year
for Miguel
It would be neat if with the New Year
I could leave my loneliness behind with the old year.
My leathery loneliness an old pair of work boots
my dog vigorously head-shakes back and forth in its jaws,
chews on for hours every day in my front yard—
rain, sun, snow, or wind
in bare feet, pondering my poem,
I’d look out my window and see that dirty pair of boots in the yard.
But my happiness depends so much on wearing those boots.
At the end of my day
while I’m in a chair listening to a Mexican corrido
I stare at my boots appreciating:
all the wrong roads we’ve taken, all the drug and whiskey houses
we’ve visited, and as the Mexican singer wails his pain,
I smile at my boots, understanding every note in his voice,
and strangers, when they see my boots rocking back and forth on my
feet
keeping beat to the song, see how
my boots are scuffed, tooth-marked, worn-soled.
I keep wearing them because they fit so good
and I need them, especially when I love so hard,
where I go up those boulder strewn trails,
where flowers crack rocks in their defiant love for the light.
poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Front Line
I am a fireman here at home
And I put my life on the front line everyday
To save the people from burning buildings
Or from car accidents
Someday I am very lucky because I am able to save people from burning
Buildings and car accidents
But other days I am not so lucky because it depends where the fire is on The building
Sometimes I have to climb all the way to the top of the buildings
Very fast to save the people from the burning buildings here at home
Other times the fire on the buildings happened on the lower floor
Yes there had been times that I could not save the people from the
Buildings here at home because the buildings here at home had been Engulfed with smoke and all the people that live there died
Yes that was a very bad scene to see
At the end of the night I go home for my kids and my wife
When I arrive home my kids and my wife are already sleeping in bed
I don't have very much time to spend with my children
Because of my work
I don't enjoy being a fireman but the pay is good
So I don't have anything to complain about
I never talk about my work at home
At home I talk about different things to my wife and kids
But I know that my day starts very early everyday
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The only picture that I see
This morning I am waiting
on the light
to start the day
and thinking about something
to say to you
by electronic mail.
I am looking in and out
and seeing things in myself
as if I exist out of my body
and outside the two dogs
are walking up and down
the lawn
as if inspecting new flowers
blooming in the early morning
and they are sniffing
at geraniums and morning glories
which are growing wild.
The two cats are stretching out
on the bark of the fallen tree
ripping their nails into it
and trying to catch
the first rays of the sun
and still my life is empty
while you are away from me
and that’s the only picture that I see.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Waiting For The Man
Im waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to lexington 1-2-5
So sick and dirty more dead than alive
Im waiting for my man
Hey white boy, what you doin uptown
Hey white boy, you chasin our women around
Oh pardon me sir, it springs to my mind
Im just looking for a good friendly behinde
Im waiting for my man
Here he comes, hes all dressed in black
Real shoes and a big straw hat
Hes never early, hes always late
First thing you learn is that you always gotta wait
Im waiting for my man
Dirty brownstone, up three flights of stairs
Nobodys tried to pinn you but nobody cares
Hes got the works gives you sweet taste
Then you gotta split because hes got no time to waste
Im waiting for my man
Baby dont you holler, honey dont you ball and shout
Im feeling good, I know Im gonna work it on out
Im feeling good, Im feel oh so fine
Until tomorrow but thats just another time
Im waiting for my man.
To welcomeing home
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Eyes In Back Of My Head
Early this morning I am outside walking along the trail-
The wind blows my hair about-
Covering THE EYES IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD-
I cannot see for the moment but I can feel-
I can feel the vibrations of heavy footsteps
Pounding against my brain in another gust of wind
Blowing my hair about- giving way to the
EYES IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD-
I recognize the intruders who wish me harm.
Early this morning
I walk along the trail- I am in danger-people are following me
One, two and three-I count the footsteps-
Four five six- I see the people-
Evil conniving and threatening- behind me and
Seven, eight, nine more slowly walking in front of me-
My anger overwhelms me and the bitter cold wind
Only exacerbates my homicidal impulses-
I am dressed to kill these people who
Walk slowly ahead of me- space invaders
Whose footsteps are retaliating and
THE EYES IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD-
Envision the whole world behind me-
Early this morning- I think of the gun shop I walked by downtown yesterday-
Ready to murder, I am- seething with rage-
Early this morning, I am walking along the trail-
I do not feel safe- I have lost my destination and
My sanity is precarious- people are all around me and
I am dressed to kill the entire multitude-
I have EYES IN BACK OF MY HEAD- I believe, and
As I count the people before me and behind me, and
As the cold wind blows my hair about- I know that
THE EYES IN BACK OF MY HEAD are protecting me and
Perhaps are keeping me safe and now I know that it is
THE EYES IN BACK OF MY HEAD whom are my saviors -
Bringing back memories of nightmarish delusions of
Threatening people in my past being God- I have no destination and
THE EYES IN BACK OF MY HEAD are my friends- and
My delusions, as others call them- are my saving grace.
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vacancy, For Rent
walking the streets
of a small southern town...
empty buildings, empty houses,
'vacancy, for rent'
no one moving much,
even the church parking lots
are empty.... seems like
Jesus and His disciples
packed up, and moved on...
probably looking for work!
only a sense of quiet despair,
the sound of old cars rusting,
and the howling of a dog.
just read the news:
an elderly couple, married
67 years, murder suicide...
he'd been sick, she had
alzheimer's.... afraid there'd
be no one to take care of her...
another unmarked grave,
forgotten people, abandoned
by their own government.....
another empty house that
used to be a home...
'vacancy, for rent.'
just walking the streets
of a small southern town...
church bells are ringing...
and the smell of death
hangs in the air!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wild West
Out to the west theres a trail that leads somewhere
And a call of the wild that takes some people there
Through monument valley to california sun
From new amsterdam to the way the west was won
Well years will go by when you wont get nowhere
Youre cold and youre tired and youre free and you dont care
You keep pushin on when your friends keep turning back
You keep building towns and laying railroad track
And things get crazy and you have to use that sun
And you wonder if this is the way the west is won
But keep thinkin that way and you wont get nowhere
cause you got a right just to get where youre goin to
Gotta keep runnin gotta be the best
Gotta walk tall in the wild west
You keep on the move or you try to settle down
And theres strangers from further and further away in town
And you give them some tools and they know what must be done
And you know the west was won
And they say . . .
Where I come from, you cant get nowhere
Im breaking my back for some opportunity
Making my fortune and Ill take it all home
Tell my kids about the wild west
And theres still beauty as the flowers bloom on desert sands
And theres still hope as the sun rises over the rio grande
But its so crowded now and nothings simple anymore
And theyre still knocking at your door
You hear guns in the night and you hope theyre not for you
cause a dog eats a dog then he eats his master too
In the land of the free and the not so often brave
Theres both love or money now choose which you will save
But . . . keep thinkin that way and you wont get nowhere
cause you got a right just to get where youre goin to
Gotta keep runnin gotta be the best
Gotta walk tall in the wild west
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whose God (Do We Worship Now)
your God preaches success,
and individual achievement.
lives in sanctuaries of gold
with windows of colored glass.
doesnt get His hands dirty
on the down side of town...
turns His head from the ugly,
from the smell and the stink...
walks on the other side of the street.
demands sterile cleaness,
prefers people of stature!
no touching, no feelings...
out of control!
our God walks the tracks
leading the lost home...
slept with us under the bridge,
and shared our pot.
sat with the addict,
spent time with the prisoner...
held the little girl's hand
who was afraid of the dark.
washed clothes with us
in borrowed bathroom sinks.
wiped the tears from the old woman's face
when the old man shuddered, moved on....
picked up the young whore's clothes,
and led her from the room.
took the gun from the hand
of the man whose family
was just put out on the street...
stood in line with the jobless,
wearing worn out boots!
so tell me now,
and tell me true...
whose God do we worship now?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early Morning Breeze
I open up my door to greet the early morning sun
Closing it behind me and away I do run
To the meadow where the meadow lark is singing in the tree
In the meadow I go walking in the early morning breeze
I cup my hands to catch a multi-colored butterfly
Perched upon the petals of flowers growing wild
Freeing it I watch it as it flies away from me
To visit with the flowers in the early morning breeze
Chorus:
Rainbow colored flowers kissed with early morning sun
The aster and the dahlia and wild geraniums
Drops of morning due still linger on the iris leaves
In the meadow where Im walking in the early morning breeze
Misty-eyed I look about the meadow where I stray
For its there I find the courage to greet the coming day
For there among the flowers I kneel gently to my knees
To have a word with God in the early mornig breeze
2nd chorus:
A rainbow colored meadow kissed with early morning sun
The aster and the dahlia and wild geraniums
Drops of morning due still linger on the iris leaves
In the meadow where Im walking in the early morning breez
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Im Waiting For The Man
Im waiting for my man
Got 26 dollars in my hand
Up to lexington 125
Feelin sick and dirty
Huh, Im waiting for my man
Hey white boy, what you doin uptown
Hey white boy, you chasin my women around
Pardon me sir, its furthest from my mind
Im just waitin for a dear-dear friend of mine
Im waiting for my man, come on
Here he comes, hes all dressed in black
Pr shoes and a big straw hat
Hes never early, hes always late
First thing you learn is that you always gotta wait
Im waiting for my man
Up to a brownstone, up three flights of stairs
Everybodys pinned you and nobody cares
Hes got the works, gives you sweet taste
Then you gotta split because you got no time to waste
Im waiting for my man
Hey baby, dont you holler, dont you ball and shout
Im feeling good, Im gonna work it on out
Im feeling good, feeling so fine
Until tomorrow, but thats just some other time
Im waiting for my man
Im waiting for my man
Im waiting for my man
Man-man-man-man-man-man-man
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Many
how many vacant store buildings
in small town America
does it take?
how many of our boys dead
on foreign soil
for no apparent gain?
how many unemployed people
waiting in line?
how many meth labs?
convenience store's robbed?
how many teachers laid off,
and kids that cant read
or do simple math?
how many sick people
who cant get medical care?
how many houses foreclosed?
how many homeless
wandering in worn out cars?
how many oil spills?
how many mines collapsed?
how many nuclear accidents?
how many prisoners
wrongly convicted
on death row?
how many small children killed?
how many suicides?
how many acts of rage?
how many acts of desperate hunger?
how many?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How I Love The Quiet
How I love the quiet
The early morning streets
With few people and fewer cars
The sounds of the wind and the birds
Which do not need to be heard-
The sound of my own voice singing alone its morning song-
How I love the quiet
Of the early morning
And how in my old age
I just enjoy walking along
And singing a song to myself
Into the surrounding silence.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Walk And Talk It
I'm waiting for my man, 26 Dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I'm waiting for my man
Hey white boy, what you doing uptown
Hey white boy, you chasing our women around ?
Oh, pardon me, Sir, it's furthest from my mind
I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine
I'm waiting for my man
Here he comes, he's all dressed in black
P.R. shoes and and big straw hat
He's never early, he's always late
First thing you learn is that you always gotta wait
I'm waiting for my man
Up to a Brownstone, up three flights of stairs
Everybody's pinned you, but nobody cares
He's got the works, gives you sweet taste
Then you gotta split
Because you've got no time to waste, ah
I'm waiting for my man
Baby, don't you holler
Darling don't you bawl and shout
I'm feeling so good
I'm gonna work it all out
I'm feeling good, I'm feeling oh so fine
Until tomorrow, but that's just some other time
I'm waiting for my man
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Waiting For My Man
I'm waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington, 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I'm waiting for my man
Hey, white boy, what you doin' uptown?
Hey, white boy, you chasin' our women around?
Oh pardon me sir, it's the furthest from my mind
I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine
I'm waiting for my man
Here he comes, he's all dressed in black
PR shoes and a big straw hat
He's never early, he's always late
First thing you learn is you always gotta wait
I'm waiting for my man
Up to a Brownstone, up three flights of stairs
Everybody's pinned you, but nobody cares
He's got the works, gives you sweet taste
Ah then you gotta split because you got no time to waste
I'm waiting for my man
Baby don't you holler, darlin' don't you bawl and shout
I'm feeling good, you know I'm gonna work it on out
I'm feeling good, I'm feeling oh so fine
Until tomorrow, but that's just some other time
I'm waiting for my man
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hand
the hand on my heart
feels a lot like you,
the shadow of the stranger,
feels like clothes i have worn.
the cup on the table
is waiting to be filled.
on the plate a slice of burnt bread,
and the clock's stuck at six.
sounds i didnt hear before
resonate in the stillness.
the taste clings to my lips,
the old worn curtain blows.
and i cant for the life of me
remember what i was thinking.
my heart feels frozen
by the hand on the door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Thunder
black thunder/ broken pieces, tired eyes.
church bells silent ringing, crow feet scarred pillows.
small children walking, without tongues praying,
wagon wheels bogged down in sand.
black thunder/ second hand lives, worn out lies.
dead soldiers mournful singing, borrowed tomorrows.
blind mouths moving, talking without saying,
unlit rooms forged by fugitive hands.
black thunder/ pregnant women without faces.
waves lapping orphan feet, ships lost in the storm.
refugee stars lost in unmarked skies,
an old tree dying rotting on the ground.
black thunder/ families disappearing without traces.
trash blown deserted streets, old men waiting to be born.
molded crucifixes, covered with flies,
clouds chant scriptures without a sound.
(guns silent weeping,
angels prayerful sweeping.
dreams born dying, dreams unfolding,
looking without seeing, touching without holding.)
black thunder/ hungry barefoot ghosts whisper.
priests covered in blood, empty windows open.
tiny infinities wrapped in colored matchsticks,
nowhere standing lost by the road.
black thunder/ brothers burying virgin sisters.
dialogue without talking, homeless heroes smoking.
ants' prophecies well hidden, time worn bricks,
strangers huddled against the cold.
black thunder/ salvation starved borrowed clothes.
smoke charred walls, forever dripping to the floor.
flesh tokens paid, lifetimes yet unforgiven,
candles dressed in cemetery suits.
black thunder/ nobody cares, nobody knows.
horses stomping stalls, doors open to doors.
while the dead barter for the living,
with bayonets and religious boots....
black thunder!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im Waiting For The Man
Im waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to lexington 1-2-5
Feeling sick and dirty more dead than alive
Im waiting for my man
Hey white boy, what you doin uptown
Hey white boy, you chasin our women around
Oh pardon me sir, its furthest from my mind
Im just lookin for a dear dear friend of mine
Im waiting for my man
Here he comes, hes all dressed in black
Pr shoes and a big straw hat
Hes never early, hes always late
First thing you learn is that you always gotta wait
Im waiting for my man
Up to a brownstone, up three flights of stairs
Everybodys pinned you but nobody cares
Hes got the works gives you sweet taste
Then you gotta split because hes got no time to waste
Im waiting for my man
Baby dont holler, darlin dont you ball and shout
Im feeling good, you know Im gonna work it on out
Im feeling good, Im feeling oh so fine
Until tomorrow but thats just some other time
Im waiting for my man.
song performed by by Vanessa Paradis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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