An Old Man's Prayer
i pray for the sounds
of leaves falling in timeless glory;
for the bark of the dog,
and the paw of the cat.
for the laughter of children playing,
who have a home and food to eat.
for the tired smiles of working parents,
for the ears and stories of grandparents.
for the kiss and the touch of lovers,
for the dreams of the young that know not bounds.
for the gurgle of creeks and the sighs of mountains,
for the crow, the turtle, and the squirrel.
for the plow, the shovel, and the axe, ...
and hands that know each.
for eyes that see beneath color and nationality,
for the spiritual who dare not name god.
for the silence of guns at last laid down,
for bridges built by caring hands.
for shoulders that take on responsibility,
for feet bound by determination.
for the face of justice drawn by the hands of compassion,
for the way equality feels!
for sundown, darkness, and dawn...
for stars that do not need names.
for the wisdom of trees, and the taste of dew,
for the howl of moonlight that shakes the night.
for the nearness of companions when life seems far,
for the stillness that makes the heart dance.
for passion, simplicity, and understanding,
for the gift of every moment....
i pray....
giving thanks with a pilgrim's feet!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I'll Be Around
i'll be around...
in the wind that rustles your curtains,
in the whisper of darkness that taunts the moonlight.
in the silence that roars, and is then still...
in the prayers that children do not understand,
in the dying old man's aloneness.
in the blood that testifies against the hands,
in the hands that cannot escape the heart.
in the feet walking by their own will,
in the soul scarred by mistakes.
in the hungry mouth and the desperate eyes
that have seen and known too much.
in the fear that comes in the middle of the night,
and the dawn that never seems to come.
in the need to worship and the faith to act,
in the doubt that destroys false idols.
in the pound of the guns, the cries for help,
and the fire that has no favorites.
in the defiant stand, feet set firm,
the mark of the chains on backs and wrists.
in the freedom that does not buy and sell,
that sees beneath the skin.
in the constant dialogue of 'i and thou',
in the me that disperses and dissolves.
in the hammer, the saw, and the shovel,
in the grasses beneath bare feet.
in the song of the whipporwill,
and the final hoot of the owl.
in the howling of wolves,
and the sleepy stillness of the cattle.
in the hidden depths of your heart,
and the quiet darkness that forms your thoughts.
in the grain of the tree just cut,
and the rhythm of the fire going dead.
in every voice that cries for justice,
in every hand that reaches for help!
in the working hum of common thread,
in the simple dignity of the family.
in the ghosts of soldiers lost in battle,
in the weeping of mothers over their graves.
and in the constant courage of the peacemakers,
the voice of reason and compassion.
in the truth that all men are equal...
in the bridge from here to there!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Old Hands And Old Eyes....
old hands unbutton
the blouse of the day.
old hands make coffee,
open the dusty blinds.
old hands wash a few dishes,
make breakfast for the dogs...
old hands feed the stray cat,
make toast and wait.
old eyes caress the sunlight
as if an old friend.
old eyes see the work,
yet stop, to touch the morning.
old eyes kiss the trees,
the squirrels, and distant mountains.
old eyes ache with longing,
and amazement.
old hands and old eyes
begin the journey anew.
listening intently for the footfall,
for another candle, a hoe.
for the scent of nearness,
perhaps only remembered.
old hands and old eyes,
take the plow, the hammer,
and the nails....
old hands and old eyes,
waiting for love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Working Man
Close your eyes my weary one
Rest your head and sleep
Although your day is done
Tomorrow, you might sit and weep.
Because outside your window,
There stand many barren trees
Looking like the empty hopes,
With the leaves, dying like dreams.
I have live many years
Seen and shed many tears,
With bloody hands and busted bones,
And I have heard, that painful moan.
So rest your head my tired Man
And close your eyes and cry,
Because many families I have seen fed,
When only the Fathers had died.
And I have seen the working man
Working hard with other men at their side,
While fighting to protect and defend what they own
With only GOD, upon their side.
So close you're eyes a father
Clasp your hands together and pray,
Pray for your wife and for your Children
And pray to greet them another day.
As we have fought the battles
To put our country back on her feet
But now again, we are forsaken
So close your eyes, and weep.
But then their is your Family
And the home where you do live,
Be proud you were there when tomorrow came
And many will be proud, that you had lived.
Open your eyes my weary one
Stand up and clap your hand
Be proud of what that you have built
But be prouder because you are a working Man.
So give a laugh and and then give a cheer
For together once again we made our stand,
And forget about your worries and your fears
Because GOD does not forsake, a working Man.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Sounds Of The Earth
i feel the sounds of the earth,
cant say how or why!
the hurtling swagger of rivers,
the deep bass stillness of mountains.
the whispered longing of the trees,
dancing naked in moonlight.
the hymn of the grasses,
calling forth life.
the groan of the earth,
just turned by the plow!
i hear the reggae beat of the cities,
the hum of movement and work.
the chords of factories and mills,
the horns blown by the shops.
even the hollow beat
of business, of buy and sell.
and the low gutteral moan,
of the homeless, jobless, and lost.
feet without names,
marching without direction.
the cries of young children
afraid and hungry in the night.
the bang of the idol chasers,
the wranglers, and the pimps...
some working the market,
some working the parish.
i hear the sounds of the demons,
that cry war in the night.
that bang the bloody drums
of patriotism and fear.
i hear the sounds of the guns,
the thunder of the bombs.
the last prayers of young men,
dying alone in their fear.
i hear the shuffle of the money,
the boots beneath the table.
i hear the sound of the shovels,
digging grave after grave.
i hear the pen on the page,
as history is written,
in a book that not even
hell could contain!
i hear the churning of stomachs,
the grating of bones.
the tremble beneath
paper thin flesh.
i hear bare feet on the road,
the poor seeking refuge.
i hear the women weeping
as child after child dies.
and i hear the clank of glasses,
food shoveled on plates.
the shallow laughter,
the hypnotic hum of excess.
the condemning guilt,
food thrown in the trash.
the restless panting of the dogs,
just outside the door.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tainted Water!
snowfall...
words spoken without talking.
history written on drawn faces.
eyes that speak the language
of hunger, ears that feel,
feet that find their way!
we have long been
a people lost in search,
buying religious tokens,
spreading political balm.
we've lost the gift
of understanding silence...
we rattle like bones
in need of flesh!
snowfall...
stillness bridges the moment.
face to face with
light and shadow...
and the forever taste of blood,
blood floating on tainted water!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Thunderous Snow!
thunderous snow,
born o'er dark silent mountains;
the final prayer,
the last turn of the plow.
air frozen and heavy,
the wind shakes the bones,
the bare trees wait,
naked, and obedient.
time come and gone,
the memory of a kiss fades
into the deep stillness,
and the sleep of the soul.
cries of passion lost,
in the darkness so deep,
that ending and beginning are one!
the hunter stares,
his shadow twisted by moonlight,
the faint taste of flesh,
dried blood on his lips.
a few flurries, a drumbeat,
the wolf howls, no sound!
stillness wraps around fire,
the fields pray empty prayers.
thunderous snow,
love, and cosmos!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Dreams
Spare a little candle
Save some light for me
Figures up ahead
Moving in the trees
White skin in linen
Perfume on my wrist
And the full moon that hangs over
These dreams in the mist
Darkness on the edge
Shadows where I stand
I search for the time
On a watch with no hands
I want to see you clearly
Come closer than this
But all I remember
Are the dreams in the mist
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside
Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away
Is it cloak n dagger
Could it be spring or fall
I walk without a cut
Through a stained glass wall
Weaker in my eyesight
The candle in my grip
And words that have no form
Are falling from my lips
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside
Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away
There's something out there
I can't resist
I need to hide away from the pain
There's something out there
I can't resist
The sweetest song is silence
That I've ever heard
Funny how your feet
In dreams never touch the earth
In a wood full of princes
Freedom is a kiss
But the prince hides his face
From dreams in the mist
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside
Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside
Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away
song performed by by Heart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Pray For Darkness...
i pray for darkness...
wrapping splintered lights
in perfected stillness...
stillness that heals
without questioning
why or who!
stillness that sings,
with every pulse of blood
through bodies worn...
stillness that redeems,
bringing the searcher
to his final destination...
stillness that removes,
the cross, , the crown of thorns,
lays down the shield of honor...
stillness that fills,
the empty cup, the box forgotten,
bringing the lover
to the lips of longing...
spilling his passion
on the fertile earth!
i pray for darkness,
removing all graven images,
the power of the formless
to form again and again...
i pray for darkness,
the moonlit touch forbidden,
the lover's cry, the wolfen howl,
the mystic taste of that which
cannot be seen... but felt!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Only Hope
There's a song that's inside of my soul
It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again
I'm awake in the infinite cold
Would you sing to me over and over and over again?
So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray to be only yours
I pray to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope
Sing to me the song of the stars
Of your galaxy dancing and laughing, you're laughing again
When it feels like my dreams are so far
Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again
So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray to be only yours
I pray to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope
I gave you my apathy
I'm giving you all of me
I want your symphony
Singing in all that I am
At the top of my lungs
I'm giving it back
So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray to be only yours
I pray to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope
song performed by by Switchfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only Hope
Theres a sun thats inside of my soul
Its the one that I've tried to light over and over again
I will wake in the end then it goes
Will you sing to me over and over and over again
So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours I pray to be only yours
I know now your my only hope
Sing to me the song of the stars of your galaxies and singing laughing and laughing again
When it feels like my dreamz are so far
Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again
So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours I pray to be only yours
I know now your my only hope
I'm give you my destiny
I'm giving you part of me
I want your sympathy
Singing in all that I am
At the top of my life
I'm giving it all I have
So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours I pray to be only yours
I pray to be only yours
I know now your my only hope
song performed by by Mandy Moore from A Walk To Remember Soundtrack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Walk Alone...
i am the last rebellion,
the fire you cannot control.
i am the faces of lost bodies,
names written in blood.
i am the call to battle,
armed by the heart.
i am the silence that knows,
the darkness that takes.
i am poverty's shadow,
and the language of need.
i am the anger of the beaten,
i am the field forsaken.
i am the tint of skin,
and the color of the eyes....
the song of the shovel and whip.
i am the bones of the old ones,
shaking with rage.
the tears of the grandmothers,
the dirty hands of small children.
i am the soldier imprisoned,
on the streets of despair.
i am the conscience of the murderer,
that haunts the night.
i am the bodies of lovers,
glistening with passion.
i am the child born,
neath a sky with no star.
i am the crucifix and prayer beads,
the hymn known only by trees.
i am the dog abandoned,
rain falling without remorse.
i am the monk self-immoliated,
the cry for freedom unheard.
i am human dignity,
and i walk alone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Want To Know!
i want to know...
what the trees and mountains know,
what the rivers sing of,
the desire the wind groans with.
the passion of lightning,
and the echo of thunder.
the redemption written in rain,
the love in the dog's eyes.
the secret whisperings of bats,
the timeless wisdom of whales.
the peace of the turtle,
the mad gift of the butterfly.
the free spirit of darkness,
the salvation of dawn...
for i am all these things,
and they are me!
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!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Working Class
hard calloused old hands,
back bent with time and work.
feet beaten and worn,
old tired eyes that still twinkle.
i love the working class.
am more at home
with truckers, farmers,
and factory workers,
than politicians and priests.
the lives built brick by brick,
silent years of sacrifice.
hard lines of faith and worry,
and moments of gentle caring.
the hand extended,
the heart that's honest.
the love of passion,
and blowing off steam.
the cook pot, and the table,
set for whoever walks through the door.
neighbor standing behind neighbor,
the saturday night fire,
and the sunday prayer.
i love the working class...
the people that built your cities,
paved your roads,
that have grown your food,
and made your goods...
so what the hell are you doing to us?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Image of a Friend
As I look through the window of friendship,
I see in the gentle wind,
The whispered breeze of an angel,
It is in the image of 'friend'.
This friend has a heart of compassion,
Caring that comes without end,
The giving of love to others,
Characterizes my dear friend.
This friend has hands that carry,
The load of your burdens with ease,
Hands that will hold others' problems,
Grasping with love, not to cease.
This friend has eyes, understanding,
That see to the heart of a soul,
Eyes that are never condemning,
But rather see new ways to grow.
This friend has ears that listen,
And hear the call of a friend,
Ears that will cherish the moment,
And take the time to lend.
The image of friend described here,
Is the picture I see in my mind,
When I look through the window of life,
Your image is what I find!
poem by Jean Penner
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A Leap Of Faith
at the very moment when he gave up God
he closes his eyes
he leaps from the top of the cliff
feeling the wind and the hands of the clouds
he stretches his arms
his hands groping for nothing
his feet no longer trembling
he feels the ground
he crushes with an impact
that he had never known
there is only darkness
and then a faint light and then he feels
the arms of God finally embracing him
he opens his eyes and there he sees God
the eyes of true compassion
love eternal
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My City Of Ruins
Theres a blood red circle
On the cold dark ground
And the rain is falling down
The church doors blown open
I can hear the organs song
But the congregations gone
My city of ruins
My city of ruins
Now the sweet veils of mercy
Drift through the evening trees
Young men on the corner
Like scattered leaves
The boarded up windows
The hustlers and thieves
While my brothers down on his knees
My city of ruins
My city of ruins
Come on rise up!
Come on rise up!
Now theres tears on the pillow
Darling where we slept
And you took my heart when you left
Without your sweet kiss
My soul is lost, my friend
Now tell me how do I begin again?
My citys in ruins
My citys in ruins
Now with these hands
I pray lord
With these hands
For the strength lord
With these hands
For the faith lord
With these hands
I pray lord
With these hands
For the strength lord
With these hands
For the faith lord
With these hands
Come on rise up!
Come on rise up!
Rise up
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lover's Chronicles (Part Two)
no, not yet! take my hand, let us
walk towards the setting sun. the
mountains seem closer, the trees
whisper and wait. for the night
brings its own sounds, a new and
deeper closeness, breaking down
the barriers of the need for concepts.
open your hands, close your eyes, listen,
then let go! of every image you have
of self, of want, of need... the bird
leaves the nest and never looks back,
no longer clinging to a world made of
straw...
i will love you, first with stillness,
then with sounds heard for the first time.
i will bring you taste, richness and raw.
i will bring you healing, that searches
your unnamed sorrows for joy. i will listen
to your heart, and hear. i want to know
you before we touch... i want to touch
you, and know you more!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Dance Alone
I dance alone with the night,
the moon holding me close,
beneath the starlight.
My feet moving slow to every
sad song I know, playing over
and over, as alone I go.
The night embraces me and
the winds whisper sad
words to me.
I dance with the tears that fall
from my eyes, they help
me make it through the
lonely nights.
Sighs, I hear in the distance,
as I dance within darkness,
shadows move slowly, as
I miss your tender kiss.
One step, spinning around, breezes
capture my heart, as to the long
night I am bound.
Broken memories spilling on
the ground, as this heartache,
twirls me around.
Wrapped in the arms of the night,
this dance must go on, as without
you again, I dance alone.
poem by Ruth warren
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Memories
I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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