Anybody's Idea Of Eternity!
i'd rather be a leaf torn
by a sparrow's beak...
a snail, a moth, the spider's web.
the old man passing out blankets
at the homeless shelter...
the mother nursing the child,
refugees of war.
the old dog curled against
the old man's leg...
the cigarette shared after making love.
a trash collector, a cashier in an all night store,
an immigrant picking fruit
with eyes in the back of his head....
the soldier who deserted,
and turned his back on the war.
the lover left with the scent of memory.
the young girl giving birth
on a bare apartment floor,
a rose petal wilted,
falling to the ground....
the last wolf wandering the endless night.
a spoke in the wheel of the wagon loaded.
the love letter written never delivered...
a pair of old boots standing in the corner,
a rain dropp lingering on a blade of grass...
then to be an angel playing a harp,
in anybody's idea of eternity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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No Difference
i stared out the window
at the bare frozen limbs
of my favorite old tree...
i closed my eyes...
saw leaves bud forth
and turn green...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i stared at the young girl
reading at a corner table
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old grandmother
washing dishes with her grandbabies
playing in the floor at her feet...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw the young man
carrying his son on his shoulders
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old man standing
by his son's casket
draped by a flag...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw an old man
standing on the corner begging
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy
playing ball in the street
laughing and dodging cars
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a crack head shivering
by an electric heater in a bare apartment
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young a/g student
helping some kid with his math
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a desperate girl
walking the streets
looking for a john
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young girl's room
stuffed animals on the bed
pictures of her and her daddy on the wall
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a young man
wild-eyed with fear
in a prison cell
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy gone hunting
with his grandpa on thanksgiving morn
with his dog by his side
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i pulled back the veil of time...
knowing, there is no difference!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Equally Holy....
there is no difference,
in the man painting the walls
of the chapel,
and the homeless man pissing
in the alley...
in the Madonna,
and the young woman
giving birth on the floor
of a welfare apartment.
in the Buddha,
and the child starving
to death in a third world country...
in the doctor saving lives,
and the addict on the street.
in the peacemaker,
and the soldier afraid on the battlefield...
in the leader, the priest, and the whore.
in black or white, and the illegal immigrant.
all are equally holy!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hallelujah! I Am Yours!
i searched till i found beauty,
in the simplest things....
in the hand of a friend,
a leaf blown by the wind,
in a blind dog's eyes,
in the cat curled close.
in the baby just born,
the old man's dying smile...
in difference, and in sameness.
in the lover's body,
in hands calloused and hard,
in moonlit nights,
and quiet conversations.
in long silent walks,
the meal simply prepared,
in the mother and the child.
in the twinkle in the homeless man's eyes,
as we shared a cup of coffee.
in thunderstorms, mountains,
and gliding hawks,
in the snail, the spider, and the ants.
in the trees that whisper,
and the dawn that shouts...
'hallelujah! i am yours! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Ballad Of The Harp-Weaver
"Son," said my mother,
When I was knee-high,
"you've need of clothes to cover you,
and not a rag have I.
"There's nothing in the house
To make a boy breeches,
Nor shears to cut a cloth with,
Nor thread to take stitches.
"There's nothing in the house
But a loaf-end of rye,
And a harp with a woman's head
Nobody will buy,"
And she began to cry.
That was in the early fall.
When came the late fall,
"Son," she said, "the sight of you
Makes your mother's blood crawl,—
"Little skinny shoulder-blades
Sticking through your clothes!
And where you'll get a jacket from
God above knows.
"It's lucky for me, lad,
Your daddy's in the ground,
And can't see the way I let
His son go around!"
And she made a queer sound.
That was in the late fall.
When the winter came,
I'd not a pair of breeches
Nor a shirt to my name.
I couldn't go to school,
Or out of doors to play.
And all the other little boys
Passed our way.
"Son," said my mother,
"Come, climb into my lap,
And I'll chafe your little bones
While you take a nap."
And, oh, but we were silly
For half and hour or more,
Me with my long legs,
Dragging on the floor,
A-rock-rock-rocking
To a mother-goose rhyme!
Oh, but we were happy
For half an hour's time!
But there was I, a great boy,
And what would folks say
To hear my mother singing me
To sleep all day,
In such a daft way?
Men say the winter
Was bad that year;
Fuel was scarce,
And food was dear.
A wind with a wolf's head
Howled about our door,
And we burned up the chairs
And sat upon the floor.
All that was left us
Was a chair we couldn't break,
And the harp with a woman's head
Nobody would take,
For song or pity's sake.
The night before Christmas
I cried with cold,
I cried myself to sleep
Like a two-year old.
And in the deep night
I felt my mother rise,
And stare down upon me
With love in her eyes.
I saw my mother sitting
On the one good chair,
A light falling on her
From I couldn't tell where.
Looking nineteen,
And not a day older,
And the harp with a woman's head
Leaned against her shoulder.
Her thin fingers, moving
In the thin, tall strings,
Were weav-weav-weaving
Wonderful things.
Many bright threads,
From where I couldn't see,
Were running through the harp-strings
Rapidly,
And gold threads whistling
Through my mother's hand.
I saw the web grow,
And the pattern expand.
She wove a child's jacket,
And when it was done
She laid it on the floor
And wove another one.
She wove a red cloak
So regal to see,
"She's made it for a king's son,"
I said, "and not for me."
But I knew it was for me.
She wove a pair of breeches
Quicker than that!
She wove a pair of boots
And a little cocked hat.
She wove a pair of mittens,
Shw wove a little blouse,
She wove all night
In the still, cold house.
She sang as she worked,
And the harp-strings spoke;
Her voice never faltered,
And the thread never broke,
And when I awoke,—
There sat my mother
With the harp against her shoulder,
Looking nineteeen,
And not a day older,
A smile about her lips,
And a light about her head,
And her hands in the harp-strings
Frozen dead.
And piled beside her
And toppling to the skies,
Were the clothes of a king's son,
Just my size.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Fate Led Me Too It
sitting in the corner
surrounded by darkness
the light in her eyes
the heart full of hate
the single blade
the single vein
the single dropp of blood
that young boy
this young girl
that dreadful night
the screeching tyres
the shatter of glass
the night that boy left
the other car
the drunken man
the night he drove away
this young girl
this night
this night she joins him too.
poem by Charlotte Marie Peachey
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Blunt Questions!
does a falling star
know that it's falling?
does the green leaf know
that autumn comes?
does the unborn child
know his mother's face?
does the murderer know
his victim is himself?
does the cloud know
that the rain is needed?
does the day know
it was born at night?
does the peacemaker know
that the bullets are his?
does the liar know
that the truth has won?
does the lover know
tis only a moment?
does the moment know
that it holds eternity?
and do the hungry, sick,
and the homeless know.....
do they really know
that they are human?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Scriptures
i read the scriptures written in human faces,
in calloused hands, in bruises and scars.
in the spider's web, in the trail of the snail.
in the pot stained with use,
in the axe and the plow.
in the old woman's silence,
in the broken window.
in worn out boots, and the broken lock.
in the gravel drive,
in the eyes of the hungry....
in the fear of those oppressed by war.
in the dead squirrel's body,
in the nest left empty.
in the prisoner staring
through a window barred.
in the old man's chair,
a dog's turd and a hill of ants.
in the fallen leaf,
in the empty room.
in solitude and stillness,
in the prayer of lonliness.
in trash strewn in the alley,
in the grave unmarked.
in the truth of doubt,
in a puddle of rainwater.
in fresh cut grass,
in the cow fresh milked.
in the lover's touch,
in the dialogue of silence.
in the shovel, the hammer, and the flute.
in the grain of the old tree,
and the woman giving birth...
let us speak of nothing less!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I... Then!
i am... then,
the fallen sparrow,
the broken pane,
the house where no one lives!
the worn out shoes,
the guitar in the closet,
the child with cancer
staring from the window...
the book signed and forgotten
beneath the pillow,
the shotgun in the corner,
eyes painted that hide.
the telephone that doesnt ring,
love stains on the sheet.
the old man trying to bum a cup of coffee,
and the young girl behind the counter
who takes him a cup.
the political prisoner,
his blood on the floor.
the refugee... his blood
on his face!
the heretic who turned away
and found the face of god.
the lover left alone,
the darkness of night.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Who Am I? I Am!
who am i?
whose voice do you hear
when i growl?
whose face do you see
when i moan?
i am the train
that hasnt come
for twenty years,
the tracks left to whimper
like a deserted bride.
i am the lock rusted,
and the key that is lost.
i am the cross of silver
on the neck of the corpse.
i am the soldier come home
to no home at all.
i am the father burying
his only son.
i am the vote not cast,
the prayer unspoken.
i am the homeless shelter,
and the house in the suburbs.
i am the husband and wife,
splitting after 25 years.
i am the abused child,
the worker without a job.
i am two young men who are
in passionate love,
and the families that
turned their backs.
i am the young boy and girl
making love for the first time,
when nothing else matters.
i am the empty church,
and the library closed down.
i am laws that take away
the individual's rights.
i am a poet, a hammer, a wheelbarrow,
and a bag of used clothes,
left on the doorstep
of the family in need....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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O My Soul...
where have you gone,
o my soul...
where have you gone?
are you lost in the tears
of a thousand faces
blackened by hunger?
in the cries of the dying?
of the homeless?
in the defiant feet
of those standing in line?
the unemployment line?
the soup line?
the line just outside
the prison walls?
in the lover left desperate,
who takes his own life?
in the students beaten,
who stood up for freedom?
in the young man hated,
for the color of his skin?
in the young woman sold
on the lonesome street corner?
in the windowless offices
where lives and deaths are decided?
in the hole behind the gun,
eyes hard as steel?
in the bare apartment,
where the children are cold and hungry?
on the corner, 'neath the bridge,
in the back of the car?
where have you gone,
o my soul...
where have you gone?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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An Ode to Greybeard
After leaving the convenience store, we smoked cigarettes insatiately, and were approached by a man with a long grey face, pink from the chilled wind.
Homeless, the man made due with a pile of jackets.
Spare a cigarette? He asked, like clockwork. And received what he bade for.
Without breaking his sight of his caretaker's eyes, he bit the filter out of the end and inhaled so deeply, he must have drank the smoke.
Thanks, pal - crept out from under his mustache and snuck by his cigarette.
His eyes turned slowly to meet mine and were as grey as his beard.
- Remember me when I die
He spoke also - with his eyes.
And mine spoke back - he knew I would
A legacy is only memory.
poem by C.S. Smith
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One Petal Of Rose
I gazed upon the sky, YOU and I
Once a young lover, that I was, love didn't die
THE SECRET LEAVES OF MY NOTEBOOK holds
A love letter, it now unfolds
ONE PETAL OF ROSE
Keeping all of its lies
From a teenage game once played:
'She loves me, she loves me not'
She, MY INVISBLE FRIEND,
Has the blood of my mother's tree
That voids the query: IS IT JUST a FRIEND?
Since the days of THE GOMEZ's OF 1970
So, what more do a thief in disguise proves
Back then when love was excessive fantasy
But one petal of rose should remain to stay
In the secret leaves of my notebook, or it roves
These poems can bear one clue after clue
Yet nothing more than they can reveal
The same young lover from an old barrio
In LOVE, but by all means, they're surreal
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Testify
Come a little closer it's a feeling that I can't deny
I was weak, but I never thought I'd speak about the darker side
Is that a ten? I could repent on the side of the road
But, I kept on going yeah I headed for another load
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
I was laid upon the grave by a preacher's hand I cannot lie
And, I forsake many vows I made to be with you tonight
Could you be the salvation cause I never felt like this before
And, could you lend me your hand because I'm falling back on the floor
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
On a road outside of nowhere, in the middle of the night
Well I guess I hit rock bottom and the dawn was not in sight
And a Tempest made of fire, onset the sky aglow
And a sweet young thing called out my name
And this is how it goes, she says...
Choir:
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf: And I got down on my knees
Choir :"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf (over the top of the choirs last two repititions):
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Meatloaf & Choir:
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Meatloaf:
Every cut that heals reveals a scar that you can never hope to hide
All the pain that you restrain keeps building up deep inside
If you think you're above it then it's you my friend that I implore
You've got to talk before you run
See the night before the dawn
Before you pull yourself off the floor
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Choir Singer: Up from the ground yeah, I testify
Meatloaf & Choir:
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Cant Hear You!
i cant hear you.....
she turned her head,
and he walked away...
leaving all the years
hanging like spider webs
in forgotten corners.
numb but walking,
he could taste her
in the cyanide rain.....
down to the corner
where nobody stood,
and strangers without faces
never spoke... to the
corner of hell and third,
never looking back....
nothing to look back to!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Red Rose
You have sent to me a red rose
Through this letter a flower
It is my heart not a rose
My dear darling, I am writing
To let you know
That your heart is more then worthy of me
There is so much love
Hidden in this letter
Like the countless numer of pearls
In the ocean
If I was nearby
You would have kissed me
Through your letter
You sent me a rose
It was your heart
Did I share my dreams
When I was falling asleep
Dreaming of you
I had so many
Having fun and laughing
While whispering to me
And holding me tight
It was so full of passion
I needed it and wanted it
Just your love for me
In my dreams you came
You do every night
There was loneliness
For the two of us
Now I woke up
The dream could not be mine
I will not let you be lonely
Baby don't worry
I am the happist
Girl in the world
I will bring music
Our love is growing stronger
Day by day
Never forget it, neither will I
I taught you to love
Like you did me baby
You sent me a rose
It is your heart
With this letter
Comes your love
Near my heart
I am satisfied
We both are waiting for our eyes to meet
We will both have peace
I have come into your heart
Now into your house as the moon
Lands in our compound
To you I am coming
It won't be long
I will let you know the day and hour
It will be such a night..........
Baby our night is almost here
How shall we meet
I will call you and let you know
To join you I will leave
Then we can meet
Tonight we will be together forever
To me you are looking forward
I will come to you now
In your arms I will be
A letter to you I wrote
Soon you will get it.
I have sent you a rose
Through this letter
It is my heart
poem by Angel Plant
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I Made Another Garden
I made another garden, yea,
For my new love;
I left the dead rose where it lay,
And set the new above.
Why did the summer not begin?
Why did my heart not haste?
My old love came and walked therein,
And laid the garden waste.
She entered with her weary smile,
Just as of old;
She looked around a little while,
And shivered at the cold.
Her passing touch was death to all,
Her passing look a blight:
She made the white rose-petals fall,
And turned the red rose white.
Her pale robe, clinging to the grass,
Seemed like a snake
That bit the grass and ground, alas!
And a sad trail did make.
She went up slowly to the gate;
And there, just as of yore,
She turned back at the last to wait,
And say farewell once more.
poem by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy
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Scent Of The Lover....
i am still water, moonlit and waiting.
i am the crucifix made of fingers,
the letter written in blood.
the fool tripping over windmills,
the beacon from a distant shore.
dust in the corner, dew on the grass,
the eyes of the racoon,
the bat hanging upside down.
the whisper of moss,
the depths of the cave.
the pine tree fallen across the path.
i am the kiss long silent,
the iron skillet, the tin cup.
i am the body of the wind,
without beginning or end.
i am the child alone,
and the woman abused.
the angry man, and the broken glass.
i am the farmhouse deserted,
the voices of ghosts.
i am the spirits of slaves,
who call in the night.
i am the cock and the dawn,
the howl of the dog.
the pilgrim beaten and robbed,
and left for dead.
i am the cry of childbirth,
and the shout of death....
i am the scent of the lover,
that stains your soul!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Angel Eyes
(macauley/potger)
Tossing and turning last night I was burning
For you my love
I couldnt sleep or face one more night on my own
Somehow the wind and the rain seem to call out my name
In the still of night
The sound that I heard was your voice
And the words, oh I knew
You called me angel eyes
Child of the morning
You and I will soon be together
My darling
Angel eyes, Ill be beside you
Through the night you called me your angel eyes
Closing my eyes I could still visualize
All those golden days
In letters you write you promise well share them again
Oh darling nevertheless still I have to confess
That last night I cried
When a voice in the rain softly called out again
Ill be home
Dont cry my angel eyes
Child of the morning
You and I will soon be together
My darling
Angel eyes, Ill be beside you
Through the night you called me your angel eyes
Angel eyes, child of the morning
Your angel eyes
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother Sparrow Leaves Not Carrying Anything
the mother sparrow does not
know about a funeral
how can it hold a white flower
entertain meaning
using its black, short beak?
today, her young sparrow
lies dead
shattered wings, severed feathers
the worker-ants are sensing the scent of blood
the delicacy of sparrow meat
and now carry them all toward their
queen
underground
there is no memory for mother sparrows
there is no son
the fledgling is gone, gone
then she flies far away
to another season
not carrying anything, not a seed even inside her gut
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Japanese Dream
I'm going back to the land of the blind
Back to the land where the sun never shines
I'm going back there and i'm hoping to find
Everything just as it was before
I left it all behind
I slept at nights there hysterically
Twisted and turned
But i just couldn't get free
Opened my eyes
But i still couldn't see
But i could feel her
China white girl
So i get down on the floor
Like i am worshipping god
Burning like a monkey
I get down on the floor
Like i am praying to the lord
Burning like a monkey
Mmmmmm that was a japanese dream alright
The sound of the storm
And the flickering light
And the way that her scent used to fill up the night like...
Like her scent used to fill up the night
So i get down on the floor
Like i am worshipping god
Burning like a monkey
I get down on the floor
Like i am praying to the lord
Burning like a monkey
Just look at me now
Just look at me this way
It looks like i am quite insane
It looks like i am trying to eat off my face
It looks like i'm going to the land of the blind anyway
Back where the sun never shines
Back to the land of the blind
Back in a japanese dream
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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