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Buddha Answered!

i looked in the mirror,
and saw all of time,
the history of the ages,
creation and destruction.
saw passion and faith,
wars, freedom, and hunger.
saw the murderer and the murdered,
the philosopher, and the thief.
saw both justice and injustice,
ignorance and understanding.
saw peoples of all colors,
crying out for help.
saw fury and forgiveness,
saw beauty and ugliness.
saw the face of my neighbor,
saw the image of God...
i shook my head,
and looked again...
and saw an old man familiar,
saw the hand of the wind...
and Buddha answered,
with the smile of silence!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Looked At You

i looked at you,
and saw the fugitive
in my mirror.
i looked at me,
and saw the child in you.
i looked at God,
and saw the stranger waiting.
i looked at the stranger,
and saw my brother in need.
i looked at freedom,
and saw the bars of the cell.
i looked at the bars,
and saw my spirit walk free.
i looked at anger,
and saw forgiveness waiting.
i looked at forgiveness,
and saw the hands of love.
i looked at my body,
and saw the bird leaving the nest.
i looked at the nest,
and saw a world made of straw.
i looked at today,
and saw the scars of yesterday.
i looked at yesterday,
and saw the dawning of tomorrow.
i looked at the seed,
and saw the plant in fullness.
i looked at fullness,
and saw emptiness the seed.
i looked at you...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mirroring

I looked through the mirrors

And saw my reflection

What I saw was darkness and suffering

It could chase any bright life away.

I looked through the mirror of death

And saw myself burning in hell

Screaming out in sweet torment

Enjoying this immortal condemn.

I looked through the mirror of hate

And saw myself taunting my enemies

I enjoyed my foes pain and smile in shame.

I looked through the mirror of happiness

And saw myself in love; Laughter filled my face with these

With these wrongful feelings.

I looked through the mirror of envy

And saw myself resentencing my friends

Cracking their hearts open with my words.

I looked through the mirror of fears

And saw myself hiding under a hollow tree,

Not even He could shelter me.

I looked through mirror of sorrow

And saw myself buried in pain,

Having a knife at my wrist,

Ready to end this game

poem by C.F Francis
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Vowing, To Be Better!

i am both the bullet,
and the victim.
the finger on the trigger,
the hand on the heart.
the hatred and the forgiveness,
the compassion that dares.
the sacred, and the demon,
the prayer and the scream.
both justice and injustice,
prejudice and understanding.
both ignorance and wisdom,
fearful, and a man.
i see both the light and darkness,
feel, touch, and taste them.
knowing that every breath i breathe,
is a choice!
every night i take off my image,
and examine my heart.
taking responsibility for my life,
and vowing, to be better!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Shattered the Mirror

I kicked the mirror with my boot,
Then I finally saw how different I looked.
I loved looking at me.

So I kicked the mirror again,
I looked ever more different,
Just the way I wanted to look.

This time, I kicked the mirror,
Till it made sounds of sharp shattering.
I looked gorgeous now in front of this mirror.P

I wanted to be shattered again!
Post shattering, I screamed hooray,
For my shattered look became me and I smiled.

The reason I shattererd this mirror,
Was that this mirror was my own self-image,
This mirror showed me bad,
So the self-improvement,
Was a happy thing not sad.

poem by Vera Sidhwa
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Mirror Image.

i've met my mirror image,
lost in his hazel eyes,
loved my mirror image,
till my heart exploded with colors,
hated my mirror image,
with a fury even satan would cringe,

I've met my complete opposite,
lost in his inner beauty,
love my complete opposite,
my heart burst with colors every secong in his arms,
want my complete opposite,
till our souls leave for somewhere better.

poem by Sabrina Seriva
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And So Found Dawn

it was in doubt
that i found faith.
it was in forgiveness
that i found forgiveness.
it was in loss
that i found passion.
it was in suffering
that i found understanding.
it was in letting go
that i found freedom.
it was in the mirror
that i found prayer.
it was in darkness
that i found light.
it was in jail
that i found dignity.
it was in addiction
that i found determination.
it was in giving
that i found love.
it was in fighting
that i found reason.
it was in reason
that i found dissatifaction.
it was in questioning
that i found truth.
it was in truth
that i found the need for silence.
it was in silence
that i found kindness.
it was in working
that i found respect.
it was in respect
that i found acceptance.
it was in living
that i found god.
it was in god
that i found the need to touch.
it was in caring.
that i got dirty...
and so found dawn...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Words!

it has been said
that God spoke worlds
into being...
and that Jesus
was the word of God.
that we are created
in the image of God...
that we are the dreams
of God made flesh...

yet we open our mouths,
and nothing happens!
bats hang from the rafters
of our souls.
we speak, windows rattle,
and wars begat wars.
we write with invisible ink!

no cosmos, no stars,
only hunger and despair.
our words close the door,
and choose to be strangers.
we shout, and graves are dug,
we whisper, and no one hears!

could it be that true word
is written in silence,
spoken in awareness,
breaks concepts, tears down walls.

and we who live in fear,
running from the image of our selves,
cannot touch the source,
and have forgotten the breast.

speak worlds into being,
or speak this one into destruction?
spirit becomes flesh,
and blooms or decays.
choice?

awareness, and silence,
crucifixion, and fire.
Buddha spoke, Jesus listened,
Jesus spoke, Buddha listened...
perhaps we could learn!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Mirrors Past

I look into the mirror
and stare at this face.
Life has gotten dearer.
Time has left its trace.

What happened to the innocence?
Where is that youthful glow?
This isn't the mirror I saw myself in
So many years ago.

Innocence became reality.
Youth gave way to mature
Now I wish I had the mirror
I looked into before.

Mirrors show an image
We may not want to see.
The way we are today.
How we used to be.

Remember while you're looking.
The reflection doesn't last.
Just think of how it was
When you looked In Mirrors Past.

poem by Ashleigh Gaffney
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Image Of Me

I looked in the mirror today. I stared at myself and could not look away. I seen several things within myself. I seen my fears, my mistakes, and my sins. I am unable to see the good within myself. I am only able to see my faults. The only reason i looked into that mirror was becuase of you. There is something about the way you look at me. your eyes are like swords that peirce my soul. They cut me and search me. They have scanned and only found the good in me. they did not find what i found when i looked into the mirror at myself. I wonder why i can't see your image of me when i stare into the mirror.

poem by Andrew Ryan
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In Mirrors Past

I look into the mirror
and stare at this face.
Life has gotten dearer.
Time has left its trace. What happened to the innocence?
Where is that youthful glow?
This isn't the mirror I saw myself in
so many years ago. Innocence became reality.
Youth gave way to mature
Now I wish I had the mirror
I looked into before. Mirrors show an image
We may not want to see.
The way we are today.
How we used to be. Remember while you're looking.
The reflection doesn't last.
Just think of how it was
When you looked In Mirrors Past.

poem by Wendy Marie Georgi
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Just Another Ant....

if sin then has a face,
has it stolen my mirror?
if then a body,
must it seem familiar?
and if a voice,
must it sound familiar?
who do i pretend to be?

that which i hate and despise,
that which i fight against...
be no further away,
than the door to my heart!
and ignorance itself taunts at me,
from the comfort of my chair!

for i am both the song and the noise,
the murderer and the man of peace.
i am both human guilt and eternity's virtue.
i am the wings of angels,
and the anger of the demons!
i am both lust and compassion...
ears that listen, the face turned away.

and i am both hunger,
and the bowl that fills.
i am the blade dripping with blood,
i am the arms protecting the orphan.
i am the storm that destroys the house,
just another ant bearing food to the queen.

and yet.... I AM!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Within....

Buddha's tears...
on the faces of every
hungry child in the world.
Buddha's emptiness,
in the hearts of every
person who has no home.
Buddha's sorrow,
in the eyes of every
victim of the bombings.
Buddha's silence,
at the roar of every
religious fanatic.
Buddha's compassion,
in the dirt of every
human being fallen.
Buddha's forgiveness,
in the anger of every
person driven by prejudice.
Buddha within,
seeks to evolve!
Buddha within,
just to be!
Buddha within,
already there.
Buddha within,
always has been!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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How Mother Looked

You want to look how Mother looked.
Makeup she used to use lies on her
Dressing table in the room father has
Had locked up. You have secreted the
Key and unlocked and closing the door,
Are sitting facing your image in the mirror’s
Glass you’ve propped against a chair. You
Do not have your mother’s hair. You have
Her eyes, Father said, although he says it
Less now since her death, as if stealing
From the dead. You want to transform
Yourself into her; be the woman she was;
Have her beauty; have her smile; her gentle
Manner. Cancer took her like thief at night;
Reduced her to a bag of bones and hanging
Skin, pale and thin. Forget that image, Father
Chides, cast it away, lock behind the mind’s
Dark doors. You want to look how Mother
Looked before her sad demise, before cold
Cancer’s deceit and lies. Still a child, Father
Says, you have all your life to live; leave your
Grief behind, but you want to be as Mother
Was, like the coloured picture in your mind.

poem by Terry Collett
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Male/Female

i find it sad how men,
in their 'infinite wisdom',
throughout the centuries,
have created a male world,
driven by a male ego,
controlled by male wisdom,
under the banner of a male god,
created in the image of man!

and yet the power of creation
has always dwelled in the feminine...
wisdom, passion, eros, beauty,
and even childbirth...
men in their fear of what they
dont understand, and of what they
cant do in themselves...
have always sought to keep the female
down, regulating her to second class
status, keeping her subjugated.

look at how we've ended up! a total
disaster created by self oriented fear!
i think it's time we stepped back, and
looked at the truth!

we wouldnt be here without women...
would have very little understanding
of love and family!
that which moves and flows, creates,
and brings night after day, and day
after night, has always been the feminine...
i stand in awe of woman... can feel her
presence in both the wind and the rain...
the emancipated woman stands at the door,
both mystery and faith by her side!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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One morning I saw a man

One morning I saw a man
who looked at me
with red eyes
and his beard,
was unshaven and grew
rough and untamed.

The man looked familiar
and in the look in his eyes,
was something that hit
into my very soul.

Years was etched into his face
and it told its own story
and I almost did not recognise him,
but the mirror showed my own face.

poem by Gert Strydom
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And You Don’t Remember Me

I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.

She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her

Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.

Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.

I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.

I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.

All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.

poem by David Harris
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Art Will Show To Eternity Your Soul

I am a woman, using a mirror everyday,
Like all of you, i'm seeing my reflection into it,
Even i am sad, happy, tired or bored,
What i'm seeing in my mirror it's my physical reality, my own truth.

I combed my hair and looked into my mirror,
I felt so delicate, unique and simple,
Having a smile on my face today,
My mirror will smile me back as feedback in same way.

I am a painter, i adore art,
In everything i'm painting it's life,
In each painting and spot of paint my brush does,
It's a history of great ideas my minds holds.

A painting is a gate to our inner side,
Through it vibrates the universe to our hearts,
A mirror will always show your face reflection to the world,
But art will show to eternity your soul.

poem by Cristina Teodor
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What Color? (Hope)

what color
was the dust
from which the stars

were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?

what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....

the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?

what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?

what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?

what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?

what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?

nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?

and what color is hope?

poem by Eric Cockrell
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On the Innate Drive For What is Right

As life bled, martyrdom flared its buds.
Repression, red from irritation,
Rendered chinks and cracks; but thuds of
Armament - in cowardice - accomplice of the
Dictatorial blight thro' countless years -
Wreaked its retribution:
Yet hope began to bloom a coloured carapace
Enshrining their allegiance ‘gainst the
Terror in their tears.

And on! Splits yawned - breaches in the junta:
Flesh fought fanatical minds -
Bullets welcomed into open hands
And blessed with yearnings for morality:
Chiselled man-toys of death and mutilation
Couldn't repel the might of freedom
Surging at the bright horizon.

Crepuscular rays of purpose, body,
Flooded pandemonium with
Overwhelming clarity, direction -
Burdened clouds drifting wayward as the
Light channelled out a vision,
Intensifying focus on tomorrow -
Deepen their stride
As they home in to
What is theirs,
Rightfully theirs!

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011

The reign of justice and freedom

justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Picking right side

Why do we keep silence
And keeping silence means
Giving a chance to injustice
Ruled over justice.

Picking the right side
between justice and injustice
Is moral and legal responsibilities
In the present time of global crisis.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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