Buddha Thoughts (Hands On The Clock)
the old woman
shot and killed
the boy that broke in
and tried to rob her...
she sat staring into space
while the policemen
did their job...
suddenly she began to weep...
they tried to comfort her,
but she just wept harder.
they told her it was over,
that she was all right.
she finally spoke in a broken voice:
'i was thinking about my son...'
'where is he? we'll get him
for you, bring him to you...'
'he's in prison... he got messed up
on pills... ran out, and robbed a store...
he killed the woman behind the counter.'
frozen in deathlike silence,
one by one, they looked down.
they loaded the body into the wagon,
her old cat ran from the porch...
an empty swing hung from a gnarled old tree...
a small trail of blood,
and there was no wind!
her old Bible unopened...
the hands on the clock kept crawling.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Smoking Gun
The old perverbial smoking gun
as they say
just for fun
I shot it one day
shot it into a tree
the sap began to seep
down on my knee
I began to weep
I thought I killed it dead
being a child
something in my head
just went wild
I'm glad it was a tree
and not a person
or I would forever be
in a prison
the tree never died
its alive today
I still cried
and put my gun away
poem by Ernest Clary
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Paranoid
I picked him up-
just released from
mental health treatment-
they'd drugged him
to some nth degree
and I could feel him
looking out the car window
deciphering hospital life
from the outside highway realities.
We pass road kill
and he yelled stop! stop!
I stopped, backed up and he got out
to have a look.
A dead cat, mauled
and bloody.
He got down on the road
and began to weep and cry out.
'What? what? ' I said thinking they had damaged him.
He said 'they killed him.'
'Who? '
'This cat.'
'Who killed him? '
'They did.'
'He was hit by a car, ' I said.
'No, no, ' he said.
He was not hit by a car, he said staring at me.
'They killed him in the bushes
and dragged him up here
to make look like an accident.'
He then looked at my startled face steadily and suddenly
laughed.
'Just a little paranoid joke' he said.
We laughed all the way home.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Death Papers... (Part Four)
i name the bullet, the noose,
the needle, and the disease.
the failing heart,
the body bent and broken,
the moment that breath is taken...
for you have not killed me!
i name the war, the planes,
the bombs, and the guns.
the lying flags,
and oil tainted chants.
the strike, the stab,
the tearing of flesh...
for you have not killed me!
i name the empty plate,
the orphaned bed
by the endless road.
the goon squads of indifference.
the prison cell, the alleys burning...
for you have not killed me!
i name the love that ends,
the heart that's broken.
the tidal wave of loss,
and darkness without feeling.
the empty hand and the empty heart...
for you have not killed me!
i watch the body burnt
on despair's self engraved altar...
wondering...
'could that be me? '
and with laughing wings
reach for the sky...
that has no end, or name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Hung Me
It's dead, it'd dead you killed it all
you fucked me over, you watched me fall
the life you sucked right out of me
dead you hung me from tree.
My blood spills out onto the ground
it screams, it cries without a sound
there is no victory here for me
dead you hung me from a tree.
You can run but you can't hide
you'll try to say it's suicide
torn apart for all to see
dead you hung me from a tree.
I'll prove to you your world is wrong
your power has gone on way to long
watch my body swing so free
dead you hung me from a tree.
Free from you I find my peace
in a grave that's six feet deep
the cage unlocked, I found the key
dead you hung me from a tree.
poem by CJA Anderson
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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 Am... (Tongue)
i am...
the tongue that sleeps inside the mouth.
the erection that falls on darkened alone.
the crack of thunder over distant hills.
the simple prayer of a child in need.
the whore, the thief, and the addict.
the liar who leads running from himself.
the young girl sold in the cattle stalls.
the shot fired before guilt could breathe.
the hammer, the nails, and hands that know.
the woman giving birth, her screams, her desire.
the fallen priest, and the migrant worker.
the truck loaded with a lifetime's ghosts.
the father, the mother, and the empty house.
the well run dry, the roof that leaks.
the willow tree, and the mockingbird.
the citizens killed by the armed squad.
the activist buried without a word.
the woman strong, the man bent and broken.
the tears of an unknown god
falling on the earth scorched and smoking!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (The Branch, Part Two)
i am...
the orphaned child and the abandoned dog,
the woman raped, the young man killed.
i am the body hanging alone and cold,
the old woman shaking in an empty room.
i am the young girl taken and enslaved,
the needle, the spoon, and the revolver.
i am black skinned, brown skinned anger,
and the bones of bodies hidden...
the speaker of truth detained and tortured,
the invisible trail left behind.
i am...
the rage of jobless, homeless, hopeless...
the unemployment line and the sweat shop.
i am the family living in a stolen car,
and the child who runs away.
i am the store clerk killed by the robber,
her minimum wage death unnoticed.
i am the shadow crossing the border,
the inmate that breaks and runs.
i am the guns silenced,
and the lies revealed...
i am human rebellion.
i am the branch covered by leaves,
waiting for certain autumn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Question
AND so in the death-darkened chamber they met,
The woman that once he had loved and the one he loved yet—
The wife who had warped his desire and the woman he could not forget.
They stood by the bier where between them he slept,
And the love he had lost in his wife to her swimming eyes leapt;
But the woman his life had belonged to—his paramour—spoke not nor wept.
It was only a story of sated desire—
Of a love merely sensual burnt to an ash by its fire,
And a husband who turned to a more luscious love that was his for the hire.
All had sinned. For the husband had killed by his clutch,
Rough-handed, the fruit of a love that had dropped at his touch.
One woman's great sin was not loving, his wife's was in loving too much.
And so he had died; it was over at last;
And across him the two women looked at each other aghast—
Across his cold corse, and across the cold corse of the loathsome dead Past!
Then the smouldering love of the wife leapt to flame,
And she poured forth her kisses upon him, and called on his name.
But the other said “No, he is nothing to you; soul and body I claim!”
They looked at each other awhile. Said the wife wearily,
“He is mine; for I loved him, and ever shall love him; let be!”
But the other sneered, “No, he is mine, and mine only, because he loved me!”
Then the two laid their hands on the body between;
And fought for it, wife against paramour, fiercely, unseen—
For the body diseased and polluted, as ever his spirit had been.
And this is a question for answer in Hell:
To which of the two did his spirit belong, can you tell?
Think, was it the woman he loved, or the one who had loved him too well?
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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The World Of Killers
a killer to killed by a gun
when he counting a body of one his murder
a killer with a gun
behind our killer under sun
she have seen his job
she looked at him and his murder
she shot a bullet to his heart
he died
she looked at his blood
two murder in the park
one killer above them
looked at them
and again she killed with a gun
one killer hidden behind the wall
he killed her
with a snip
snipper behind the wall on the roof
looked at bodies in the park
he died too
with a bomb
into his bag
killer after killer
to killing oldest killers
the wild world
with the killers
requested one human between this animals
this killers
poem by Aidin Azarkerdar
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I Am.... (Your Lover)
i am the broken branch,
blown by the wind.
the key left in the door,
of the empty house.
i am the creek spilled over,
the frog on the bank.
the pot stained by time,
half filled with water.
the young woman giving birth,
and the nurse by her side.
the box of canned goods,
left on the porch.
i am the body naked,
sleeping on the silent bed.
the son killed in the war,
the picture on the wall.
i am the softness of the moth,
long left the body.
i am the kiss of lovers,
at the risk of loss.
i am the body of words,
sent without hope or destination.
i am the hand you thought wind,
blowing the hair from your face.
i am try inspite of,
i am hunger expressed.
the tongue round your heart,
the tear that comes unannounced!
i am the face of the lonely,
and the feet of the pilgrim.
i am your lover,
clothed in rain and mud!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hard Headed Woman
(words & music by claude demetruis)
Well a hard headed woman,
A soft hearted man
Been the cause of trouble
Ever since the world began.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been
A thorn in the side of man.
Now adam told to eve,
Listen here to me,
Dont you let me catch you
Messin round that apple tree.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been
A thorn in the side of man.
Now samson told delilah
Loud and clear,
Keep your cotton pickin fingers
Out my curly hair.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been
A thorn in the side of man.
I heard about a king
Who was doin swell
Till he started playing
With that evil jezebel.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been a thorn in the side of man.
I got a woman,
A head like a rock.
If she ever went away
Id cry around the clock.
Oh yeah, ever since the world began
A hard headed woman been
A thorn in the side of man.
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Execution
Execution
Ann had killed two men, for that she was fated to
die, there had been many appeals, they were in
vain; the governor too, not a man of much emotion,
had turned his manicured thumbs down.
Ann had been in our prison, five years now and had
become a friend and it was us, her keepers, whose
task it was to end her life, this woman who felt safe
in our jail, but she had brutally killed two men.
She asked us to be in the death room with her and
we spoke to her as she was injected with lethal drugs
and slipped away. A murderess that had killed her
father and brother, but refused to tell anyone why.
I was alone in the office when the phone rang,
the governor himself on the line, it was his birthday
and if it wasn’t too late her life could be spared.
“Too late? Ok! A killer, guess she deserved to die.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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His Own Small Store
he's just an old man...
working behind the counter
of his own small store
for forty years...
the young toughs
kept robbing him...
grabbing stuff off the shelves
and running...
threatening him,
and the old woman...
till they lived in fear
day and night...
then they went too far!
coming across the counter
and grabbing him by the collar:
'give me the money, old man! '
quick, and sudden,
the gunshot rings out...
the young tough falls
to the floor in a
puddle of blood...
now the old man's going to court
for excessive use of force,
and an unregistered handgun...
to the halls of justice,
sterile and cold...
the stench of dignity dying
fills the air...
and the hands on the clock
cant be turned back!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Companions....
we are not two...
we are one!
the distance between us
is our silence.
the bridge that joins,
again our silence!
the scent of the shadow,
is only me.
i looked in the mirror,
and saw your face.
raised the fork to my mouth,
and fed your hunger.
you raise the cup,
and my lips part.
i breathe,
and your eyes open.
my skin has no color,
yours changes with the seasons.
i plant a tree,
you rake the grass.
i weep for the hungry,
you weep for the homeless.
we keep building boats,
and giving them away.
i am a man, a woman,
you a woman, a man...
we are the earth,
redeeming herself!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Old Man, Old Woman
Old man, old man
Cussing on the street
To an old woman
About the money for the meat
Old man, old man
Knocked the woman down
She hit him back so hard
That he start to spin around
Old man, old man
Just wont let it end
He hit the woman back
And she spent him aroung again
Old man, old man
Never gone to stop-
She pulled a knife
Sliced him once
There the old man droped
Old man, old man
Nothing do he say
Three-hundred fifty bucks
For the plot where he lay
Old woman, old woman
Sent off to jail
She was to slow inside
That she caught a lot of hell
Old woman, old woman
Finally made parole
She bought a spoon, rented a room
Just above the store
Old woman, old woman
Had a midnight fright
A youngest from the neighborhood
Broke her with his knife.
poem by David E. Patton
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The snake was in the tree
The snake was in the tree
and watched the woman and man
and both of them were free
and at the woman he looked
and both were innocent and happy.
He wanted the woman for himself
as she was beautiful
and had some grace
and in his plans
the man had no place,
but of all of this
Eve heard never a word.
She was on her back
and looked at the blue sky
and the shadow of Adam
fell over her
and his smile he couldn’t hide.
His hands was like magic
and he spoke of love
and of God
and they were one
with the setting sun
and God smiled
and blessed all lovers
in His new world
called earth.
poem by Gert Strydom
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He's a Woman - She's a Man
I saw it walkin' lonely down the street
Cool like a cat, like crazy clean
I looked twice again, I can't believe
Oh no no no
It turned around right then
And looked at me
I said oh no, it really couldn't be
It was a man, it was a woman, too
He's a woman, she's a man
He's a woman, she's a (woman)
I think it really came from far away
I'm feeling head uptight so I have to stay
It takes my hand and says come on, let's go
Let's go, let's go, let's go
We're goin' home, it's nice and warm to say
He starts to move, she starts to play
I need a body, why not you
He's a woman, she's a man
He's a woman, she's a (woman)
He's a woman, she's a man
He's a woman, she's a (woman)
song performed by by Scorpions, music by Rudolf Schenker, lyrics by Klaus Meine, Herman Rarebell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chauvinist
I’d never really comprehended such a mighty range of
Shapes and sizes down behind, it’s really rather strange:
The buttock muscle in a woman, overlaid with fat
Is actually such a focal point for men to want to pat
Or squeeze, and then to tease her if it’s eminently stout,
Or even risk a stay in clink to sting it with a clout!
After all, we men are tuned to be that way inclined –
And tho’ our needs are varied, girls, they’re all perverse of mind!
Best of all, our sacred dream: to see her shed her gown
When gliding to the shower for the ritual sponging down.
But then alas! With body lathered, oops! she drops the soap;
‘Please! ’ we beg her, ‘bend and bare! ’ But we can only hope!
I’m sure by now you get the picture – like a rule of thumb –
That men like me obsess all day about the fairer bum.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
My dreams are of a
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Samson & Delilah
If I had my way, I would tear this old building down.
Well delilah was a woman, she was fine and fair,
She had good looks, God knows, and coal black hair,
Delilah she gained old samsons mind.
When first he saw this woman, you know he couldnt believe his mind.
Delilah she climbed up on samsons knee,
Said tell me where your strength lies if you please.
She spoke so kind and she talked so fair,
Well samson said, delilah cut off my hair.
You can shave my head, clean as my hand
And my strength will become as natural as any old man.
If I had my way, if I had my way, if I had my way,
I would tear this old building down.
You read about samson, all from his works,
He was the strongest man that ever had lived on earth.
One day when samson was walking along,
Looked down on the ground, he saw an old jawbone.
He stretched out his arm, God knows, chains broke like thread,
When he got to moving, ten thousand was dead.
If I had my way, if I had my way, if I had my way,
I would tear this old building down.
Now samson and the lion, they got in a tack,
Samson he crawled up on the lions back.
You read about this lion, he killed a man with his paws,
But samson got his hands around that lions jaws.
He ripped the beast till he killed him dead.
The bees made honey in the lions head.
If I had my way, if I had my way, if I had my way,
I would tear this old building down.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Responsible.... (Poet's Heart)
i am responsible....
for the child dying of starvation,
whatever color, whatever country.
for the young Muslim child alone,
his family killed by the bombs.
for the addict shaking on the street corner,
for the young girl selling her body
on that same corner.
for the family kicked out of their house,
who have nowhere to go.
for the young angry men in prison,
for the victims of the crimes.
for the stink of poverty,
and the abuse of wealth.
for the planes, the bombs,
the guns and the flags...
for the political prisoners who spoke out.
for the elderly going without food and lights,
trying to pay for their medicine.
for the victims of racism and prejudice,
and those that wave that banner.
for the preacher, the thief,
the murderer, and the lost....
for the woman treated as less.
for the young man who commits suicide,
and for those that caused his desperation.
for the immigrant killed crossing the border,
hoping against hope for his family.
for the 'moral' who cant feel,
for those who feel, those who suffer.
for the bones of those we've killed
on our journey to civilization.
for the Jew, the Christian,
the Hindu, the Muslim, and the Buddhist...
of equal worth and value.
for the atheist, the doubter, the searcher,
and those who question all.
for the man, the woman, and the child.
for the sins of the past,
and the path to the future.
i am responsible...
because i am human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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