Capitalism (The Sword)
capitalism...
the sword of the godless
raised against the children
left without a country!
the fire never quenched,
that consumes the nameless,
and scorches the feet
of those of conscience.
the empty house padlocked,
the stove unlit...
the vampire kneeling
before the cross of the lie!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Dead Dont Cry
the dead dont cry,
they weep...
for the undone deeds
of the living...
for the work not finished,
the cup left half-empty,
the song that no one heard.
for the deaf ears,
and the blinded eyes.
for the callous heart,
the spirit left in chains.
for the house half finished,
and the home abandoned.
for the love left holding
the purse, and the scar!
for the holy child
born out of wedlock...
for the table left empty,
the chairs that long and pine.
for the touch that failed,
the quivering lip unseen.
for the pot left empty,
and the fire untended.
for the bodies walking
who have no face...
for the latched door,
and the candle unlit...
the dead dont cry,
they weep...
and the sound of their weeping
shakes the earth!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Snake; an oracle of oath
The godless men worship the snake
The godless men take oath in name of snake
And the curse comes upon wrongdoer
The godless men take oath in the name of snake
And blessing rains upon the innocent
The godless men take oath in the name of snake
And snake bitten dead the lair
And snake spare life of the truer
Despite snake answers to godless men
No votive or thank given to snake, the god
So the stopped the men to swear
By it name, snake said men used
Thunder and fire for swearing instead of it name
As snake disowned the godless men
Hex fallen upon
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Love The Children!
when the money is gone,
and they've taken everything away...
they padlocked your house,
and repoed your car...
the years have passed,
have taken their toll.
even the fires of love,
burned down to embers...
at the end of the day,
at the end of the road...
all you have left are the children.
they carry your heart
to a new day and a new world...
love the children!
every child that is born
carries the holy seed.
whatever it takes,
love the children!
a Jesus, a Buddha, a JFK,
a Gandhi, an Einstein,
a Whitman, a Jefferson...
maybe a stronger, better,
reflection of you!
love the children!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Woman Is Fire
There was a time when Woman went out of house, house of wax was left by Woman, Woman with waxen complexion I was, I was fiery Woman, Woman's body was a wax, Woman's eyes a flammable paraffin, what Woman's mouth was: withered red apples when Woman was fired out of house. House was invisible when Woman took a fire lamp and went to cheer in the smell of fallen apples, scattered around house, our moldy house. In the cold night Woman molded her body in a candle mould to revive old fire and saw Man that gathered apple stalks from moldy apple trees. It was a lonely man, Man that made a fire with waxed paper and moldering apple stalks. Man that sat outdoors on a moldy wooden bench by that fire and drunk applejack.
Woman saw Man, Man that felt Woman's looks through apple shaped embers bursting out of fire when wet apple leaves dried. Fire was a necessity for Man, for Man made his living being a fire-eater. The fire-eater wanted fire that gives birth, of fireworks, exploding fire. Man moved a long green apple stalk through fire to burn fire more. Man took a dropp and swallowed it. Man took another dropp and spat it into the fire. Suddenly Man realized what he needed and waxed on a piece of paper: fire must drink applejack for fire is becoming moldy, and he spat what he drunk mingled with apple-tasting spit. House is moldy too, Woman remembered and woman's heart became a rotten apple.. Fire was quenching as Woman closed her eyelids, apple peels, longing for house. House may be moldy, but house is not empty. Woman molded house the like, house full of candle lights and fireflies. Woman left Man's fire quenched and remained an apple scented candle. House melts easily and hardens quickly, Woman too. Woman abandoned Man not to be melt. That is old fire in Woman, as she stalks on apple waxed earth toward house.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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Capitalism And Conquer
capitalism and conquer,
sword of an angry god,
feeding the hunger of take....
one person over another,
just and holy rewards...
the losers per judgement,
have no place in your kingdom....
but the hallways of your hearts,
ring empty and tainted....
as the house that you built
falls in on you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Slow Elapse of Time Too Little
Two small dogs barking at the wind
bees buzzing right in front of the nose
gossip and laughter coming from women gathered
the lone man's cigarette and beer can
the unlit candle the fallen pen
the empty watering can a single chopstick
the bare table the meal upon the stove
long gaps of silence between two brothers
filled by the crickets and low flying jets
the wheels inching up the incline of the drive
the statue of the angel kneeling the dirt on his wings
a rusty shovel crumpled leaves
moment of anticipation following the sound of the doorbell
the slow elapse of time too little
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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I Had A Vampire
I had a dream about a vampire
His hair was fair with flames
His eyes sparkled like sapphire
Only a few who knew his name.
He had big and bulky muscles
And he stood around 6 feet tall
Only the bravest of the bravest
And the fearless of them all
Would ever be so valliant
As to even walk up to the tree
Where this monster awaits for dinner,
And say 'Lord, be with me.'
The bravest of the bravest
And the fearless of them all
Would take upon this vampire
And possibly make it fall.
He drew his sword out of his sheath,
And approached the wicked beast
For it leaped into the air
And onto him the very least.
Man slung his sword left and right,
But vampire had already won
With a bite of pearly white fangs
The evil deed was done.
But wait why is he standing up?
Man was a man no more
For vampire only bit once,
And the venom had the score.
Two vampires now there are,
Out to get the strong ones
The men who think superior
And did what had to be done.
Now an army of vampires,
Each one different but the same
Hung to the courage they had
Still a few hold their name
Of man, though they were not man,
But they had a man's willpower
To overcome this evilness
And fight hour after hour
Against the two strongest monsters,
The ones who started the fall
They tore away the bravest of the bravest
And the fearless of them all.
The one with the hair of flames
And blue sapphire eyes
Leapt onto one of the biggest
And he fell down in surprise.
Vampire ripped him to pieces,
Shredded him apart
Tearing out the only thing needed,
His no-longer beating heart.
Vampire took down all the men
The whole army one by one
This time he made sure of it
And knew he finally won.
I woke up surprisingly happy
Knowing the vampire with flame
Had won an evil victory
But I still didn't know his name
Until one day I met him
In another one of my dreams
Or maybe it was real
Nothing is what it seems.
Whether it be a dream or real,
I woke up a vampire.
With flowing hair of flames
And he was my only desire.
poem by Rebecca Ryan
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Little House Made Out Of Logs
I was raised in a little house
Made out of logs
Had a dirt chimney
Made from moss
Cut out windows
No glass at all
Little house
Made out of logs
Never swept any floor
Made out of dirt
You don't see any more
Kerosene lamps
Water from the spring
Makes me thirsty again
Raised on potatoes and cornbread
Wood stove was all we had
Never thought much about the holidays
Just a season for another time and place
Can't forget how I was raised
Makes you learn to appreciate
I could do the same in time
Little log house
On my mind
poem by Monette Paul
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The House Beside The Road
The house beside the road,
Where people lived
And children played,
Is empty now
And falling down.
The echos of happy feet
Are heard now,
Tapping to the sound
Of Poppy's fiddle,
But the house beside the road
Is empty.
When a gentle voice
Is heard in the house,
It's only a singing breeze
Sifting itself through
The cracks in the roof of
The house beside the road.
poem by Scarlett Treat
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I'd Cross a Fire
I'd Cross a Fire
I'd Cross a Fire,
To move heaven and earth to keep you by my side!
I'd Cross a Fire,
To climb to a mountain top to shout I love you!
I'd Cross a Fire,
To swim the deepest ocean to see the smile on you!
I'd Cross a Fire,
To walk a thousand miles just to see you!
I'd Cross a Fire,
To keep your love forever in my heart
I'd Cross a Fire,
To keep us bonded together never apart!
poem by Sharon Kubeck
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Oh House! So Empty
Oh House! So empty.
My love was wasted.
Oh House! So empty.
No joy was tasted.
Oh House! So empty.
No children within.
Oh House! So empty.
No God just sin.
poem by Saint Eule
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Cynicism, and Hope
as i grow older
my cynicism grows...
i've grown tired of paper kingdoms
& dreams that end
with the taste of blood in my mouth.
i do not believe that
God lives in synagogues & churches,
or in the exhortations of evangelists,
or in the rituals of priests...
or in hell-fire & damnation,
the sword of judgement, the end of time,
or in holy graves...
i see God in the eyes...
the eyes of small children,
of homeless men beneath the bridge...
in the eyes of young lovers
madly lost in each other...
in the eyes of the old woman dying
in the empty house where she raised her children...
in the eyes of the activist arrested
& confined to a cold cell for believing
in human rights...
in the eyes of the addict
whose life is lost in the hole of the memory
that the needle fills...
in the eyes of dead soldiers
forever staring into the rage of war...
in the eyes of those struggling to survive
drowning in the despair of cold reality...
in the eyes that stare at me in the night,
& wont let me sleep without feeling...
in the eyes of the dog lying faithfully at my feet,
with no need to be anywhere else...
who is this God? of form & formless,
of light and shadow, dissolving, redefining...
who's not always male, but often female!
not owned, and not owning....
like the waves that carve the shore,
& leave it nameless...
(hungry for the footprints
of human desire!)
not aloof, but immersed,
almost drunk with sadness & joy...
not bound by dwelling or canyon,
but as free as the wind
that cant be spoken!
do i believe? yes! madly! ecstatically!
in life, & stillness, & even death!
in the song that takes no prisoners,
leaving dew in the parched grass...
& in the Lover who opens & closes the door
of eternity in the human heart...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Splitting The Light
then I saw and we knew
a single light spark
buried unlit
a single breath mark
of a misfit
lighting a fire for two
then I heard and we tried
a single right word
shyly uttered
almost unheard
I frozen muttered
before it died
then I smelled ashes and we ran
a single step covered all dust
left the world living in a den
left each stammer rotten and rust
then there was the hand I raised
a left heart beat but the hand was right
my sunward eyes stood still amazed
at the horizons splitting the light
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sestina
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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This House Is Empty Now
(costello/bacharach)
These rooms play tricks upon you
Remember when they were always filled with laughter
But now theyre quite deserted
They seem to just echo voices raised in anger
Maybe you will see my face
Reflected there on the pane
In the window up above for long
In broken home
Yet this house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
These walls were lined with pictures
Remember the glass we charged in celebration
But now I fill my life up
With all that I can to deaden this sensation
Do you recognize the face
Fixed in that fine silver frame
Were you really so unhappy there
You never said
So this house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do to make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
Oh, if I could just become forgetful
When night seems endless
Does the extinguished candle care
About the darkness
Its funny how the memory
Will bring you so close then make you disappear
Meanwhile all our friends must choose
Who they will favour, who they will lose
Hang the garland high, or close the door
Or throw away the key
This house is empty now
Theres no one living here
You have to care about
This house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
This house is empty now
This house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
This house is empty now
This house is empty now
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alone
it is embarrassing to me
to be a citizen of this country,
or any country, where
acts of prejudice and
racial hatred are still committed
on a regular basis...
where people can run for office,
and win, backed by the dollars
of prejudice....
where minorities, children,
and women are treated
with disrespect....
where the elite 10% are filthy rich,
and are not taxed! ...
while many of us go without food,
housing, or medical care...
where our children are shipped
off to fight money wars,
or left to die in our prisons....
where crooked businessmen
are more respected than teachers,
nurses, farmers, and carpenters....
where the morality of those
that lead is the pursuit of the dollar,
and freedom is an illusion....
where human dignity has been traded
and sold on the slave blocks of capitalism....
am i alone?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fire and Light
Fire and light, fire and light
we were fire and light
before the world began
we shown like stars
now enclosed in flesh
like fireflies in jars
we forget we emit light
and a flame that consumes
Like the earth inside the core
or the lamps inside a room
we are like our Maker
fire and light, fire light,
a love that consumes the cold and night.
poem by J. E. Carpenter
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After
How empty after Christmas day,
When children leave our house for home.
Their absences after holiday,
Has left our house a catacomb.
(A Quatrain)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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I Left Something Turned On At Home
(billy lawson/john schweers)
Well boys I hate to leave good company
But my baby just called me on the phone
And from the sound of her voice, I simply have no choice
I left something turned on at home
Well I just put a quarter in the jukebox
And it aint halfway through my favorite song
But if I dont leave right now my whole place might burn down
cause I left something turned on at home
It aint the stove, it aint the heater
Shes hotter and a whole lot sweeter
And all day long shes been there alone
Right now her arms are open, the house is probably smokin'
cause I left something turned on at home
Hey waitress could you cancel that order
But if its too late Ill take it to go
Boys I gotta run fore somebody calls 911
cause I left something turned on at home
It aint the stove, it aint the heater
Shes hotter and a whole lot sweeter
And all day long shes been there alone
Right now her arms are open, the house is probably smokin'
cause I left something turned on at home
Right now her arms are open, the house is probably smokin'
cause I left something turned on at home
Yeah I left something turned on at home
song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cross And Sword
The symbol for the Crusade is the sword!
Now, turn the sword upside down and then,
You will have the 'sign of the cross';
Because, the cross came from,
The symbol of the very swords they carried in killing others! !
Yes, the 'sword' turned upside down becomes the 'cross'.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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