Cocoon (Illusions)
illusions...
sand blown by the wind....
the reflection of fire
on the coldest of nights;
the cry of the empty rice bowl.
the violin played in an empty room.
sunlight glaring off fresh fallen snow.
the axe and the boots
standing alone in a corner...
the ticket takers through a glass window....
oil pumping into the mouths
of starving children....
the exploding bombs, bayonets
draped in bright colored flags.
the moment you give,
as if by accident;
and then steal away,
wrapped tight in your cocoon!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Fallen, Empty, And Broken
fallen soldier
fallen sky
fallen angel
from on high
fallen heartache
fallen soul
fallen man
losing control
empty bed
empty arms
empty dreams
empty heart
empty wallet
empty hands
cant take nothin'
from an empty man
broken promises
broken vows
broken spirit
wont allow
broken fences
broken lives
broken tomorrows
broken nights
fallen, empty, and broken
every road is the same
bent, bruised, and shaken
still numb from the pain
now you dont answer
when i call out your name
fallen, empty, and broken
walking in the rain...
fallen, empty, and broken...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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What Have I To Fear?
if death be but a step,
a flower fallen with silent shouts...
a kiss blown by wind but never lost,
a friend who tends the grave.
a hymn, a prayer, kind words spoken,
a drink at a corner table.
a book placed back on the shelf,
a child's drawing done in crayon.
a door closed, left unlocked,
cattle left in the pasture all night.
an empty bowel, a candle burned down,
a sparrow sitting outside the window.
a shovel of dirt, a broken glass,
boots left in the corner.
the dog's leg cocked,
the fire burned down....
the still darkness waiting on dawn.
the river overflowed,
the cage door opened...
then what have i to fear?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sky
It was 16 degrees below freezing today.
The sky was blue, bright and vast.
I looked more closely at the sky
And it was suffused by sunlight, the same bright sunlight
That you are bathed in.
There was a corner of the sky that was grey and empty
Where you usually are.
I resolved to look more deeply, more intensely
At this vacant part of the majestic sky.
The deeper I concentrated, the more you emerged
And I found you again, in the sky of my mind
In the tapestry of my feelings and thoughts.
Across wide continents, you are here
And the empty part of the sky dissolves
Into a rich portrait of your days and nights
Where the earth beneath our feet unites.
poem by Frank Bana
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Givers Takers
life is full of givers
stealers of life takers...
givers give to all races
takers take leave empty spaces...
it is impossible to give to compulsive takers
takers never satisfied with deleting happy faces...
life is full of givers
givers give to all races...
stealers of life takers
takers take leave empty spaces...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Disciplined
like a disciplined cat
he sits on the chair
on a motionless scale
staring at an empty
breakfast table
an empty cup
an empty bowl
on those empty hours
she expects him to say
meow
but he didn't
in an hour he left and
tells the wind about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Woman (Standing At The Sink)
old woman,
standing at the sink,
flannel shirt and panties....
washing dishes with knowing hands,
sunlight through the window dancing
on the strands of grey in her hair....
an old cat rubbing against her ankles....
bombs exploding, new world's emerging...
even the nails in the walls
whisper the coming change!
blackbirds carry the message of snow,
the old woodstove crackles and smokes....
somewhere they're painting banners
and buildings with freedom's song....
he sits motionless, brush in hand,
watching an old woman...
...standing at the sink!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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0194 At last
At last I’m old enough
old enough not to be
embarrassed when
it happens
it can be when
some athlete stands
and mouths the words of
their national anthem
as the flag waves
or a young musician
makes their first, fresh
debut playing some
often played classic
as if it had never
been played before
or a cloud passes and
the sunlight reaches into
the room and says
look at this crystal vase,
look at this flower
look at this dewdrop
or someone who was anyone
a moment ago
smiles
oh so many so little big things and
my chest heaves, shudders,
and my heart not my eyes
is shaking with tears which
cannot be explained but
only recognised for
whence they come
beyond tears
at last I’m old enough
not to be embarrassed
by this joy
though
I make the excuse
to go into another room
in case
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Love Sometimes Goes Out Of The Window
when two mouths go hungry
when there is no glass
or water
when the house is empty
or when there is nothing
to even smell
when everything are but shadows
of a bat
when the only song is the song of
an earthworm
that you can hear only in your mind
there is no use of playing
games to delay
the flight of love out of the window.
love also needs a little convenience
such as a glass of orange juice
a slice of cake
and air that enters a room
to sleep
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The art of living
at the center of my room
delight
on fresh roses
like your
red lips
on my bed
soft and warm silk blankets
strawberry juice on the side table
and cherry on the
glass
the window is open
fresh air from the sea
cools the room
silence is gold here
and solitude is silver
every moment is
a moment
every hour is not a rush
but on softer touch
every inch of skin
is a caress
every thought is
beautiful
every reality is true
embracing and embraced
this is the art of living
every second a relaxation
sleep comes on cat's feet
like a cloud drifting away
peace in the corner
privacy in my door
and yes, love is always
air-conditioned.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Cant Go There
[kenny:]
You know that restaurant on highway 1
With the key lime pie that song the sand and the sun
Where we ran in our barefeet
Built a castle on the beach
Just the wind,the rocks, the waves and you and me
[chorus:]
I cant go there
Cuz thats just too much us
I cant go there
I still feel your touch
Theres places in my heart and head that feel as empty as our bed
So most nights I dont even walk upstairs
Cuz I cant go there
Remember san francisco on that cable car
Our reflection in the window of that store
How we danced the night away
With the lights out on the bay
Then wound up in a blanket on the floor
[chorus:]
I cant go there
Cuz friscos too much us
I cant go there
I still feel your touch
Now theres places in my heart and head that
Still feel as empty as our bed
So most nights I dont even walk upstairs
Cuz I cant go there
If it was only florida or california
Maybe I could let myself move on
But its everywhere weve been
And everywhere I turn
I cant love again
Cuz Ive learned
That I cant go there
Its somethin I cant do
I cant go there
Ill run into you
I cant go there
[tim mcgraw:]
When the sun shines, when it rains
Christmas parties, football games
[kenny:] I cant go there
[tim:] winter, summer, fall or spring
I see you in everything
I cant go there..
Its too much us
I cant go there
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Can't Go There (acoustic)
I Can't Go There"
(feat. Tim McGraw)
[Kenny:]
You know that restaurant on highway 1
With the key lime pie that song the sand and the sun
Where we ran in our barefeet
Built a castle on the beach
Just the wind,the rocks, the waves and you and me
[Chorus:]
I can't go there
Cuz thats just too much us
I can't go there
I still feel your touch
Theres places in my heart and head that feel as empty as our bed
So most nights i dont even walk upstairs
Cuz I can't go there
Remember San Francisco on that cable car
Our reflection in the window of that store
How we danced the night away
With the lights out on the bay
Then wound up in a blanket on the floor
[Chorus:]
I can't go there
Cuz 'Friscos too much us
I can't go there
I still feel your touch
Now theres places in my heart and head that
still feel as empty as our bed
So most nights i dont even walk upstairs
Cuz i can't go there
If it was only Florida or California
Maybe I could let myself move on
But its everywhere we've been
And everywhere I turn
I can't love again
Cuz i've learned
That I can't go there
Its somethin i can't do
I can't go there
I'll run into you
I can't go there
[Tim Mcgraw:]
When the sun shines, when it rains
Christmas parties, football games
[Kenny:] I can't go there
[Tim:] Winter, summer, fall or spring
I see you in everything
I can't go there..
Its too much us
I can't go there
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Boxes
woke up to Voltaire
and Tolstoy, black coffee,
and cigarettes....
heavy fog on a crooked road,
Christmas lights blinking,
and a dead stillness....
the moan of empty houses,
empty factories, empty streets,
and the whisper of children,
food stamps hung in their stockings!
an old stray cat waiting to be fed,
and the heaviness of the mongrels,
left to work the streets.
somewhere bells are ringing,
right here not the scent;
a cross painted on a brick wall,
empty boxes blown by the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Empty time, empty place. Empty heart, empty space.
Empty time, empty place.
Empty heart, empty space.
Give a little, fight a war
Take a lot, there is more.
Left to die, all alone.
Blackened sins to atone.
In a place by a stream,
in a dark, empty dream.
In a room candles glow.
Truth prevails if you know.
Something sweet and something blue.
Something with a natural hue.
Beauty at Dusk
The room is stilled
dimmed by evening light through
shuttered blinds
A perfect evening, summer spring
treees laced with early leaves
bright fields, sunlight on windowglass
an empty room
and silence
the brightness of the dusk is
blinding - more glaring than noon in dust
and the silence splinters with shrill throated birds
and distant laughter
til the laughter and the song seem silent too
part of the peace that oppresses this room
the beauty is too perfect
too real for me
poem by Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
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Nameless!
if the wind took a body,
would it wear your face?
if it inhabited stone,
would you use it to build temples,
to worship in?
or simple walkways
for your soul to walk?
if it became anger,
would it sweep away
the violent guns of war?
if it became compassion,
would it turn rivers
to find those that thirst?
if it became a bowl,
would you fill it with rice?
if it became rice,
would you be the bowl?
if it became kindness,
would it sing to those alone?
would it blow away the tears
of the helpless and hopeless?
would it fill the empty
with that which cannot be held?
if it revealed itself as god,
would you try to capture it with form?
that which is free cannot be contained.
that which is spirit cannot be defined.
that which is limitless cannot be limited....
that which is nameless cannot be named!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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What If God......
what if god is a dog,
or a fallen leaf?
the pebble that bruised your foot,
dust on the windowpane.
that old milk cow,
the stall that needs cleaned.
the plow caked with dirt,
the bag of seeds.
the fallen tree,
or the gust of wind.
rainwater in a barrel,
the pile of trash in the alley.
the river rising,
the eyes of the owl.
the upside down bat,
the darkness of the cave.
moonlight sifting through branches,
the leader of the ants.
the word the hand speaks,
when it brushes away tears.
the hatred of the ignorant
that weeps when no one sees.
a cup of coffee,
or a bowl of rice.
the smell of failure,
asking for forgiveness.
the baby bird that fell,
the nest left empty.
the child born,
that no one wants.
the disease that kills,
snow on the ground.
the old bridge that shakes,
the lantern waiting to be lit.
the last page of the book,
that no one reads!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Empty Room
Empty room, empty room
How am I gonna fill U?
How am I gonna fill this empty room?
Lonely hearts, worlds apart
Why must they be broken?
How am I gonna ever fill this empty room?
And what is wrong when love is strong?
Why can't it last 4ever?
How could U go and leave me all alone?
Tears fall on barren walls
But what's the use in cryin'?
I gotta find a way 2 fill this empty room
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Small Lamp
the small lamp
beside the bed in the empty room,
burns strong with silence,
and waits without reason.
the pawprint of the dog
beneath the window,
identifying emptiness.
and the broom in the corner,
stands ever on guard.
the book of passage unread,
urine stained sheets.
even god almighty
cant control the wind,
that blows through the window,
and fills the room.
while babies are born,
and wars are stopped.
yet the earth waits without breath,
for the coming of love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Say a Prayer for Darfur (Revised)
Say a Prayer for Darfur (Revised) (Warning for Mature Audience, violence depicted)
Darfur, yesterday,
Cozy, thatched huts,
Shining in the sun, nestled in the sand.
Darfur, yesterday,
Brightly-garbed, graceful women, friendly, strong men.
And the children…
The children,
Running and leaping,
Playing and laughing.
Today, a grinning skull
Hangs like the moon,
Over a gutted Darfur.
For Death came to Darfur,
Draped with murder and mayhem,
Wrapped in hate, lusting for power, land and oil…
Death came to Darfur,
On the backs of camels, driving trucks,
Wielding fire, sticks, bullets and bombs.
Today, behold, Darfur,
Burned, charred huts, starving children,
Dead bodies baking in the sun,
Untold numbers of women raped,
A tiny baby beaten to death,
Rumors of school children being burned alive!
Villagers locked in their huts and cremated, alive.
Children with noses cut off and eyes pulled out,
The village of Labado lies like an agonized, charred corpse.
Come, weep with me,
Pray with me,
For Death camps in Darfur!
poem by Mary Naylor
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