Could Bear To Look!
broke down,
system.
faces peeled,
razor knives.
hands cut off,
feet bloodied.
mouths open,
gulping air.
eyes plucked out
by the lies.
souls bartered
for a cup of rice.
flags burning,
bodies strewn.
the well oiled wheel,
turns in spite.
no god,
could bear to look!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Stink
the stink...
human excrement,
starving mouths,
skeleton bodies...
breath short and aching.
blood on the hands,
violent scars that tremble,
in the darkest night,
burning out of control.
hatred fear,
that drives and shatters.
the grip on the cup,
broken, and shaking.
hot love molten,
howl, and moan...
the stars in the sky,
falling like hot knives!
silent prayers,
tongues ripped from mouths,
that move like fish,
praying to the water.
feet walking through mud,
hands covered in ashes.
human hearts beating,
souls rotting with desire!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stolen By The Lie
chained down, spread-eagled,
to the floor of a van....
being taken back to the lie...
that, waving flags, kills babies
not yet born to mothers
without faces or names...
subdue and enslave
in the name of holy freedom...
only held by those
not of color....
marching to the M16 beat
of tyranny driven by oil....
no flags burning?
perhaps they should...
wrapped on the bodies
of souls stolen by the lie!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We... (Stoned By The Struggle)
we, who are stoned by the struggle,
whose faces bear the marks of living.
whose hands tremble a little
as we unbutton the shirt...
whose eyes dim still see.
whose bodies smell like bodies,
whose feet need to be washed.
whose hearts whisper in the empty night,
whose souls restless roam the earth.
whose dreams have become the small things,
whose breath smells of brandy and smoke.
whose doors are unlocked,
whose beds are offered...
we, who are drunk with living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Free Souls
Free Souls
Rise from the depths of the graves hidden way back by a thick fog of hate
Free souls
Surrender themselves to the red moon turned crimson by the blood stolen from their hearts
Free Souls
Tainted Scarlett by the filthy hands that cut their bodies like the cactus begging for moisture
Free Souls
Let out deep sad moans that make no words... moans that are harmonized by betrayal and pain
Moans who's' symphony cuts their ears like razor sharp insults...
Free Souls
Wonder in this circumference filled deep with cold dark debris... blinding them from hopes of ever seeing the morning glow....
Free Souls
Weep thick murky sewage flushed from others insecurities and selfishness
It runs down their eyes and bodies burning every hope of purity they tried to hold on too
Free Souls
Turn their bodies on all humanity as backstabbers throw rusted daggers into their backs
Laughing with disgust as they hope this will be the one way to take their freedom..
Free Souls
Fight to stand tall and peel off that layer on their bodies created by molested mouths breathing fiery words meant to burn their souls but fails as it disfigures their rotten tongues instead
Free Souls
Kneel as they become one with their bodies once again... their heart beat finds a familiar rhythm breathing life into them...
Their blinded eyes widen as their path becomes clear..
Their flesh heals from all the wounds...
Their lips move to the motion of sweet sounds manifesting from their hearts....
Their words shout out in song and praise to themselves... the waves destroying the weapons being cast at them...
Free Souls
Are are free... never to be held captive by chains inflicting sharp pain into their every being
Free Souls
Can now be FREE... free to see the morning glow
I AM NOW FREE.....
Lerato Ladyfair Shuping
January 8th 2009
poem by Lerato Shuping
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Burning Flags
they're burning flags again....
sit down stand up protesting,
cracking heads like eggs,
yolk running down on hallowed ground....
they're burning flags again...
soldier boys coming home
to no work, living in cars,
no help, without a country...
they're burning flags again...
your sister died giving birth.
your brother-in-law cant get work,
making meth in the tub...
crying at night 'neath a picture
of Jesus hanging on the cross....
they're burning flags again...
small town football heroes
in prison cells learning
to live outside the law....
they're burning flags again....
and the words of Jefferson
fall in the empty rooms
where justice and equality lived....
they're burning flags again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Guillotine
the guillotine stands
alone in the square,
the pinnacle of pulse....
that drains the heartbeats....
traffic heavy, horns honking,
hurrying, hurrying....
trucks and buses puffing clouds
of death into the air....
neon signs keeping score.
billboards selling the dream,
street preachers selling Jesus....
corner whores selling themselves....
in sterile rooms atop the skyscrapers,
far from the stink, far from
trash strewn in the alleyways
like tiny lives forgotten,
gum stuck to the shoes.....
they gamble with futures,
trading hungry mouths without faces;
never looking back.... vultures
in black suits and ties...
winning, winning, or losing it all.
while the homeless and the addicts
walk the streets below....
looking for something they cant remember....
light dancing on the razor-like blade.....
heads from bodies, hearts from souls......
profit from the last heartbeat!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Walk The Path In Stillness
walking barefoot...
down alleys dark,
while children play
with garbage and broken glass.
past unlocked doors,
through buildings spent,
left for ghosts and tribal memories.
past walls charred by sweat and time,
left to smolder with empty ache....
to the time before the time before,
when living had a name.
under war torn skies,
over bodies strewn,
and left for birds of prey.
down dusty roads,
holding a child's dark hands,
in shadows anguished pain.
the skies aflame,
as if stars died, and every veil is rent.
to the sound of freedom's hungered drums,
and shadowed wings beating fury.
to the barren room,
the mattress on the floor,
frost upon the pane.
where lovers turned upon the spit,
with bodies made of water.
eyes wide open, living thrust,
tongues tracing maps to destiny.
the hardened cock,
buried in soul's wet lips,
while angels silently prayed.
and the candle burned
till the break of dawn,
and moonlight's final kiss...
the barren room of the empty house,
where eternity revealed!
the field once plowed
has now turned brown...
sparrows pick at the dust.
and scriptures written
in hickory rust,
whispers lost to sound!
battles fought, and flags laid down,
cover caskets that wait for dirt.
the little girl's shoe, the old washtub,
the broken pot beneath the window.
while dogs bark, and ants converse,
and hearts are covered with snow.
the faces of god fade into wood,
stacked and thrown into the fire.
be it dream, be it madness,
or the simple turning of the wheel...
the wind turns with a final kiss,
bare feet walk the path in stillness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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American Tragedy, Channel 36
with hollow faces
and vomited lips,
they turn on the stage
as the people gawk...
enamored with their lies...
both hypnotic and addictive,
they sell an American tragedy
complete with commercials.
the circus wheel turns,
and the roar of the beat
deafens all hearts to the truth.
while out on the street
human mouths bleed,
and the memory of the living
falls back into the shadows....
as great owls swoop the night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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House On Fire
She strides down 7th street
Smokey night - summer heat
Commotion - concrete fires
Where neon souls are burning
His whole life - a hung jury
She was the crime - Wheel's gonna pay
She's got blue steel; cocked and locked
She is Justice - Justice is burning
She's turning the tables upside down
She's like a flame; she's burning higher
She's like a house on fire - House on fire
Wheel feels lucky - drinkin' blind
One track mind - sheer distraction
Steps on cracks, breakin' backs
Nothin's sacred on the other side
He turns left - she turns right
They both step through the veil of night
Cold blue steel reflection
And Wheel's got nowhere to hide
She's turning the tables upside down
She's like a flame; she's burning higher
She's like a house on fire - House on fire
Players of passion playing with fire
Streetlights are flashing but who are they for
Fisted love fueling fantasy
Is love worth the fire he's asking for
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A New Day!
lay down your guns,
your knives, your flags.
get out of your tanks,
your planes, get off
of your carriers.
stop the bombs,
the rhetoric, the patriotic march....
unball your fists, open your hands.
proclaim this a new day....
the first day of forever...
when humanity decided
to become human again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Boss Of The Nethers
The cupped cervix sat
on the coffee table.
We tried not to stare,
like our pupils would get fried by its brightness.
Perhaps my ex-wife left it as a reminder of the time
when human beings had hips, back when we had bodies.
Yes, that was fun-a cupcake of breeze disintegrating
on our cheeks, a banana muffin undressing in our nostrils,
but bodies broke down too,
and things are easier now.
Strange, how we see further without eyeballs. Our eyes tricked us
into thinking a wall was something not be seen through.
Mouths got in the way
of saying what needed saying.
When they were invented
mouths were only supposed to be used in emergencies,
but we couldn't resist,
which made god so mad
he ripped our ear in half,
and still we didn't listen.
poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
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Stone broke & lonely
Stone broke & lonely, we only have each other
For peace & serenity we will view the clear sky,
parents long gone, we have our Earth Mother
so sad, our bodies too tired to cry, too tired to cry
Stone broke & lonely, the world needs our charity
sold our dreams to the man in the black suit
the debt collector is calling for his fee,
trees so stunted, bear the bitterest fruit
Stone broke & lonely, the world is in need
the first world is counting the mouths they must feed
the banks are being helped by those who they f***ed,
we'll see you in hell, if you make the first cut..
poem by Jason Jackson
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On Crumpled Things
the brittle piece of chalk
crumples on the floor from the
hands of an angry teacher
her feet stamping upon
us, fragile and no longer
eager to learn
our first view on the violent
nature of those
monsters behaving
like gods
on crumpled things turning
into powder
in the same manner that
bodies turn
to ash
to dust
but must these gods know
inside those crumpled things and bodies
is the air that they have
not seen
the faces of our souls
passing through the storms and rain
rising to find for once
their homes in the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Happy Moment
inside an old restaurant
i order hot choco
and sweet rice cake
not so expensive
and we are not so hungry
but oh my
when we finally take the glances
of our faces
the glow of our eyes
burning like fire
we want to consume more
we want to be consumed the more
hungry for love we leave the place
the fires still burning in our hearts
the rain outside
can never put off what was burning inside us
love is always and shall always be
unstoppable,
unquenchable, insatiable like a burning ball of fire
in the space of our desires
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gods Of War!
you have made your gods
in your own image.
and so you follow war
to the brink of your own
extinction!
yet the mouths of the souls
that you starve and slaughter,
speak the names of the god
that you've forgotten!
she answers with faces,
faces you choose not to see!
you dig the graves of your children,
to feed the beast within!
you arm yourselves with moral justice,
dress the lie in prideful prejudice.
but the howl in the night
is not the wind!
it is the cry of the blood
on your hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Five Sacred Truths
nonviolence...
hands open and empty,
hearts open and given.
bodies laid before feet,
spirit given for direction.
no gun, no hatred,
no fear, no greed...
can put out the light
of compassion!
truth...
accepting nothing less,
settling for nothing less...
at all costs, without hesitation.
freedom...
has to be for all
to be for one!
equality, diversity,
responsibility...
community, family!
sacred...
all that lives,
formed by the formless...
respect and awareness.
communicate...
real people using real ears
to listen, real hearts to feel,
real hands to reach out,
real souls to stand by!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Burning Down
]from the back of my neck, oh oh oh
Wired a glass jaw, oh oh
Plantation burning your boat is coming in
Strum your jews-harp, youre reeking gin
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
Johnny mike is reading in the yard
His storys timely, oh oh oh
What river is it anyway, radio
Not in a boat, in your ear
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
You pick your island in the sun
Take your island off hes got a gun
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
Hes cooking in the woods, a brush fire in your neck
Feeling mighty mighty, oh oh oh
You can pick your island in the sun
Take your island off hes got a gun
Running water in a sinking boat
Going under but theyve got your goat
Burning down - my hands are tied my feet are bound
Burning down - cant you see that my hands are bound
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It All Comes True
I stand here a black man I have no history
I was brought up in east chicago and I grew up on the streets
The chains around the playground were the chains around my heart
The brand upon my shoulder well it reminds you who you are
Chorus:
And it all comes true yes it all comes true
Like a wheel inside a wheel it turns on you
And you think, what have I done? what can I do?
What you believe about yourself
It all comes true
I was just a young girl my mother called me hon
My father was unhappy cause I should have been his son
They said, learn to be a waitress and learn to be a wife
And be thankful for a chance to live an ordinary life
Chorus:
And it all comes true yes it all comes true
Like a wheel inside a wheel it turns on you
And you think, what have I done? what can I do?
What you believe about yourself
It all comes true
My life is a contradiction of sorrow and desire
I drag my heart across the ash to throw it on the fire
Maybe theres a reason and could there be a plan
Or are we all just fools to think well understand
Chorus:
And it all comes true yes it all comes true
Like a wheel inside a wheel it turns on you
And you think, what have I done? what can I do?
What you believe about yourself
It all comes true
And it all comes true yes it all comes true
Like a wheel inside a wheel it turns on you
And you think, what have I done? what can I do?
What you believe about yourself
It all comes true
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Improvisurrealism
Dawn's light…bone white
a sky seeming void
of all color
Breath fogging into the air
Wasted bodies and tormented faces
Ice blue eyes
And sharp glacial glare
Highlights in shadow
Bright as cold chrome
Faces round and cratered
Like the moon
Skies skewered
By skeins of blackbirds
Crazed cry… in the dark…
Of a loon
Walls discolored
By exhalations and memories
Memories thought to be
Safely hidden behind
Rheumy, tinted eyes
Souls seared black …about the edges
Weightless and ghostly
Adorned with garlands
Of the prettiest of lies
Without whisper of sound
Fans slowly strobing
In the whine of vain effort
Push humidity around
In the gloom
Foghorns moaning
Like lost souls of the sea…
Drowned, damned and doomed!
Whose only want
Is everything…
And things that
Cannot be
poem by David Whalen
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Sacrilege
mercury, and bullets,
the dead dont lie!
the used bear the marks,
on their backs, in their eyes.
and the price of the present,
the childrens' lives.
we bury our dreams
with guns and knives.
the earth weeps for us,
as the sky falls down.
cant see beyond our mouths,
cant hear the sound...
and the tears of the fallen,
stand like puddles of rain.
you can wash your hands,
cant wash off the stain.
we trade pictures of God
for money and dope.
push the helpless to the limit,
and furnish the rope.
never thinking we'll pay
the cost of our sins....
the voices of the children
lost to the ravenous wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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