Crawling Without Feet
women that smoke cigars,
and books that start with the ending.
the things dogs smell
written underneath stones.
the day guns rise up and walk out,
in utter protest.
the long trek cows and pigs and fish make,
on the way to becoming part of you.
the sound potatoes make
when you dig them...
the fire you built before you built it!
the things green beans whisper in the rain,
the groan of tomatoes ripening.
the sound of rust and leaves turning,
the name written in the first autumn chill.
the day we left the sea,
crawling without feet to the land.
and the day we'll return, utter failures,
or with the memory of a thousand small victories.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
The psyche of my beloved
She complains, I don't understand
What more things for her to be done?
I asked her why? Did we not together cry?
Had we not dreamed, did not we see
Had not she moaned along with me
Did I not make her to utter peculiar sound
Did I not make her to shrill out of satiation
Did she not bite me out of every satisfaction
Did we not groan together after every action.
Did we not make murmuring music of life
Did I not make her to giggle and laugh
Did all these things in life for her not enough?
I feel the same for her since the beginning I swear
but frequently she gets angry and moving slowly away far
Lately I understand it is her psyche and wants me to chase her.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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A Chill
a chill in the air,
drinking coffee, and listening
for the groan
of leaves beginning to turn.
and the sight of your eyes
undressing you heart
in the simplest moment...
the wrinkled smile, talking
softly about nothing....
and giving it meaning.
some things just are...
and destiny is a small wind
that blows the falling leaf
into the almost sound
of laughter on your lips...
a chill in the air...
we build a small fire
with the hands of companions,
and lovers.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My plants
My plants
are eaten
by all kinds of vermin.
There are golden beetles
that reaps
the leaves of the beans,
brown buzzing beetles turning in the air
around the tomatoes,
snails that can’t wait
and demolish the leaves
of beans, spinach
and tomatoes.
Indian miners
that feast in their beaks
as if every thing belongs to them.
Even poison that I spread out
doesn’t help a bit
and plants from Mrs. Roberts
that should keep such things in check
grows rampant
and after rains
there are weeds
everywhere,
as if my garden
was prepared only for them.
Even one of the taps breaks
causing water to spray without end
and I have trouble
to bind it down
and have to go to Builders
to get a new one
and this garden man gets fed up
and wants to pull
all of the vegetables out
one by one
and put something else
like flowers into that ground,
until my darling says:
“thank you for the beans,
spinach, carrots and tomatoes
that you placed in the bowls,
can I get a bit of parsley
to put in the salad? ”
poem by Gert Strydom
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Gasping For Light
1
i built a fire in the yard.
slowly walked back into the house.
gathering everything of value.
my books, my clothes, my boots,
old photographs, letters, pictures,
everything i've ever written.
every memory.
took them outside,
and fed them to the fire!
and walked off barefoot
into the night.
2
lover, dance with me!
we call unto each other
from distances, through barriers,
breaking down walls of seperation;
through tears and angry silence,
echoing through the night.
i kiss your eyes, your lips,
the arch of your neck.
your fingertips, your feet,
the inside of your thighs.
your wetness.
you open your eyes,
and the shadow disappears!
3
spirits dance in the moonlight!
a soft wind rustles
through the trees.
the howl of a dog,
car lights on a forgotten road;
a screen door closes softly.
old house wrapped in stillness.
only a faint sound.
the footsteps of God
walking in your heart!
4
i can smell your perfume,
or maybe the scent of rain coming.
i can taste you in the
cool damp earth,
in the blood of a small animal
killed by a passing car,
in the cry of the baby
waking up hungry,
in the web of the spider.
in the hollow of my soul.
5
two moths lost in the darkness,
gasping for light.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Autumn can make me laugh or cry...
I saw the golden aspens glow,
In the bright sun of the day;
I was transported to a place,
Three thousand miles away.
The color of the autumn trees,
Shone in autumn's light;
And the reflection of it all,
Gave me reds and yellows bright.
The splendor of the leaves,
As they are dying,
Can make you weep,
and start you crying.
Tears for all the things that are,
Tears for all the things to be;
Tears for all the things now past,
and tears for pleasant memories.
Fall can make me laugh or cry,
Fall can bring me joy or sorrow;
The changing of the seasons,
Make me anticipate tommorow.
Autumn goes away too soon,
God, please, make it linger;
Tuck away your summer's ring,
and put autumn on your finger.
poem by David Lessard
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If.... (Morning Prayer)
and if there were no more words...
and headstones smelled like feet.
if the shadow of god was just that,
and the ants declared independence.
if the moth died for the cause,
and the wolf roamed free again...
if children buried guns in sandpiles,
and women gave birth on the grass.
if the sound of leaves turning resonated,
and mountains walked at night...
if the smell of the fire was for all,
and every bowl was filled.
if the language of silence was eyes,
and our bodies became wings....
if....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Visions
People hand in hand
Have I lived to see the milk and honey land?
Where hates a dream and love forever stands
Or is this a vision in my mind?
The law was never passed
But somehow all men feel theyre truly free at last.
Have we really gone this far through space and time
Or is this a vision in my mind?
Im not one who make believes
I know that leaves are green
They only turn to brown when autumn comes around
I know just what I say
Todays not yesterday
And all things have an ending
But what Id like to know
Is could a place like this exist so beautiful
Or do we have to find our wings and fly away
To the vision in our mind?
Im not one who make believes
I know that leaves are green
They only change to brown when autumn comes around
I know just what I say
Todays not yesterday
And all things have an ending
But what Id like to know
Is could a place like this exist so beautiful
Or do we have to take our wings and fly away
To the vision in our mind?
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walk Through Fire
(david baerwald/david ricketts)
Darling dont you ride so fast
Dont you want to try to make this thing last
Tell me how can I prove
Id walk through fire
I know youve had a very hard time
No I dont know the facts but Ive seen it in your eyes
And this much is true
Id walk through fire for you
We both have reason to be afraid
But a choice has been made
No love is written in stone
But Ill walk through fire
Through fire
Oh--Ill walk through fire for you
Through fire
cos I know youd do the same for me
Oh baby lets run away
Lets break up some other day
Write love songs and lullabies
Make love while the skies go by
I want to prove
Ill walk through fire for you
We both have reason to be afraid
But a choice has been made
No love is written in stone
But Ill walk through fire
Through fire
Oh--Ill walk through fire for you
Through fire
cos I know youd do the same for me
Flame destroy a love
Flame make it stronger
Forge a blade of love
And satisfy my hunger
So were afraid of love
I cant hide any longer
Well find the courage as we go
Let the little boys pretend
That theyre some kind of supermen
With tough talk and alibis
And flags to defend
Things too young for us to do
But Ill walk through fire for you
We both have reason to be afraid
But a choice has been made
No love is written in stone
But Ill walk through fire
Through fire
Oh--Ill walk through fire for you
Through fire
Maybe someday well walk through fire
Through fire
Oh--Ill walk through fire for you
Through fire
cos I know youd do the same for me
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Land
To the land of bribes,
To the land of telephones,
To the land of corruptions,
To the land of trains,
To the land of shops,
To the land of thieves,
To the land of connections,
To the land of drugs,
To the land of trucks,
To the land of cats,
To the land of Banks,
To the land of dogs, To the land of footballers,
To the land of dragons,
To the land of hope,
To the land of ice-cream,
To the land of potatoes,
To the land of chocolates,
To the land of tomatoes,
To the land of apples,
To the land of coffee,
To the land of lights,
To the land of ships,
To the land of birds,
To the land of tigers,
To the land of carpets,
To the land of pillows,
To the land of lions,
TO the land of toys,
To the land of horses,
To the land of beds,
To the land of roses,
To the land of love,
To the land of passion,
To the land of romance;
I never new women do snore until i married one.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Old Men Remember!
old men remember
things young men never
even see, running headlong
in their quest for battle....
so busy trying to change the world,
trying to mold the world,
trying to make a name,
trying to make a difference....
that they forget to swallow!
and yet when time comes and goes,
it's not the big battles,
not the victories and defeats....
but the small things...
rare moments stolen, and lived...
simple breaths, taken and shared,
when just for an instant,
you could see, you could feel,
both how tiny and how big....
and the taste of awe lingered,
written in the heart of your tongue...
hidden away for the time
when only memory remains!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Street
Here is a long and silent street.
I walk in blackness and I stumble and fall
and rise, and I walk blind, my feet
trampling the silent stones and the dry leaves.
Someone behind me also tramples, stones, leaves:
if I slow down, he slows;
if I run, he runs I turn : nobody.
Everything dark and doorless,
only my steps aware of me,
I turning and turning among these corners
which lead forever to the street
where nobody waits for, nobody follows me,
where I pursue a man who stumbles
and rises and says when he sees me : nobody.
poem by Octavio Paz
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Simply, For You
why is it so hard to talk
to the one you love most...
when time and years and chapters,
testify in tired feet?
the wars have ended,
the guns are now still.
even the storm left,
a candle lit by the bed.
do i know you?
do you know me?
or are we the sound...
of doors opening and closing?
i cant say your name
without something in me dying...
i cant see the sky,
without seeing your face.
are we so old,
has time written our epitaph?
just old polaroids,
in an album boxed up....
i brush against you,
and wolves howl in the moonlight.
the soft look in your eyes,
tastes like rain.
you open your mouth,
and swallows fly...
have i set the nest on fire,
laying brick in the sun?
yet i am not dead,
and neither are you....
you smell like thunder,
i burn in the night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Same Ending...
stories about the lives
of people
i've read them
throughout the night
after work
i hear no footsteps now
on the road
where this window
faces
the trees are as still
as a picture
of trees in colored
books
it is still the usual
sameness of
things arranged
every day and
night
a dog sits
beside my feet with
my brown socks still on
fitting themselves
on yellow
rubber slippers
it is the same ending
composing a
poem like this one
that you are reading
there is no option to
be unique
or different or
outstanding
so you can notice
what i am
not or what can i
be in the
next few minutes
i have no other ambition
but to take another
sound sleep
tonight and so
we have to part ways
again
it is my night now
as another morning in
you begins
to unfold like an umbrella
that you have to take
because you have
conceived another
rain...
well, rain is a good
beginning
as a sound sleep that
visits a very tired man
makes a good
same ending.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The Trail Of Pessoa
i've walked this road for so long,
that i know what silence tastes like.
i hear only the simple sounds,
or the simplicity of sound...
i no longer confuse shadows,
and i sleep with dogs.
owning nothing,
there's nothing i would kill
to purchase!
there are no footprints
in front of me,
i follow no one.
intimate encounters with strangers,
for we are all strangers,
even to ourselves.
perhaps a word or two,
or not...
we share the cup, and the fire.
i have long conversations with trees,
read intimate stories
written in branches and leaves...
sing lovesongs to small pools of water,
pick up the broken shell of the hatchling
with awe....
my eyes bow in reverence
in the presence of women...
small children come to me,
tell me stories about dreams.
we build kingdoms of sticks,
discarded by birds....
stray cats sit on my lap,
i learn the language of paw.
i listen to the wind
humming in the spider's web.
and dead things rest
by the side of my chair...
waiting for dawn, just waiting!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Homeless Man In The South
homeless shelter full;
no spot under the bridge,
too much traffic, and the law.
stole some plastic;
set up a tent down deep
in the woods by the creek....
up above the place where
the cows cross... hauled my
belongings, a few clothes,
books, an old rifle, a coffee pot,
and a few utensils...a little food.
built a small fire... thinking.
what to do? steal a car,
make a run for God knows where?
or just sit here watching my
food and coffee dwindle....
crows cawing in a heavy grey sky....
them cows are starting to look....
like survival!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Have Written My Life Away-Most Of What I Have Written Is Already Lost
I HAVE WRITTEN MY LIFE AWAY- MOST OF WHAT I HAVE WRITTEN IS ALREADY LOST
I have written my life away-
Most of what I have written is already lost-
A portion of the work remains-
And who knows how long it will last?
I will try in the time left
To make it better –
But who knows
It may be like
Much of most things
Not worth keeping-
I have written my life away-
Thank God I had the time to do this.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sons Of The Silent Age
Sons of the silent age
Stand on platforms blank looks and note books
Sit in back rows of city limits
Lay in bed coming and going on easy terms
Sons of the silent age
Pace their rooms like a cells dimensions
Rise for a year or two then make war
Search through their one inch thoughts
Then decide it couldnt be done
Baby, Ill never let you go
All I see is all I know
Lets take another way down (sons of sound and sons of sound)
Baby, baby, Ill never let you down
I cant stand another sound
Lets find another way (sons of sound and sons of sound)
Sons of the silent age
Listen to tracks by sam therapy and king dice
Sons of the silent age
Pick up in bars and cry only once
Sons of the silent age
Make love only once but dream and dream
Dont walk, they just glide in and out of life
They never die, they just go to sleep one day
Baby, I wont ever let you go
All I see is all I know
Lets take another way down (sons of sound and sons of sound)
Oh baby, baby, baby, I wont ever let you down
I cant stand another sound
Lets take another way in (sons of sound and sons of sound)
(sons of sound and sons of sound)
Baby, baby, baby, fire away!
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter is cold
Books in volumes are still unread;
Movies in reams are still unseen;
Places in tones are there un-trodden.
What, if I miss like one? Resigned.
People sought after are left behind;
Women won over are comets burnt;
Things got with a crush are snake-skin casts.
What, if I leave like one? Resigned.
Knowledge bought and got went to rust;
Skills learnt and stored are mere waste;
Goodwill sown and grown were left behind.
What, if I skip like one? Resigned.
Desires recede; no hunger stays.
Value retreats; no regret rests.
‘I count’ tires; depression dies.
Obsession-less is blissfulness.
With greed at naught, no appeasement;
With needs at ebbs, no need to beg;
All seem alike, I take no side.
Obligation-less is bliss state
Once calves bullied; now I dare bulls.
Beggars were seers, seers now beggars.
Stones then were gods; now gods seem stones.
Fear shedding is happiness.
Craving for the best, seeking the high
And searching for identity
Turn puppet plays to my stale eyes.
Disillusioned, I am cheerful.
Parents are gone; heart’s seasoned.
Siblings are left; heart’s hardened.
Children have left; heart’s frozen.
Detachment assures blissfulness.
Leaves in autumn shed without pain;
Lives, the leaves, must shed in autumn,
When they turn green-less and wet-less.
Unshed leaves are unwanted guests.
Seasons are to everything;
Time is there to everything.
Be ready to leave in autumn,
By when turn green-less and wet-less.
To live in winter
Is to pass through hell.
23.03.06
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sleeping on a Night of Autumn Rain
Cold cold 3rd autumn night
Peaceful leisure one old man
Lie late lamp go out after
Sleep beautiful rain sound in
Ash long warm bottle fire
Fragrance increase warm quilt cover
Sawn clear cold not rise
Frost leaf full level red
It's cold this night in autumn's third month,
Peacefully within, a lone old man.
He lies down late, the lamp already gone out,
And beautifully sleeps amid the sound of rain.
The ash inside the vessel still warm from the fire,
Its fragrance increases the warmth of quilt and covers.
When dawn comes, clear and cold, he does not rise,
The red frosted leaves cover the steps.
How Many Women Are Out There?
How many women are out there,
That are looking for a man?
That would fight for what he believes in,
And would do whatever he can.
How many women are out there,
That wish that they could find?
A man that looks at future.
Not the things that are left behind.
How many women are out there,
That seek a man who's true?
When the situation arises,
It's the right thing he will do.
How many women are out there,
Looking for a man with determined heart?
To change the things he needs to change,
To make a brand new start.
How many women are out there,
That are looking for a friend?
One that would always be there for you.
On him you could depend.
How many women are out there,
That are looking for a lover?
To hold you hand when you walk around,
And hold your heart under the covers.
How many women are out there,
Think this man does not exist?
A figment of your imagination.
Is it one you can't resist?
How many women are out there,
That this is your desire?
This is the man you're seeking.
The one who'll light your fire.
How many women are out there,
They think that this man could be?
I'll let you know he does exist.
That man is simply me.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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