Cry Of The Lonely...
i have heard the cry of the lonely,
the tree bent with grief for the ocean.
the squirrel who dreams of wings,
the mountain melting with need to wander.
the child orphaned by war or poverty,
the monk on fire for a world that's blind...
the beaten body in the prison cell,
the door opened, no one there.
the naked body weeping on an empty bed,
the voice calling without echo.
the tongue that walks the rainy night...
the moon hidden by clouds cold and distant.
the lonesome sound of the faraway train,
the lover who walks the garden...
the empty streets, the hollowed houses,
where not even the scent of memory lingers.
the bruised hand stuck in the pocket,
the letter never addressed.
the flower that bloomed, and no one saw,
the bent nail on the back of the shed....
the candle snuffed.... the last words lost...
lips swollen, set, and driven...
am i the cry, or just the shell,
that brushes against your heart without name?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Eternity Then..... (One Small Flicker)
eternity then,
one small flicker of the flame,
a comma in the book of life,
the point where roads meet,
and diverge...
a tiny shard of broken glass,
a dropp of sweat on the back of a worker,
ejaculation, and echo...
each vein of the leaf turning,
a stray dog's turd.
the creak of the wheel that needs geased,
the sound between the gunshot
and the thud of the body.
the moment just after the body is covered.
the whisper of an empty plate,
the marching order of the ants.
the silence when your lover walks out the door.
the color of the bent nail,
the wrinkle on the pillow.
the shout for peace no one hears,
the rattle of justice breaking chains.
the flap of wings when the bird lifts off.
the groan of the mountain stripped.
the funeral dirge of oil stricken fishes.
the turn of the key in the lock.
the sound of god's footsteps,
the mourning cry of the empty room.
the brush of hands when the spirit shudders,
the tremble of lips forgotten.
the collision of ending and beginning,
but a moment, memory, and dust!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Embrace!
body bruised,
burning in the fire
that consumes and names!
living by hunger,
fed my memory...
and the scent of something
from that faraway shore!
stories written in ashes,
the crackle and the smoke...
winter, and stillness.
but the light still burns,
the room stark and empty!
hand extended,
naked, unashamed!
calling forth the lover
dressed in flesh and touch!
breathe on me!
softly blow the ashes....
still fire beneath...
waiting for embrace!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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The Cross On Your Hill
tis the beat of sorrow
that undresses the body of god.
the wind driven by need
that blows out the candle.
and the darkness that holds suffering
that wraps around the desire...
tis my tongue nailed
to the cross on your hill.
i run with the wolves,
and swim with the whales.
i know the sound of the bullet striking,
and the echo of the fall.
i taste the empty of the cup
held by the grimy hand...
i've stood by the fires,
where lost souls shuffle and stomp.
i am heart and hand,
penis, and spirit.
i am the madness,
and the ear sliced off.
i want, i need,
i breathe with the earth.
i'll stand by your window
when the moonlight fails.
clouds, wind, and whispering spirits,
your lips, your eyes...
i cant escape!
and all the dreams
and the journeys,
are nothing more...
the wars have ended,
my love just begun!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Was Not Born To Follow # 2
i am the nail half-bent,
....tossed to the side,
......rusted by the rain.
the body of the young man shot
...left in the streets,
.....the bullet, and the silence.
the trembling hand that lights the pipe,
....and the anger deep inside.
......the young woman giving birth,
the light that screams for darkness.
...the door latch broken
.....on the vacant house,
and the roar of the empty.
...the waves that break the barricade,
.....leaving dead fish on the sand.
the telegram sent,
...the casket, the flag,
.....the mother's tears unspoken.
the ache, the crucifix, the reaching hand,
......the family left 'neath the bridge;
........the orphaned child, the jobless bum,
i was not born to follow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Empty Arms
Empty arms
That long for you
And they wait
Dear just for you
And these arms
Will stay this way
Till you return
To them someday
Each lonely night
I go to bed
I hug the pillow
Where you used to lay your head
Empty arms
But not for long
Cause my babys coming home
And when he
Walks through the door
These empty arms
Ill have no more
And when he
Walks through that door
These empty arms
Ill have no more
These empty arms
Ill have no more
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arabah
My tears bath my pillow in the night like a river and,
My bed soaks all around me in the night like a lake;
But to whom shall i keep my peace with when,
I am lost in the ocean of the night?
Praise so be to you who understands my problem,
For how long can i swim to you on this river of love?
I am lost, naked lonely;
And i need your ture love to carry me on.
I am lost on this side of the river and,
How can i swim through this ocean of love?
Since, the woes of the night is all over me.
You can hear the noise of the river and,
You also see the pains to my movements;
But the sea of love to my heart is like this lake around me.
Come and carry me over this ocean,
Come and take me to the other side of love;
And like two lovers lost in the deep blue sea,
Why should my night be so long on your love?
This night needs an escape to your love zone,
So come oh my lover and take me across the sea;
And, why should this trap run over me without my lover?
For the cold of the night had also traped me than thought.
Come oh my lover and see me through,
For i am very lonely and naked;
And there comes the river of my tears again.
I have to overcome this lake and rushed into the ocean,
For your sweet love is enough to see me through the waves of the sea.
Why should this occur to me when, i am cold and lonely?
For a beggar knows his own lover and the blind knows his own way;
But i am alone and lost in my dreams.
Come oh my lover,
Come and see mee through;
Arabah is your name and, i will overcome this water by your sweet love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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In A Spider's Web
there is a voice
calling me from
that distant shore...
a voice familiar
as my own....
there is a place
where dreams are born...
and then given form;
where fire is discovered
anew every day!
there is a mountain
that no one has climbed...
a river no man has seen.
there is a cave that
goes on forever....
a path no foot has trod.
there is a flower
that only blooms once...
every million years or so.
a horn no lips have blown;
a song known only by the wind....
that distant shore,
so far, so near.....
a cosmos in a tiny shell....
a rainbow hidden in a feather,
the history of all life
woven in a spider's web!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Flickering Candle
With a flickering candle,
she walks the streets alone
looking for her lover
who failed to come home.
Is he in the arms of someone new?
Has he forsaken her
only time will tell?
Until then she walks alone
with a flickering candle as a friend.
Each night you will see her
calling out his name
as the shadows fall,
never receiving a reply
to her pleading call.
28 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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Always Walking, Never Alone!
always walking, never alone...
be it the wind,
whose voice has comforted me
for longer than i can remember.
be it darkness,
my lover, passion unfolding.
be it the lights in unknown houses,
signaling life to the traveller.
be it the whisper of stone,
and wood aging and holding.
be it the cry of emptiness,
vacant buildings, desolate streets.
be it the smells of food cooking,
of woodsmoke, of flesh on flesh.
be it the taste of rain,
the cold touch of falling snow.
be it the stillness of graves,
row upon row, life upon life.
my god walks with me,
naked in the night.
we listen for the whimper of babies,
the meow of stray cats.
for the sound of the shot,
and the body falling.
for the key turning the lock,
and the creaking of the swing.
for the perfume of the pines,
for the man picking up the trash.
for the heart moaning
low and gutteral in need.
for the sound of the man weeping,
having given up,
and the woman that holds him.
for the prayers of small children,
and the echoes of longing...
always walking, never alone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Headstones....
i am the headstones without inscriptions,
i am old boots that dont have a face.
i am the grey beard, and the morning pains,
and conversations with parking meters.
i am the leaf that waited for a thousand years,
(or so it seemed, if not longer) ...
now turning in the furious rage of passion,
and tomorrow i will fall!
i am a snowflake on the lips of time,
the wheel steady in the worst of storms.
i am the child that died at three years of age,
that never learned to read or write.
i am first love, and the first kiss.
the first hunt by grandpa's side.
i am the salmon that swam upstream,
to sacrifice its soul for your pleasure.
i am the memory of bears and buffalo.
i am the kerosene shacks of poverty.
i am the naked corpse of love,
the nail bent in the board of the bridge.
i am the last hawk in the last sky,
the last orgasm of the trembling hand.
i am the gun unloaded and laid aside,
the incredible roar of peace.
i am the mother and child, refugees of war,
i am the bodies stacked in the nameless ditch.
i am the sound god makes choked by tears,
and the crayon in the hand of the infidel child.
i am the naked body of the ecstatic dance,
i am the smell and taste of passion.
i am the way the air feels,
when the bird flaps its wings.
i am the name that cant be spoken!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Dark Dreams
I'm in the dark
And I'm lost
In my mind, screaming
Through the empty
Space, filled with no light
All I hear is my echo
I listen and hear the echo
Of silent breaking through the dark
Nothingness that consumes any light
That I don't see, in this lost
Place of empty
Dreaming, in which I scream
Soon as it stops, the screaming
High painful cry, and the echo
Fades, leaving me again in the empty
Hallow thoughts of my dark
Sleep, and wander through my mind lost
Of what I had, it was my light
What I had was like a warm light
That held me from the bitter screaming
Of the cold, it found me when I was lost
It covered me like a blanket, and echoed
Through my soul, with it I was never in the dark
And never left empty
Now, in my sleep, I am empty
The warm blanket of hte light
No longer holds me, but exposes me to the dark
And painful piercing screams
Of my own voice echoing
In my nightmares of what I've lost
I am lost
In the emptiness
Of my own pain, that echoes
Through me, and all I want again is the light
For it I scream
In my dreams, but all I get in the dark
I dream of the dark and I'm lost
My screaming is only heard by the empty
Space in my mind, where light shined, but there is only echo.
poem by Nicole Hiebing
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Erotic Scene pt 2
Our fantasie start breathin the
moment our lips touches each
others, bed full of roses as the
ships flows on the atlantic ocean we
flow on it.Candle light dance to
the fresh air, our hands oiling
our body, her tongue find it way
on my body, emotion finds it way
through the door of our hearts
and it grow stronght towards
the sky. The scent that knows our
body fill the room to brim, fast and
with courage we battle each other
to get to the top, the words of
pressure sink out of our mouths
wowooo we are back.
poem by Enyinwa Okechukwu Enyinwa
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I Could Be The Moon
i could be the moon
where you can be a body and a
shadow
i could be a lake where
the moon may shine
and you can still be the body
and the shadow
and the voice
i could be a candle in the dark
where you may put
your hope and you can still be the
body and the shadow
and the scent
i could all be your moon
your lake and your candle
and you can still be the body and the shadow
and you shall walk
under me (if i were the moon)
and around me (if i were the lake)
and you may have the power
to put me off (if i were just a candle
in the dark
where you are the body
and the shadow and the voice
and by the mere sigh
of your whimper
i may die
so i still prefer to be your moon
or your lake so i can be your full light
so i can be your mirror
larger than your body
not helpless to your shadow
in silence, i still like to be myself
not a slave, not someone whom you can just
give away as easily as a flicker of a candle
as fickle as you are
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Remember
This morning there’s empty glasses
with the smell of St. Anna
standing on the table.
The long right-angle candle still flickers
as a sole witness
and its as if your scent
is still clinging to my body
and I remember your tongue
that twisted round mine
and how big your eyes looked
in the candlelight
how pretty your hairless labia
looked this morning
while your hand was stroking
over the hairs at my sex,
how you folded open like a flower
and how we melted into each other
when I exploded in you
and heard your heart beating faintly
and now that you are
back at home again
and I have to do my thing here,
are you still remembering
this morning and last night?
And when the sun sets tonight
will you then also think of me
and will you heart
still gambol?
poem by Gert Strydom
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New Born Baby
If only I could come
and more and more
and night light shed its wings of fire
leaving me in a darken path
and long keep me with empty pocket
and to kiss empty glass
but today is the night
with joy of a new born baby
just not another night
only if I could walk with you
with full of money to drink with you
with night after night to shed
Ripples of song
and a kisses of new born baby
but today is desserted
with empty pocket to enjoy
in search of you
Whenever there is a darkness,
I thank you understand my ways
poem by Thampi KEE
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Flying without wings
i could surf the sky without my wings,
yes i can reach the sky with your blue eyes
moon, if only you believe in me
i don't even needs a wings to dive, when
i know that your are there, ready to catch
me when everything is on high
i know i can tell you that beyond that dark
clouds, you still awaits me in the shadow
of that sky
i can now ask, the reason why when iam
almost there i heard an alluring voice of
sound asking me to lay my wings
i know where my heart tremble, shaking
shouting for joy, for where ever i close my
eyes my ears listen to your voice of love
tell me then if my soul echo in a distance
land who reveals the melody of my heart,
and the spirit of your wings lingers on beneath
the horizon of my heaven
come my wings, fly and bring me to the
place where no wind could blew my dream
for only in you i will hold on to the sky of
dreams
poem by Antonio Liao
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On Seeing You...
On Seeing You...
The body that so far felt
Like a hollow shell
Thrown on the beach
By a vagrant child
The body that so far felt
Like an empty piece of severed bamboo
Fallen on an untread forest path
No longer felt hollow or empty
The shell vibrated with the roar of the sea
The bamboo set ripples of mystic music on the waves
Strangely enough, even the half-moon
Sprayed brightness on the dark niches
Your joy resonated in my heart
Sealing all the crevices and pushed the body
Towards the one loved…
Ah, the stuff dreams are made of
13 May 2011
Evening
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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God, I Know Mine Do!
perhaps the lips of god tremble....
with the death of every child out of season.
with the padlock on the door of the foreclosed house,
with the bullied child hanging in the closet.
with every call to war and flag that's raised,
with the bare feet of the poverty dwellings.
with the unemployed man making bathtub met,
the girl trading sex for a high...
with every affluent sneer,
and every indifferent stare.
with every tree cut for no reason,
and every tanker spilling oil.
with every dog taken to the pound,
with every racial slur.
with every elderly person left to eat dogfood,
with every unmarked grave.
with every moment of religious pretense,
with every shirt made in a sweatshop.
with every illegal immigrant shot and killed,
with every tick of the clock in an empty room.
with every tear shed by the lonely,
with every act of discrimination.
with every state sponsored execution,
with every woman denied medical care.
with every child born and orphaned,
with every woman beaten and abused....
perhaps the lips of god tremble....
god, i know mine do!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The flower's scent-Sonnet
The flower's scent for the moon's highness
Is like red of hero leaving his battle far away!
Forever he lives with his induced blindness
'Cause his courage disappeared in the spring of May!
The honest Helen of Troy in her inner fire bent
Her strange memory there wanting forever to lye!
Don't blush her truth and the flower's scent
Don't ever stir the scent of any opened lie.
The indifference and the hate usually can twist
The power of the Rainbow-Queen with a false tear
The rose of the flower's sense maybe don't exist
Even when looking after them very, very near!
The realistic cruelty of any clever black heart
Is to make the sense of any blame a work of art.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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