Drunk, in the Eyes of God
walking with Rilke
down these varicose streets,
hands trembling, and bruised.
amid the sirens of war
and the stupor of greed;
fish come to the surface
gasping for air...
vacant buildings breathe,
exhaling smoke, and
something else more sinister...
faceless strangers hurry by,
bundled up in their fears.
stone deaf, or just stone!
the door padlocked, and guarded...
flesh becomes shadow...
and stinks... a flock of birds
headed south... blood red
rain beginning to fall...
the call of living
like a faraway train...
that no one dares answer...
drunk, in the eyes of God!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Nothing To Tell, Begin With A Mermaid Story
Accept the fact
The fear that you have nothing to tell anymore
To amuse yourself
writers' block, shutting up, windows closing,
doors locked, mind shrinking,
like the fish vendor who sells rumors & rotten stories
To the streets
You go to the fish market today
Not buying any fish or selling any or even touching gills
so you can breathe
You’re looking for some
Salt
Taking notes of the fish scales discarded
Trashed
Some fish bones & broken fins
some fishermen catching
Broken hearts on their small eyed nets
You go back with fish fins
And fish tails, thicked lippes and round moving eyes
You will start with a mermaid story today.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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440
Accept the fact
The fear that you have nothing to tell anymore
To amuse yourself
writers' block, shutting up, windows closing,
doors locked, mind shrinking,
like the fish vendor who sells rumors & rotten stories
To the streets
You go to the fish market today
Not buying any fish or selling any or even touching gills
so you can breathe
You’re looking for some
Salt
Taking notes of the fish scales discarded
Trashed
Some fish bones & broken fins
some fishermen catching
Broken hearts on their small eyed nets
You go back with fish fins
And fish tails, thick lips and round moving eyes
You will start with a mermaid story today.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fish In The Fishbowl...
i see fish in a bowl
the size of the fish is just
enough for the bowl
and water is half-full
the fish swims freely and
breathes
air and lets it pass through
its lungs and three bubbles
rise up
and then disappears
at the surface
outside the house it is raining
heavily
the news of the river overflowing
the banks
is flashed on tv
warnings are given by the government
evacuation is eminent
carry only those which are necessary
foremost
save lives of the children and
the old sector
we are ready
we are not taking this fish bowl
the fish can take of itself
when we left
the fish flips its fins and breathes faster
releasing more bubbles on the surface of the water
it is the only creature i think
that is happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Three Movements
SHAKESPEAREAN fish swam the sea, far away from land;
Romantic fish swam in nets coming to the hand;
What are all those fish that lie gasping on the strand?
poem by William Butler Yeats
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American Made (Nowhere To Turn)
American made....
in the fields, backs bent,
working the earth....
in the factories,
hands, eyes, and machines,
moving in well oiled unison....
in the mills,
cloth woven into warmth
and cover.....
on the sites,
buildings going up,
block by block.....
in the trucks,
barreling across the highways,
carrying goods coast to coast....
in the hospitals,
skilled hands healing,
hearts with shoes.....
American made,
standing in unemployment lines,
vacant buildings, trucks shut down....
American made....
not needed anymore,
with nowhere to turn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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October Sundown
October sundown
spillt o'er rainswept
mountains undressed,
lit by the Painter's brush;
momentarily...
sucks the oxygen
from the air,
leaving me gasping
for words....
........2........
the hands on the great clock
bent under the weight,
waves pounding hard against
the breakers.
the fire flickers, almost dies,
bursts into flame.
the ghost of longing
walks out of the grave!
........3........
the earth tremors,
tall buildings fall!
the wail of the dying
fills the air...
the stench of blood and
burning flesh chokes the mind...
dark wings thunder
on the distant horizon.
the bells of emptiness
ring like razors....
still beating hearts
held in children's hands!
........4........
October sundown....
....and the night
.............is coming!
leaving me....
...gasping for words!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Muddy Footprints
blue lights in the parking lot,
faceless cars speed by
on rain swept streets....
ghosts march in pedantic rhythm,
in the land of 'no touch, no feel'....
the gas pumps beeping,
always beeping.... shadows
feed shadows... a stray dog
dead on the side of the road....
'can you spare a coupla dollars? '....
heads turn, and walk away....
a young couple walking the tracks....
going nowhere, hand in hand.
you can smell the vacant buildings,
can hear the glass break
on the boarded up windows.....
has anyone a hand, an eye to eye,
muddy footprints where
life should have been!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Survival By Instinct!
police sirens wail,
echoing off empty buildings,
down empty streets...
streets marked by angry blood.
from mouth to fist,
feet never stop moving...
going nowhere,
determined and furious.
the crush of bones
beneath pipe on pavement...
the taste of flesh,
charred and stale.
cities become graveyards,
marker by marker.
no time for names,
only the strong!
and hunger becomes anger
of the darkest kind.
do it for a couple dollars,
and a gallon of gas.
faces contorted,
demons or worse!
survival by instinct,
so close you can smell it!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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Spoken word *Just Breathe
breathe like its your first time or your last
breathe like you just got an A in class
and you have not studied all year, so you don't know how you passed
inhale, exhale, gasp
breathe like its 5pm Friday afternoon
like your 7 yrs old sitting in front of your television watching Saturday cartoons
breathe like a newborn fresh from his mothers womb
breathe, breathe, breathe,
breathe like your favorite team just won the big game
like the girl you've had a crush on actually knows your name
breathe like the guy you've been eying feels the same
like you'll never again feel pain
breathe like the sun just parted the rain
breathe like the whole world has gone crazy
and your the only one left sane
breathe like every other day is a holiday
and the day before that day is pay day
breathe like your son just came home from war
breathe like your kidnapped 12 yr old daughter just came walking through the front door
breathe like you don't know what stress is
breathe like you did when all you wanted was to do what the big kids did
breathe like its the last day of school
like you've worked for 65 yrs and your retiring to your pool
breathe like your family and your word is all you got
like you must hit the bullseye and only have one shot
breathe like you just survived the Holocaust
breathe like the only religion that matters is being a human being
breathe like you would if society followed Dr. King's dream
breathe like its your first time or even your last
poem by Daryl Hennix
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Just Breathe
! Spoken Word!
breathe like its your first breath or even you last
breathe like you just got an A in class
and you have not studied all year, so you don't know how you passed
inhale, exhale, gasp
breathe like its 5pm Friday afternoon
like your 7 yrs old sitting in front of your television watching Saturday cartoons
breathe like a newborn fresh from his mothers womb
breathe, breathe, breathe,
breathe like your favorite team just won the big game
like the girl you've had a crush on actually knows your name
breathe like the guy you've been eying feels the same
like you'll never again feel pain
breathe like the sun just parted the rain
breathe like the whole world has gone crazy
and your the only one left sane
breathe like every other day is a holiday
and the day before that day is pay day
breathe like your son just came home from war
breathe like your kidnapped 12 yr old daughter just came walking through the front door
breathe like you don't know what stress is
breathe like you did when all you wanted was to do what the big kids did
breathe like its the last day of school
like you've worked for 65 yrs and your retiring to your pool
breathe like your family and your word is all you got
like you must hit the bullseye and only have one shot
breathe like you just survived the Holocaust
breathe like the only religion that matters is being a human being
breathe like you would if society followed Dr. King's dream
breathe like its your first time or even your last
Just breathe
poem by Daryl Hennix
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If We Could Be Brought
If we could be brought to the surface
like a gleaming fish and served for supper,
if we could eat and swallow our own life
to make a good meal, if we could go fishing
for ourselves and feed on the gleaming
swimmer below the surface of our skin-
the fish that is our slippery life
and death.
poem by David Ignatow
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Sudden Sureness!
the bullets
in your hands
are the jobs,
houses, and families,
lost to the mouth
that devours....
the dreams burning
like trash on the side
of the road....
the fields empty, turning brown.
cities of ghosts,
empty buildings to streets,
streets that kill with sudden sureness,
leaving no trace,
and no memories!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Fish and the Sky
Once there was a fish living in a stream
Where water was clear and the surface gleam
Food was abundant and large predators away
The fish was passing happily its days
One day the fish looked up and noticed the sky
So blue and endless and free in its eyes
Suddenly it saw a flock of birds moving by
And immediately yearned that it itself could fly
With passing of time the fish’s desire grew
No longer with happiness its mind was ruled
It no more noticed clear water and surface gleam
Lack of predators and abundance of food became unimportant things
Finally the desire was too much for the fish to bear
So, it relentlessly jumped out of water into the air
In doing so the fish met its ultimate death
Devoured by a bird watching its crazy stunt.
poem by Henry Chen
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New Zealand
An earthquake struck New Zealand's city of Christchurch on Tuesday
Burying vehicles under debris and collapsing buildings into the streets.
Police announced a curfew and city was shut down on Wednesday,
Rescuers scrambled to reach beneath the rubble the residents.
The quake devastating the spire of the Cathedraland is a real tale.
The buildings had collapsed and the people were trapped inside.
All around the city, this powerful earthquake strangely bent some rails, Moreover, it toppled the tall buildings and seventy five people died.
The earthquake combination of distance and depth was so deadly,
Streets were strewn with concrete and people were stuck in towers.
Firefighters climbed ladders to pluck people from roofs to safety.
Buildings have gone because aftershocks hit the city within two hours.
Pre-World War buildings were damaged by the quake on September,
People wandered through streets strewn with debris and concrete.
The further damage was caused by a strong aftershock in December.
Now there is a real carnage with bodies littering the streets..
The women went into premature labor and the city was in agony.
The airport was shut down, in ruins the people began to groan,
Every child has been walking home trying to find the lost family.
The city were suffering cuts to the water supply and the phone.
A thirty million tone block of ice sheared off a glacier of New Zealand
After the earthquake had devastated the city groping it into Dark.
The iceberg crashed into a lake had rocked the South Island
Ripping off the Tasman Glacier at Aoraki Mount Cook National Park.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Hunger Is!
broke and busted,
wandering the streets...
with nothing but the clothes
on your back and
the shoes on your feet...
and havent eaten in two days.
the mission's closed,
no soup line today...
and you start staring at the trash cans,
behind houses, behind restaurants.
you watch people walking to their cars,
people going into stores,
hands in their pockets, or
pocketbooks on their shoulders...
just looking for a chance.
numb to the fear, to any feeling,
to the sound of sirens,
to the sound of voices talking and laughing...
and there's no right or wrong...
only then, do you know,
hunger is!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Enough Is Enough
We are the guardians of this world
yet we try to destroy it with greed.
We chop down rainforests here and there
not caring about the wildlife who share it.
We fish certain species to distinction
not thinking what we do.
Mother Nature then says enough is enough
and throws us a few warnings
to take heed and mend our ways.
They come in the shape of violent storms,
floods, earthquakes and such
to show us she means business.
Still we ignore her warnings
carrying on as if nothing has happened.
We just carry on poisoning
everything greed wants to control
until one day and it will come
we will have nothing at all.
Poisoned atmosphere not fit to breathe,
poisoned waters not fit to drink
and cancerous radioactive sore no one can heal.
By that, time it will be too late
greed will have secured that
and this world will die along with us.
13 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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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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Praying For Emptiness!
walking barefoot down the streets
of the holy city...
listening to the sounds,
the whimper, the cry, and the roar...
praying for emptiness....
the clock beats in rhythm
with the sidewalks and the walls.
the smell of burnt flesh
hangs in the air....
'Jesus Saves' painted on a fence....
oil rigs and chemical sprays,
fields filled with unmarked graves.
windows broken, doors sway, rusted hinges,
cars abandoned, vacant buildings,
dead bodies, eyes lost stare!
the spirits of the children
sing haunting and low...
words pierce like nails,
the birds hear and weep....
a hand gun, a needle, half pack of smokes....
nobody saves the night from the dawn!
praying for emptiness...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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America Revisited
put down your crack bowls
and your republican flags...
and let's go walking thru
the streets and alleys of America....
let's walk past the empty houses
with foreclosure signs in the yard...
past the vacant factory buildings
where the homeless break in
at night and sleep...
past the lily white churches
and the dead zone schools...
past the county jails and the courthouses
and the rooms where lawyers
buy and sell justice...
past the housing projects
where babies buy groceries...
down to the tent cities where
dreams hang in the air like opium.
down the dark streets where young
girls and boys sell their bodies
for their vampire pimps...
and everyday citizens buy them!
down to the unemployment offices
where angry people stand in
numbered lines...
past renegade gas pumps
guarded by dollar store slaves...
past the words of Jefferson, Franklin,
and Thomas Paine....
to the hypnotic ads of puffy-faced
liars with titles and plans...
down to the cemetary where
the last shreds of freedom
lie in unmarked graves....
and we call this....
America!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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