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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Related quotes
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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Fogging Up The Windows
the sound of a small child crying
hungry in the night
of a young woman sleepless
waiting for daylight
the sound of church bells ringing
not too far away
the sound of an old man dying
remembering how to pray
the sound of two hearts breaking
a thousand miles apart
of the last tear a fallin'
unseen in the dark
the sound of lifetimes wasted
of a love that didnt last
the sound of memories forgotten
of a time already past
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
the sound of the nails driven
into His screaming hands
the sound of salvation
entrusted to a man
the sound of bodies falling
of buildings swept by flame
the sound of different voices
whose souls are the same
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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The Sadness of The Empty Home
The light flickers on
Illuminates the empty hallway
The thud, click of a door in closing
Brings a silence to the room
A heavy sigh escapes
A look to the mirror sees only
Tired eyes looking back
A bag lain upon the small table
The light turned back off
On route to yet another room
Light creeps through the window
Allowing enough to see
The sound of a running tap
Filling the kettle for a final drink
Keys thrown upon a side
The clatter of cups and spoons
Then further silence
Now the creaking of a staircase
Another door opened
Another light flicked on
The curtains drawn to the world
Drink set beside the bed
The silence of the empty home
Fills the heart with loneliness
A television switched into life
Nothing worth watching
Just a sound there to fill
The silence and the sadness
Of the empty home
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Stone Riddles (For Ahmed Khaled)
question...
fire consumes,
but gives...
money...
buys possessions,
owns you...
love...
heart broken,
living pieces.
war...
impotent men
waving swords!
death,
body given,
spirit taken.
passion,
rain falling,
drops whisper!
anger,
fear frustrated,
turning inwards.
hunger,
empty bowl,
empty soul!
lover,
hears, feels,
respects, touches.
God,
human faces,
dawn's body!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Which Side Do You Belong To?
i hear the cry of the hawk and the rabbit,
i feel the talons tearing flesh.
i smell gunpowder, and bodies burning,
i hear the sound of boots on the road.
the groan of the tanks turning without faces,
the buzz of the drones flying above.
the mechanical order, as life is destroyed,
the cry of babies on their mother's dead breasts.
the mourning sisters who bury their brothers.
light making shadows on all the colors of skin.
the shout of the flags, the bowls left empty.
the bolt of the rifle, the knife slid from the sheath,
the sound of the falling just before impact.
the cry for freedom on the lips of the martyr.
the pages of the holy book turned down forever.
the prayer of justice over equality's grave.
the soldiers of poverty who fought against all odds.
the sound of dead elders drawing in their breath.
the wind named liberty howling and lost.
the fingers of the child touching dead lips.
the song of the bruise, the scar, and the dream.
the smell of flesh bartered for hope.
the last drink of daylight, the dark night unending.
the face of eternity in slivers of moonlight.
the star of humanity falling from the sky.
the presence of god, and the absence of presence.
the mountains crumbling, the rivers gone dry.
the last trees walking into the distance.
the sound of the chisel carving in stone,
the last tear wept by the shadow called being.
and i turn and i stand in the name of dignity,
holding in my hands the pages of history.
the moment lost to vast infinity...
saying, tis now, or never,
truth counts the cost...
which side do you belong to?
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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Eternity, And Such...
eternity, and such...
the stain in the coffee cup,
the holes in the old man's underwear.
the rough tongue of a stray cat,
the shadow moving in the alley.
the trail left by the snail,
paper cups blown by the wind.
the blood left on the highway,
the dog dead in the ditch.
the glass shattered on the floor,
the stink of the body
three days after...
the limb torn from the tree
by the memory of storm.
your pillow, my hat,
a shot of brandy in an empty room.
the sound the heart makes...
when no one can hear!
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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A Moment Of You
small tiny prayers,
passing thoughts,
a moment of you....
maybe just the sunlight
sifting through the blinds,
the wind blowing a branch
against the windowpane.
the sound of the train
on the distant tracks....
the ticking of the clock
in the dead stillness.
a child laughing and talking,
walking down the road....
a sudden pain in my heart,
that lingers, then is gone.
an empty bird's nest
on the ground beside the shed....
a stray cat begging for food....
small tiny prayers...
clouds in the afternoon sky...
water dripping, an old spicket......
a moment of you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Flap Your Wings
Drop down and get your eagle on, girl (flap your wings)
Drop down and get your eagle on, girl (flap your wings)
Hell naw, ain't leavin' me alone, girl (flap your wings)
Drop down and get your eagle on, girl (flap your wings)
Drop down and get your eagle on, girl (flap your wings)
Drop down and get your eagle on, girl (flap your wings)
Hell naw, ain't leavin' me alone, girl (flap your wings)
Drop down and get your eagle on, girl
She's got that sweat drippin' all over her body
[Girl] Do you like that sweat drippin' all over my body?
Yea, I like that
That sweat drippin' all over your body
[Girl] You like that sweat drippin' all over my body
[Nelly]
It's summertime, and I'm back again
And went to VA, oh, got my friends
Say what's up, Pharrell
[Pharrell] Look whats on the nail
Yeah but, let's show 'em what's above the nail, Bling
A hundred thou couldn't get you one of these (Not one of these)
I guarantee it ain't a flaw on one of these (One of these)
Two hundred thou, couldn't get you in the league
Get three hundred thou, you couldn't even buy the keys
I think you need to add 50 more G's
Now, shall I proceed?
[Ladies] Yes, indeed (Ho)
I need to see you take it down to the floor
Spread your wings, if you real, ma, fly real low
Pause for a second ma, grind real slow
And if you do it right
All day we'll go (Ho)
I talk a lil' Fred Seigal girl (Seigal, girl)
Bonnie and Judy Lee with your bag all beaded, girl
Apple bottom pair underneath it
You talkin' like you don't need it
I can tell you see it
I like that in you
I don't see nothin wrong
Drop down and get your eagle on (Whoa)
[Hook]
[Nelly] Now, what's next to trenscend up in this party
OPP time, now let's get naughty
You take babygirl, and I'ma take shorty
With the sweat drippin' all over her body
We gone move if you wanna (Oh)
Groove if you wanna (Oh)
Throw your nose up, ma, and get rude if you wanna
Ain't got nothin' to lose, nor to prove
Babygirl soaked like she just got out of the pool (Eh)
I know you're thirsty, ma
Go ahead and order whatchu want
Some call it trickin', go ahead and call it whatchu want
I came to ball, I ain't come out here to front
Cause the black caught the pick-up with the gray car warrant
Attractiveness
Got me attackin' this
I'm so fabulous
Glutious maximus
She wanna fly south for the winter (For the winter)
I might just go down south just to win her (Just to win her)
Hell naw, she ain't gone leave me alone
Makin' plans for us to be at home
Take your pants off, ma, you can leave your panties on
But, first drop down and get your eagle on (Oh)
[Hook]
[Nelly]
From the girls with skinny waists to girls heavy set
Come on
Flap your wings
Come on
Flap your wings
To the girls with extensions to the girls with dreads
Come on
Flap your wings
Come on
Flap your wings
From the girls got it good livin' in the suburbs
Come on
Flap your wings
Come on
Flap your wings
To the ones in the ghetto with their hands on their curves
Come on
Flap your wings
Come on
Flap your wings
[Hook]
song performed by by Nelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Stray Cat....
what if i took my rusted axe,
and chopped up the cross
of my self-denial,
would you come and stand by the fire?
what if i opened my eyes
and you could see through them,
as if my heart were a window,
would you shake for just a moment?
what if i laid down this body,
and took up wings of flight...
would you hear and know the sound of the sky
moaning against my freedom.
and what if i stood on your porch,
with my painter's brush and my broom,
would you recognize the scratching
of this old stray cat....
and open the door to your secret room?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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Night Coming!
hand on the brush,
grease on the wheel.
turning, and groaning,
the voices of men.
lone fire beneath the bridge,
stir the pot slowly.
shadows whisper with hunger,
stars answer with silence.
life laps out with flame,
hearts scorched seek each other.
the warmth of the body
that clings to the soul.
dreams of glass shatter,
tiny shreds of light.
tongues, and bare feet,
the moan of night coming!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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What.... (If Not To Listen...)
what are we here for then
if not to listen...
to words spoken by the longing heart,
to the sound and inflections of suffering,
to the very heartbeat of need.
to the human cry against injustice,
to the song of freedom
borne by an angry wind...
to listen...
to the soft cry of the newborn baby,
to the moan of lovers entwined.
to the hum of the tractor,
and the thud of the axe.
to the hope of the hammer pounding nails.
to the voices of people choosing dialogue,
to the honest plea for forgiveness...
to listen...
to the song of the mockingbird,
the bark of the dog,
the meow of the cat...
to the marching chant of the ants.
to the sound of the butterfly's wings,
rhyming infinity!
to listen...
to the stillness in our own heartbeats.
for the name we had before birth.
to the prayers of clouds and trees.
for the sound of the Lover's footsteps.
to the ancient wisdom of mountains,
the forever birth of the rivers.
for the voice we've followed throughout time...
to listen...
for the bowls of hunger being filled.
for the silence after gunfire ends.
for the sound of hands joining ours.
for the sound of feet walking beside!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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Lying Naked
sunset to nightfall.
undressing slowly,
as years pass like shadows
that cant be grasped.
lying naked in the darkness.
the hypnotic hum of the fan,
the cool breeze lapping at my body.
listening for the sound
of footsteps from long ago.
but only the sound of a car passing,
and a neighbor's dog barking.
lying naked in the darkness
my spirit gets up and walks away,
my body calm as fallen leaves
nightfall to eternity.
a kiss, a dropp of blood.
you and i lived like thunder,
now it's time for the rain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Courtroom Is Empty
the courtroom is empty,
the gavel untouched.
no hands on the book,
no jury of twelve.
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
small children killed, tossed in the trash,
women abused, old people hungry, alone.
young girls sold into slavery
young boys sold into war
homeless ghosts walk the halls,
without hope in man or God.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
an American tragedy,
or just human tragedy.
justice bought and sold,
afforded by just the few.
the wheels of Wall Street turn,
politicians barter with lives.
drinking the blood of the babies
that will never be born!
the takers keep taking,
and the honest man falls
to die nameless in the ditch,
covered by ashes and dust.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air.
(the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
the courtroom is empty
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Waiting For The Spider
how many small deaths?
nickels and dimes in dust filled pockets...
are we drifting off to sleep?
out to sea?
or further from the core?
we die in circles,
circles within circles.
with small short breaths hurled
on the hairy plate of eternity.
a thousand tiny fires,
built by unseen hands
on darkened roads...
a thousand tiny deaths!
or a thousand stop the world kisses,
when names and identities are forgotten,
if but for an eternal moment.
how many times must i be the butterfly?
the snail? the hummingbird flying backwards?
or just stagnant water in a cast aside tire...
waiting for the spider?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Suffering Is Always Personal and Better Left Unshared and Unspoken
my words are waking me up
my hand is ready, the computer beeps
i like to write an email for you
how many times shall this happen?
this urge to let you know
this morning, i again blame myself
because i can't
i am thinking of the consequences
i know how painful is it to fall
how empty can the house become
how a night without a stars can make us cry
sometimes
how the sound of the river when you walk alone
gives you the sound of the cry of the pebbles
they break their silence
they scream
for truths still untold
to rules that cannot be broken
when you enter that empty room again
a ball of silence meets you
you sit beside it
it speaks to you
this is the first time that you have seen
its nature
it is dressed with lips
and when they begin to open to about to speak to you
you close your hands
turning them into fists
and you hit your chest
and the ball of silence moves away from you
it is respect for pain
when silence pretends again that it is just a ball
and that it can go away
for men suffer all alone
on unsaid proportion
with that ability to embrace no
description
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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