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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Related quotes
Do You Even (Know My Name)
for your strong scent of love,
and the dew of your wetness...
your lips that color the night sky
in deep layers of black...
your animal spirit running
through fields in the moonlight...
the taste of your flesh,
your blood on my chin...
the howl and the hoot,
and then the great stillness...
the earth shakes and tremors,
great waves rise from the sea...
and the wind itself lonesome,
fumbles with the latch to your door..
the snow fast approaching,
the last fire fed by you!
can you hear me calling?
the whisper, the moan?
or am i only an old train,
running empty on tracks leading nowhere?
do you even know my name?
the tracks beneath your eyes,
be they tears, or my coming...
gone in an instant,
fire leaves nothing to remember!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Language Of The Wind
i took a hammer
to the altar and destroyed
every image i'd made of god...
threw my holy books
out into the trash,
my beads, and my necklace.
stopped praying, stopped thinking,
got up off my knees...
walked out into the yard,
and built a fire!
i took off my clothes,
and crawled on all fours.
bayed at the moon,
growled at a rabbit,
and burst into tears
when i tried to howl.
took a lit branch from the fire,
and threw it at the house...
all i could feel was anger,
hunger, and the beat...
wild eyed, i collapsed,
and hugged the earth...
darkness, sweet darkness,
wrapped her arms around...
stars reappeared in the blackest sky...
i rose up and shook
your spirit from me!
softly began to pray
in the language of the wind.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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What Then Is Love?
what then is love?
if it be not this...
the sound of your voice,
the stillness i breathe.
your scent, rainswept pines,
and wet plowed earth.
your skin the feathers
of dead crows seeking flight.
your hunger the thunder,
splitting clouds swollen with passion.
your eyes a bucket of rainwater,
shimmering in the moonlight.
your breasts the river,
your heart moss covered stone.
your soul the wind,
coming and gone without restraint.
your kiss the crackle
of branches in the fire...
your taste the shadow
that just stole the light.
your body the harbor,
this ship lost at sea.
your memory the anchor,
salt spray on my lips!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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She Walked Barefoot...
she walked barefoot,
across them factory floors,
down that gravel road,
across the yard,
and into that old house.
she walked barefoot,
across them kitchen floors,
down that long hallway,
across the floor to the bed.
she walked barefoot,
between them garden rows,
out in the fields,
down through the pines
to the creek.
she walked barefoot,
down them hospital halls,
down the aisles of the church,
out in the cementary
to the grave...
she walked barefoot,
into the arms of eternity,
and i'd give all i am
to wash her feet
with my tears!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Voices Of Infinity
i dance with animals in the night,
run naked with trees,
and drink strong moonlight.
i sing with the rocks,
and crow with the dawn....
i beat the drum primeval!
i rush with the waves
to strip the shores,
of all vestiges of passing.
i howl with the wind,
i dance with shadows and sounds,
and lay naked on the cool earth.
i am the ache inside the shell,
the hand that sprinkles dust...
come walk with me,
let us taste the very darkness,
let us call for the light
with the voices of infinity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Poet's Epitaph
i see the lights of a far distant shore.
i hear the moan of thundered skies.
i smell the perfume of rain not fallen.
i taste the lips of earth, and of trees.
i see the fire in cold artic winters.
i hear the words the wind desires.
i smell the scent of passion held back.
i taste the blood of coming death.
i see the dawn of the blackened cave.
i hear the weeping of mountains still.
i smell the coffin, and shovelled dirt.
i taste the spirit set free in flight!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Temptation
Night comes, she retreats from love
Winter tears water her memories
Enough pain, she closes the door
Snow falls lightly, hearts freeze
No lavender or soft blue only shadows
Behind thick walls her poetry sighs
Art from the dark soul without sun
Cold frosted illicit moonlight shines
Temptation walks along the lost sea
Silver bracelets and golden chains
Eyes pierce through my weakness
By the fire she burns and waits
The treasures of lust howl like wolves
Winding stairways haunted with ghosts
Masks of feasts from ancient Castles
Winds blow along the barren coast
Collect lost souls with thighs of sin
Creatures dead dance in crimson red
Deep inside the islands become desert
Run from the stars to your fallen bed
She burns like Poe's House of Usher
Frozen lioness eyes raging with war
She calls my name and I must go
Between good and evil my soul is torn
Tonight silence pounds like drums
Her gown is silk and fine black lace
Loneliness springs like an endless well
Aquiline beauty in a Goddesses face
I enter into temptations moonlight
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Stillness Wrapped, Unwrapped!
stillness wrapped...
layers and layers of sound,
sound defined by color, sweat,
stink, breath, and desire...
i walk the great plains of night,
the hunter, and the hunted.
i kneel in the shadow of a star,
giving praise to the Great Mother!
i am wings of bat,
the eyes of the great owl.
i am wolf urine on the grasses.
i am bark and bay and howl.
i am the flute of the whipporwill,
the shallow breathing of the mountain aroused.
the small black boy in Mississippi past,
staring hard at the walls of angry cant.
i am the political prisoner,
the religious heretic.
i am the murderer repentent,
the one who kills him.
i am the quiet drunk
alone at the corner table.
the book hidden in in coat
that cant stop the bullet.
i am the old woman hungry
for a lovers touch...
i am the touch, the memory,
the coming and breaking.
i am the prodigal, the refugee,
the starving girl who gives
her last piece of bread
to her younger brother.
i am the stray dog, the abandoned house,
the fire, and the homeless man who died.
i am the grave, the gravedigger,
the preacher, and the epitaph....
i am nothing now....
but stillness unwarpped by time...
sound, color, sweat, stink,
breath, and desire....
ashes, and unplowed earth!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wherever These Feet May Roam.....
be that land so far so lost,
where freedom first touched these lips.
where the taint of love
scorched heart and soul,
where the path met by howl and want.
where the song found words,
and the night named stars,
where moonlight be the holy drink.
where the rebel rose courted moss and stone,
where the fire was lit by true bent hope.
where the wind undressed,
and the mountains wept,
and the sea called me home.
where the light was forged from human sweat,
as angels danced barefoot by night.
where the promise of dawn be more than enough,
and the spirit walked through walls!
be that land my home my heart's desire,
wherever these feet may roam!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Thunderous Snow!
thunderous snow,
born o'er dark silent mountains;
the final prayer,
the last turn of the plow.
air frozen and heavy,
the wind shakes the bones,
the bare trees wait,
naked, and obedient.
time come and gone,
the memory of a kiss fades
into the deep stillness,
and the sleep of the soul.
cries of passion lost,
in the darkness so deep,
that ending and beginning are one!
the hunter stares,
his shadow twisted by moonlight,
the faint taste of flesh,
dried blood on his lips.
a few flurries, a drumbeat,
the wolf howls, no sound!
stillness wraps around fire,
the fields pray empty prayers.
thunderous snow,
love, and cosmos!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Silent Grave
the silent grave
swept clean by time,
knowing only the wind
that undresses the night.
the eyes of an owl,
dead branches walking...
moonlight and darkness
thrust and parry, and dance.
the smell of damp earth,
the kingdom of spider and snail...
moss and vines wrapped
around the throat of time...
no footprints, no memories,
no flapping of wings....
the unnamed hand covers
all trace, all thought....
all that which was urgent,
eternal... of universal need...
becomes small and insignificant...
in the silent grave!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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of Phobias
Are you that person whom when you walk,
to whom you talk and coming I am, independently?
Whereof the road where you are dark walking
and talking you passing by me in the park.
You by your thoughts then start changing.
And as for me, me for as when, you.
When you have occasion and strange is that,
what you feel a little slower you walk it is dark.
Worry naught of fear, fear of the darkness,
when as for you it is fear, fear of me, fear of the darkness.
Whether the night brings you fear of the darkness,
and fear of the darkness I am coming to soon, I am there waiting.
Someones fear, fear of it fixating upon you.
I whom always it is, must posses.
Someone shakes one finger deep under the wall.
Move the moon to one side, which do you wish it possesses?
You by my deepest, up to the neck darkest phobia.
Yonder over there and your neck it is tearing off the skin.
Lines inbetween which are felt when you cry out and the tears.
Just last night when you felt what you saw.
And the footsteps you heard, it is what it is, and you never thought. Something from the rear and you walking it was heard.
And it is done again and again to the smile on your face.
And your face is right there and for who to see but me.
Because early it you does, to see it for the second time.
It is secured, firmly wrapped around and you think that it is difficult.
Are you troubled with your heart beats the heart underneeth you?
Your fear of your fear, of the shadow it plays in the darkness.
And in your cave and it dances in it comes in from the rear.
Of the eye it is felt suddenly, penatratingly quick much to quick.
To be felt.
Your fear of me of the darkness and this fear of the darkness and fear of the darkness being that of it, will it come to you soon for you.
Someones, fear of fixing and as for me, whom it always it possesses.
Where someone walked out the road,
and to I, of that of whom you it posses and your always afraid.
Not of me, it's your darness you fear, open your eyes and it sees.
poem by Is It Poetry
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God, I Am Weary
tired...
and frustrated,
walking through
endless sands...
no path ahead,
and the wind removes
all traces behind.
god, i am weary...
this body is worn,
these eyes fade.
and the songs i sing
in the desert night,
haunt the distance with sadness.
Lover, where are you?
i've forgotten your face!
even the smell of your perfume,
fades in the darkness.
the trees are weeping,
even the moon sheds a tear.
as the small fire i built
fades down to embers!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Memories In The Old Brain
-the smell of water
a scent hanging in the air
a trail through parched, barren land
now greened by rain
in a time of plenty.
the taste of marrow
fresh from the cracked bone,
touched by a fire
that lights the way
to a time of plenty
the sight of a day
over savanna grass,
sight without mystery
without awe
or the art to feel the dawn
and see the light with a new eye
in a time of plenty
the sound of a wild call,
a beast
stirring the heart,
a heart yet to be gripped
by the savage's siren call
to a time of plenty.
Memories deep in my core
of scent, taste, sight, sound
water, fire, light, howl
-memories from a time undefined
-before memory shaped
light and dark into day and night
-before memory became
slave and master of time.
I am a child of these memories,
before and after.
Dancing to the rhythm of time
I am old
in a time of plenty.
poem by Ronald Shields
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Dream Lover
The flowers outside my window
whose perfume scents the air
with a sweet sensation
as I lay on my bed.
They waft through the window
by a cool summer breeze
as I lay is soft perfusion
while around my light
moths begin to play.
My eyes are heavy
as sweet dreams call,
swirling around my head
while with my dream lover
my heart begins to fall.
The stars embedded in the night sky
like thousands of jewels
resting gently on black velvet.
I begin the dance with my dream lover
while moonbeams play around at our feet
as slowly in the darkness
I am captured by sleep.
6 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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Spontaneous Electricity (The Wetness)
walking through the wetness,
rain falling softly.
the rhythm of the wipers,
the trees bow to the wind.
you and i, the sweat and the tears,
one hollow, the other echoes,
one fire, the other darkness kneeling,
identities merged, then torn apart...
ghostlike faces at the window,
children turn, and walk away.
the long silence deepens,
death waits just beyond and before.
mountains carved in forever skies,
crumble, ground to dust by time.
and no less we, dust to dust,
the great sweeper sweeps away our memory.
love was the answer, and sometimes not.
the cross and the thorns, the stolen moment.
now there's nothing left to talk about,
and nothing more to do or feel...
walking through the wetness,
i called the rain by your name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Dawn Wind
The Fifteenth Century
At two o'clock in the morning, if you open your window and
listen,
You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun.
And the trees in the shadow rustle, and the trees in the moonlight
glisten,
And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is
done.
So do the cows in the field. They graze for an hour and lie down,
Dozing and chewing the cud; or a bird in the ivy wakes,
Chirrups one note and is still, and the restless Wind stares on,
Fidgeting far down the road, till, softly, the darkness breaks.
Back comes the Wind full strength with a blow like an angel's
wing,
Gentle but waking the world, as he shouts: "The Sun! The
Sun!"
And the light floods over the fields and the birds begin to sing,
And the Wind dies down in the grass. It is day and his work
is done.
So when the world is asleep, and there seems no hope of her
waking
Out of some long, bad dream that makes her mutter and moan,
Suddenly, all men arise to the noise of fetters breaking,
And every one smiles at his neighbor and tells him his soul is
his own!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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When the Rent Comes Due
i was thinking about New Orleans,
i was thinking about the ride.
now you dont know my name,
you dont even know i tried.
if you think you're angry now,
if you think you've lost it all....
what you gonna do
when the rent comes due,
and i aint across the hall?
you used to call me baby,
i used to rock your world.
work all day and love all night,
you were my baby girl.
but we fought too many battles,
i lost too many wars...
fire to ice, truth to lies,
and you walked out the door.
if you think you're angry now,
if you think you've lost it all...
what you gonna do
when the rent comes due,
and i aint across the hall?
now i'm walking down this road,
aint got nothing left to show.
no regrets, paid love's debts,
wherever this wind blows...
you took my heart and my soul,
and everything that i am...
i left my wings and my guitar
and a dream built out of sand...
if you think you're angry now,
if you think you've lost it all...
what you gonna do
when the rent comes due,
and i aint across the hall?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Summer At Night
We dance under the nascent moon
delicate twirls, eye twinkles
and tree shadows
far away horns blowing
and I
take your hand;
delicately
placed lips
linger there
as soft
soft breaths
straddle index
and ring fingers
and you quiver quietly.
I hear the night owl hoot
musical strains
from the dance
sail out to us
offering a caress
to eager ears
buffeted by Jasmine perfumes
intoxicating
recklessly
heart fibers
which only come out
for brilliant moon-stars
under magnolia trees
where fireflies
in the Carolina night
dance to light heavens lights
and I
allow my soul to
brush across
your summer nape
like a softly shooting star
descending into your hair's drape
where I breathe deeply
of its fragrances
and those of the fire-fly night
as you shudder into
me
breasts erect
offering too
their loving caress
and I
smell you
like summer
at night.
You whisper to me that you want to have a baby, my baby.
To be continued.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Cynicism, and Hope
as i grow older
my cynicism grows...
i've grown tired of paper kingdoms
& dreams that end
with the taste of blood in my mouth.
i do not believe that
God lives in synagogues & churches,
or in the exhortations of evangelists,
or in the rituals of priests...
or in hell-fire & damnation,
the sword of judgement, the end of time,
or in holy graves...
i see God in the eyes...
the eyes of small children,
of homeless men beneath the bridge...
in the eyes of young lovers
madly lost in each other...
in the eyes of the old woman dying
in the empty house where she raised her children...
in the eyes of the activist arrested
& confined to a cold cell for believing
in human rights...
in the eyes of the addict
whose life is lost in the hole of the memory
that the needle fills...
in the eyes of dead soldiers
forever staring into the rage of war...
in the eyes of those struggling to survive
drowning in the despair of cold reality...
in the eyes that stare at me in the night,
& wont let me sleep without feeling...
in the eyes of the dog lying faithfully at my feet,
with no need to be anywhere else...
who is this God? of form & formless,
of light and shadow, dissolving, redefining...
who's not always male, but often female!
not owned, and not owning....
like the waves that carve the shore,
& leave it nameless...
(hungry for the footprints
of human desire!)
not aloof, but immersed,
almost drunk with sadness & joy...
not bound by dwelling or canyon,
but as free as the wind
that cant be spoken!
do i believe? yes! madly! ecstatically!
in life, & stillness, & even death!
in the song that takes no prisoners,
leaving dew in the parched grass...
& in the Lover who opens & closes the door
of eternity in the human heart...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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