God Died
God died last night
and no one noticed...
they'll find the body
in a week or two.
funeral arrangements
in the back of the paper...
no viewing... cremation
is all that could be afforded....
and the world rushes on
in an angry ball of fury;
while children die,
unnoticed and unnamed.
and the homeless and the hungry
are stacked in the ditches...
unholy sacrifices to
His memory....
leaving the unclaimed ashes
to blow in the infidel wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
My Soul Confesses...
my soul confesses
to the vast night swallowing
the last remnants of day,
to the unborn child,
unwanted, unnamed!
to the empty grave,
and the dirt praying
for the casket.
to the lover betrayed
by the fear to touch.
to the soul wrapped in cobwebs,
and the heart's body
afraid to be naked.
to the unfulfilled,
the unspoken, and unclaimed.
to the bastard son
of the demon and the mortal.
to the holy infidel,
who tore off his collar.
to the unspoken prayer
of the farmer looking for rain.
to the cell and the gallows,
and the righteous fire.
to the truth written
in the hidden parts of the soul,
to the pilgrim who turned
from salvation to compassion.
and again to the night,
the long night of redemption.
without a trace of regret,
without holding back!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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These Are (My Children)
standing in line at the mission,
they're ladeling bowls of steaming soup.
the winter wind whips down
between the buildings like a knife...
pulling tattered coats tight hunching.
and i can hear Shantideva whisper,
his hand on the ladel...
his body the meat of the soup,
his blood the broth...
'these are my children! '....
they walk in long staggered lines,
refugees from the bombing...
hungry scared children clinging,
afarid to lose sight of...
what's left of their families.
nothing behind, and nowhere to go,
not on any side...
and i can hear Jesus whisper,
His life the torch that lights the way,
His body the shelter against the night,
His blood the water, His hands stir the rice...
'these are My children! '....
the addict shivers, strung out and desperate...
the homeless family huddles in the car.
the young prisoner sleepless with the fear,
the old man going hungry feeds his bedridden wife...
the jobless young father begs to pick up trash...
and i know beyond all doubt,
my body, my soul, my spirit...
the wind that hears their cry.
'for these are my children! '...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Blow Up Your TV (Spanish Pipe Dream)
(Prine)
She was a levelheaded dancer on the road to alcohol,
I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal.
Well, she pressed her chest against me about the time the jukebox broke.
She gave me a peck on the back of the neck, and these are the words she spoke.
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, go to the country, build you a home.
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches, try and find Jesus on your own.
I sat there at the table, and I acted real naive.
Cause I knew that topless lady, she had something up her sleeve.
She danced around the room awhile and she did the hoochy coo.
Yeah, singing a song all night long, telling me what to do.
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, go to the country, build you a home.
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches, try and find Jesus on your own.
Well, I was young and hungry, and about to leave that place.
Just as I was going. she looked me in the face.
I said "You must know the answer," she said "No, but I'll give it a try."
To this day we've been living our way, here is the reason why.
We blew up your TV, threw away your paper, went to the country, build us a home.
Had a lot of children, fed 'em on peaches, they all found Jesus on their own.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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End Of The World....
i'm not concerned about the end of the world...
for me the world ends every day that we're
still fighting wars, that children around the world
go to bed hungry, that families are left homeless,
that men and women cant find jobs, that people
are denied justice and equality, that children cant
afford to go to school, that old people cant get
medical care, enough to eat, or a place to live...
that lonely people cant find love.... and that nobody
seems to give a damn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beyond life span! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Tracing features of your face from memory,
Could see time deeply engraved its footprints.
When we met, your luminous deep set eyes
Crinkled as we laughed at most mundane things.
Who can look time in the eye and defy It.?
Does one manage to go unscathed through life?
I remember, just married, you carved desk
From a wooden carton, decorated with white paint.
Not to forget the brass knob and knick knacks.
And mounted it on wall, with my books stacked.
I forgot to say how pampered I felt.
But I rushed to you with both arms outstretched.
You held me, where was there any need for words…
Your stubble and the warmth of cheeks rubbed.
Today as dusk fell, I like, birds smelt rain.
You handed me paper and fountain pen.
After love died, we tried to live a lie.
But the knots were so tight, it snapped the tie.
Corpse of our marriage began to stink.
And I wanted to push it off the brink.
It was like sitting in cremation ground
Watching loved one go beyond earthly bonds.
I stepped out; it was full moon night in March.
Bright moon light showed me the cobbled path…
I felt hungry for a Banana split and sundae.
Mumbai comes out alive at night, must say.
A lone woman was walking the causeway.
We nodded, as I stepped into a café.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Wanderer
It was a taxidermal view
thousands of fawns on the lake.
Can you handle the die-off
of the whole truth?
I have nowhere to go. Genes are
turning on, turning off. Bare hands
holding the bruises.
Hungry, but cannot eat
looking at the tattoos on the back of
starving children.
I am sick these days in the midst of glory
and shame. Faithlessness is a prize
wrapped by shadows. The snakes
are climbing on the walls.
Human things, like chimps
kissing and hugging to calm down.
in memoriam of a lost tribe.
The body of a chaste god
lies buried under the debris of unholy secrets.
Homeless I wander, beneath the high sky.
poem by Satish Verma
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Feuilles D'Automne
Gather the leaves from the forest
And blow them over the world,
The wind of winter follows
The wind of autumn furled.
Only the beech tree cherishes
A leaf or two for ruth,
Their stems too tough for the tempest,
Like thoughts of love and of youth.
You may sit by the fire and ponder
While darkness veils the pane,
And fear that your memories are rushing away
In the wind and the rain.
But you'll find them in the quiet
When the clouds race with the moon,
Making the tender silver sound
Of a beech in the month of June.
For you cannot rob the memory
Of the leaves it loves the best;
The wind of time may harry them,
It rushes away with the rest.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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From A Poet's Desk....
i have days filled with images,
smells, sounds, tastes...
images that talk without speaking,
that ache, that cut, that bleed...
small things, never noticed, or forgotten.
remember staring at sunlight dancing
in pine sap, alone in the woods, a small boy.
the way my bare feet felt in the creek,
the way my mother talked about god,
as if they were intimate friends.
the day my best friend's brother died,
we were about seven, i think he was five...
the freckles on the face of the girl i loved,
in the fifth grade...
and the day of mourning, alone in the woods,
when her family moved away.
the day President Kennedy was murdered...
the streets i walked at night as a teenager.
the questions, always the questions...
the call i took the night
my grandfather drowned.
the funeral when my brother died...
old frame houses, wood chopped, gardens tilled...
the way factories smelled, the stink of the jail cell.
passion, sweet passion, the body of my lover,
and music, always music....
classical, blues, rock, country, bluegrass, folk...
i loved them all!
dimlit bars, silent libraries, thumb stuck out
on endless highways... going, always going...
the feel of the wind at my back.
going up, and coming down,
shaking the monkey off my back.
and one by one those i loved died...
leaves fallen from the tree...
sleeping in empty churches,
or deep south drunk tanks....
the days each of my children were born,
and each time i lost it all...
a thousand prayers, a thousand doubts,
and moments of pure faith....
black and white, and all the colors
of living in tiny slivers....
i thank each and every memory
with eternal gratitude...
images of a life lived,
that throb and haunt the night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Angry Young Woman
Angry young woman on sunrise strip,
Walking away to the new world.
She left her man, she left her children,
cause she knows she has only one life to live.
Angry young woman with her background on her forehead,
Three children and two abortions.
Played a little piano ten years ago.
And some typing from the college where she met her husband.
Angry young woman in the dark of the night,
Hears her children crying for dinner,
Hears her man shouting for his shirt
And thinks of the first sundays they spent in the park.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
(angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket)
(angry young woman, angry young woman)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angry Young Woman
Angry young woman on sunrise strip,
Walking away to the new world.
She left her man, she left her children,
cause she knows she has only one life to live.
Angry young woman with her background on her forehead,
Three children and two abortions.
Played a little piano ten years ago.
And some typing from the college where she met her husband.
Angry young woman in the dark of the night,
Hears her children crying for dinner,
Hears her man shouting for his shirt
And thinks of the first sundays they spent in the park.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
(angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket)
(angry young woman, angry young woman)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobody Has A Name!
down in the poverty south,
dead body by the tracks.
another football hero,
bathtub meth and anger.
dark shadowed mother weeping,
waiting on the preacher.
while the unemployed old man,
scratches up pennies for smokes.
baptism remembered,
before erections and gunpowder.
neath the picture of his cousin,
who died in Iraq...
the old factory building collapses,
empty on empty...
Jesus died for your sins,
even He cant get a job!
sister hot and pregnant,
turns the fan on high.
the last beans have been canned,
and the rent's past due...
everything tastes like ashes,
the sky filled with angry clouds.
the old dog barks at nothing,
and lays back down to sleep.
rain mixed with hail,
pelts the tin roof with fury.
and nobody has a name,
a past, or a future!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Children Should Not Have To Be Homeless
There are thousands of homeless children in Beijing in China though that is not suprising to hear
For where there is a huge population there is poverty too 'twould appear
And China to anywhere else is no different the rich getting richer they say
And just beyond the leafy suburb is the suburb of neglect and decay.
There are thousands of homeless children in New York though with that some may not agree
In America the great Land of commerce no such a thing as poverty?
But the facts of course will tell you differently and in a World of inequality
There too are children homeless and hungry in the so called Land of the free.
There are homeless children in London in England as well as in Paris in France
The poor children of the poor suburb in life they do not have a chance
Their parents in Jail for drug abuse they become the kids of the street
They search the rubbish bins for food in dark alleys and what others do throw out they eat.
There are homeless children in Sydney and Melbourne and anywhere else one might name
Though that does not seem to affect us we never reflect on our shame
That many should have to grow poorer for one to become a millionaire
In a truly egalatarian society would never be looked on as fair.
Children should not have to be homeless though born into abject poverty
They should not be punished for the sins of their parents so much for our humanity
And money to some all that matters and money is married to success
Whilst the children of the poor live homeless on the street of the No Fixed Address.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Theres A World
Theres a world youre living in
No one else has your part
All gods children in the wind
Take it in and blow hard.
Look around it, have you found it
Walking down the avenue?
See what it brings, could be good things
In the air for you.
We are leaving. we are gone.
Come with us to all alone.
Never worry. never moan.
We will leave you all alone.
In the mountains, in the cities,
You can see the dream.
Look around you. has it found you?
Is it what it seems?
Theres a world youre living in
No one else has your part
All gods children in the wind
Take it in and blow hard.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angry
So scream you, out from behind the bitter ache
Heavy on the memory, you need most
Still want love, ugly, smooth and delicate
Not without affection, not alone
And instead of wishing that it would get better
Man you're seeing that you just get angrier
And it's good that I'm not angry
I just need to get over
I'm not angry, anymore
Cry when you cry, run when you run
Love when you love
Represent the ashes
That you leave behind
And instead of wishing that the road had shoulder
Man you're seeing that you're sinking over time
And it's good that I'm not angry
I just need to get over
I'm not angry
It's dragging me under
I'm not angry
I'm not angry it's never been enough
It gets inside and it tears you up
I'm not angry but I've never been above it
You see through me don't you
And it's good that I'm not angry
I just need to get over
I'm not angry
It's dragging me under
I'm not angry
And it's good that I'm not angry
I just need to get over
I'm not angry, anymore
song performed by by Matchbox Twenty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Bears Our Name
i can only taste scars tonight,
ashes, and blood turned to wine.
that old tree, cut and fallen,
the sound of wings long absent.
the web is empty,
and even the wind doesnt reply.
the garden mourns its time of passing,
and the plow is left alone.
sometimes we wake up homeless,
hungry without needing to eat.
to find that we are orphaned,
by the very heart that bears our name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Paper And Pen
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Can’t think of anything to say today
Can’t think of anything to do
Can’t think of anything to play today
Minds gone blank
Leaving me here, just sitting here
Listening to my hair grow
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
And I look towards you
For an inspiration or a word or two
I try but I find
Every road only leads me back to these lines
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Piano, guitar
I try but don't get very far
Paper and pen
Piano, guitar
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Copyright Colin Coplin 1985 / 2010
poem by Colin Coplin
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Have Desire To Have
Have money,
Plenty of money,
or little money,
Have appetite,
Have no time,
we are hungry,
and then become angry.
Have appetite,
Burning appetite,
Churning appetite,
dizzy appetite.
Have appetite,
Have plenty of time, but
Have no money.
People are hungry,
and they are hungry as always.
Angry are hungry,
anger for better things,
Better fast food,
better service,
better facilities
Hungry people are angry,
anger for basic food,
Just to fill the pit,
that churns day and night,
not knowing,
What is available to a man.
Hunger is the turning point,
when insufficiency is pointed.
Hunger is an insult,
when inefficiency is noted.
Let us have the desire,
to have a better world,
where no human,
go and sleep with hungry.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Dragula
Dragula
Dead I am the one, exterminating son
Slipping through the trees, strangling the breeze
Dead I am the sky, watching angels cry
While they slowly turn, conquering the worm
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
Dead I am the pool, spreading from the fool
Weak and want you need, nowhere as you bleed
Dead I am the rat, feast upon the cat
Tender is the fur, dying as you purr
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
Do it baby, do it baby
Do it baby, do it baby
Burn like an animal
Dead I am the life, dig into the skin
Knuckle crack the bone, 21 to win
Dead I am the dog, hound of hell you cry
Devil on your back, I can never die
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
Do it baby, do it baby
Do it baby, do it baby
Burn like an animal
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
Dig through the ditches,
Burn through the witches
I slam in the back of my
Dragula
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angry
So scream you, out from behind the bitter ache
Heavy on the memory, you need most
Still want love, ugly, smooth and delicate
Not without affection, not alone
And instead of wishing that it would get better
Man youre seeing that you just get angrier
And its good that Im not angry
I just need to get over
Im not angry, anymore
Cry when you cry, run when you run
Love when you love
Represent the ashes
That you leave behind
And instead of wishing that the road had shoulder
Man youre seeing that youre sinking over time
And its good that Im not angry
I just need to get over
Im not angry
Its dragging me under
Im not angry
Im not angry its never been enough
It gets inside and it tears you up
Im not angry but Ive never been above it
You see through me dont you
And its good that Im not angry
I just need to get over
Im not angry
Its dragging me under
Im not angry
And its good that Im not angry
I just need to get over
Im not angry, anymore
song performed by by Matchbox 20
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind, Rain, And The Eyes!
i went from the shadow of Jesus,
to Tao's uncarved block,
flowing with the water
for over a decade....
to the feet of Buddha,
awareness and universal compassion...
respect for all that lives.
each of them now a part of me,
of who i am and will be.....
but when i thought each the end,
my destination....
came a voice... Go further!
i went from virtue to evil,
to night needs day,
just as day needs night....
and still i was not finished.
i went from addiction to jail,
from jail to books....
each leaving a scar,
each feeding the fire!
i went from love to loss,
from family to old age...
and still i felt the hunger!
and now i've returned
to my primitive spirit,
i hear voices in the wind,
i make love to the rain!
from time to time....
seeing glimpses of God,
in the hungry eyes of children,
in the eyes of the oppressed....
in the eyes of the homeless,
in the eyes of dead bodies,
without home, naked and honest...
in the eyes....
wind, rain, and the eyes!
go further!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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