En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Hallelujah! I Am Yours!

i searched till i found beauty,
in the simplest things....
in the hand of a friend,
a leaf blown by the wind,
in a blind dog's eyes,
in the cat curled close.
in the baby just born,
the old man's dying smile...
in difference, and in sameness.
in the lover's body,
in hands calloused and hard,
in moonlit nights,
and quiet conversations.
in long silent walks,
the meal simply prepared,
in the mother and the child.
in the twinkle in the homeless man's eyes,
as we shared a cup of coffee.
in thunderstorms, mountains,
and gliding hawks,
in the snail, the spider, and the ants.
in the trees that whisper,
and the dawn that shouts...
'hallelujah! i am yours! '

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hard Eyes

hard eyes stare into the night...
hard eyes with calloused gentle hands.
hard eyes that have listened and seen.
hard eyes that have touched.
hard eyes that have fought
battles that couldnt be won...
hard eyes that have shared
the suffering of others....
hard eyes that have known beauty and loss...
hard eyes that make choices that are not easy.
hard eyes that have been betrayed,
hard eyes that have loved...
hard eyes that cross the threshold...
hard eyes of the sword and cross.
hard eyes that look into the soul,
and sometimes even smile.

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Say Hallelujah

Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Close your eyes
And bow your head
To rest your soul
And to praise the dead
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Dry your eyes
And stand upright
Put a smile on your face
He wouldnt want us to cry
The sun will rise
The stars will shine
Turning day to dusk
And night to dawn
Well pass on
But until that time
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Have mercy
Its a wonderful life
Eternal rest for the weary
Mourners party tonight
Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone
Wave your hands
But dont say goodbye
Were all gonna meet you
On the other side

song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Simplest Of Things...

there is a rare beauty
in the simplest of things...
the door knob tarnished,
the book with the worn cover.
the hallelujah shout of the snail,
rain water standing in an old tire.
the lampshade covered with dust,
the iron sitting unattended.
the child's toy left on the floor,
the hand that always somehow fits.
the old woman's heavy breathing,
the coffee cup stained half empty.
the cry of young lovers from a distant window.
the dog's low growl at something unseen.
the tattered remnants of the robin's nest,
the broken eggshell clinging to grass.
the old hymn sung by the man working his garden...
the swing of the axe, the stacking of wood.
the spider clinging to the outhouse wall,
potatoes laid out in the cellar for winter.
the grave solitary three days after the funeral.
the cat cradled on the step while it rains.
the laughter of a love long in journey.
the cup of coffee shared with the transient stranger.
the prayer of the child, and the room gone dark....
words spoken from the heart with hands and feet.

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Friend, Lover, Sister, Mother/wife

If I ever held a hand
It was only because Id never held your hand
That was part of the plan
I had 2 get it right if I was 2 be your man
And if I ever kissed your lips
I needed time 2 cross the others off my list (off my list)
A higher high 2 the trip (trip)
I wanted u 2 go, that was my wish - yes it was
(ooh my) friend, lover, sister, mother/wife
Air, food, water, love of my life
If I ever shared a bed
It was only cuz I wanted 2 live up 2 what the people said, oh yes
(what they say? ) {x5}
Now Im livin instead
Everyday just 2 say ure the only one whos in my head
(the only one) {x2}
Oh yes u are
And if I ever made u cry
All I have 2 do is think about it and I just wanna die (I just wanna die)
(I just wanna break down and die, die, die, die)
How Id ever make it by (I dont know) without u, baby (without u, baby)
I dont know (no!), I hope I never have 2 try, yeah
(please dont ever leave me)
Oh, listen 2 me
(ooh my) friend, lover, sister, mother/wife
(my sweet, sweet friend, lover, sister, mother/wife)
Air, food, water, love of my life
The eyes of my child I see every time u look at me
(I see a sweet baby smile)
A sweet baby smile like a light that shines 4 all 2 see
(and if I ever held a hand) if I ever held a hand
Oh, twas only cuz Id never held yours
That was part of, part of the plan
I had 2 get it right (right) if I was 2 be your man because...
(ooh my) friend, lover, sister, mother/wife
(friend, lover, sister, mother/wife)
My, my, my, my air, my food, my water, love of my life (I love u)
(everlasting life)
Teacher (teacher), healer (healer), feeler (feeler), sight 4 sore eyes
(let me look at your eyes - ure so pretty)
Oh, yes u are, baby
(ooh my) dont u know ure my friend, my lover, my sister, love of my life (mother/wife)
Yeah, baby, yes u are
{te amo is I love u}
(ooh my) friend (te amo), lover (te amo), sister (te amo), mother/wife
(hug me, hug me, hug me baby, u are my life)
(Ill stay with u 4ever) {x2}
Till death do us part, baby (yes sir!)
Air (te amo), food (te amo), water (te amo), love (love of my life)
U are the only, only love of my life
My friend, lover, sister, mother/wife

song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Things I've Lost

in the things i've lost i found god....
not in the things themselves,
but in the empty spaces left behind!
in moments given and forgotten,
in laughter that never took a name.
in the sound of breathing that is peaceful sleep,
in the tiny light of a single flame.
in random snowflakes that need not redemption,
in callouses that become the hand.
in stories shared with small children,
in the sky seen through a prison window.
in the dog curled against my feet,
in a meal shared with strangers.
in the beautiful eyes of the dying child,
in the touch of the old woman's hand.
in the sound of wings saying farewell to autumn,
in the crunch of frost covered grass.
in the anger of my enemy,
when we both sat down to talk.
in the stories old boots could tell,
and the dreams that eyes reveal.
in the hand in mine and the feet beside,
in the 'thank you' whispered over the grave.
in the silent conversation of old friends,
in the rose that bloomed out of season.
in the sacredness that stinks,
of human endeavor and holy compassion!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just Before Dawn....

i've been too long in the valley of death,
too long in the prisons, too long at the wheel.
too close to the blade, too far from the fire,
too long defined by lonliness and grief.

they say there's a wind,
that comes from a forbidden place.
that strips leaves from the trees,
and causes mountains to shudder.

they say there's a god,
whose name we cant say.
who walks naked in the instant,
just before dawn.

and they say there's a lover,
who smells like me.
who tastes like my hunger,
whose voice i know.

yes, and they say there's a time,
when the wars will cease.
when the hungry will be fed,
and someone will care.

and i pray there's a hand,
and eyes that shine...
that darkness will undress me,
and name the light!

that small kindnesses will turn,
the ancient potter's wheel.
and make me a cup,
held close by your heart.

if i dance tonight beneath trees that weep,
know that tomorrow i'll burn,
know that my lips wait still...
know that i am alive...

as words fall like leaves...
the cross i lay down,
is but a shovel, but a pen...
the page i write upon...

you, simply you!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Anybody's Idea Of Eternity!

i'd rather be a leaf torn
by a sparrow's beak...
a snail, a moth, the spider's web.
the old man passing out blankets
at the homeless shelter...
the mother nursing the child,
refugees of war.
the old dog curled against
the old man's leg...
the cigarette shared after making love.
a trash collector, a cashier in an all night store,
an immigrant picking fruit
with eyes in the back of his head....
the soldier who deserted,
and turned his back on the war.
the lover left with the scent of memory.
the young girl giving birth
on a bare apartment floor,
a rose petal wilted,
falling to the ground....
the last wolf wandering the endless night.
a spoke in the wheel of the wagon loaded.
the love letter written never delivered...
a pair of old boots standing in the corner,
a rain dropp lingering on a blade of grass...
then to be an angel playing a harp,
in anybody's idea of eternity!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Eyes Of A Child

The Eyes of a Child, so innocent and pure
A Child's heart is full of song
Take their tiny hands,
And lead them to the light
As Adults we see the pain in the world,
And sometimes it don't seem right.
But through the Eyes of a Child
The World seems magical
There's a sparkle in their eyes,
They've yet to realise,
The darkness in their soul.
..the Beauty of their smile
Adventurous and wild.
Life is kinda gay,
but it doesn't seem that way,
Through the Eyes of a Child.
So, don't give up
Even when the road seems long
Just find that child inside you
You've got to find you.
Spread your wings and fly, to the brightest star
If ya want, I can even get my friend Steve to detail your car
for about twenty bucks.
Through the Eyes of a Child
The World seems magical
There's a sparkle in their eyes,
They've yet to realise,
The darkness in their soul.
The Beauty of their smile,
Adventurous and wild.
Sure, life is kinda gay,
but it doesn't seem that way,
Through the Eyes of a Child.
Got an eye on my hand!
I've got an eye on my hand!
I've got an eye on my hand!
But still i cant find you!
An eye on my hand!
Where have you gone girl?
An eye on my hand!
I'm coming up behind you.
Eye on my hand!
Don't turn around now,
Cause I'm right there,
I'm coming up behind you!
Through the Eyes of a Child
The World seems magical
There's a sparkle in their eyes,
We've yet to realise,
The bastards they really are!
The Beauty of their smile,
Adventurous and wild.
Sure, life is kinda gay,
But it doesn't seem that way,
Through the Eyes of a Child.
Sure, life is kinda gay,
but it doesn't seem that way,
Through the Eyes of a Child.

song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Étude Réaliste (excerpts)

A baby's hands, like rosebuds furled
Whence yet no leaf expands,
Ope if you touch, though close upcurled,
A baby's hands.
Then, fast as warriors grip their brands
When battle's bolt is hurled,
They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.
No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled
Match, even in loveliest lands,
The sweetest flowers in all the world--
A baby's hands.

III

A baby's eyes, ere speech begin,
Ere lips learn words or sighs,
Bless all things bright enough to win
A baby's eyes.
Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies,
And sleep flows out and in,
Sees perfect in them Paradise.
Their glance might cast out pain and sin,
Their speech make dumb the wise,
By mute glad godhead felt within
A baby's eyes.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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A Pleasant Autumn Day

A pleasant Autumn day of wind and sunshine
And yellow leaves depart their trees and fall
To Mother Earth who silently receives them
And wattlebirds on flowering gum trees call.

On this quiet side street of inner suburbia
The leaves are dying on the deciduous tree
But were i a poet I'd put my pen to paper
And write of the great beauty that i see.

For Nature's beauty can be found in strangest places
Far from the countryside it can be seen
Deciduous trees are golden brown in Autumn
And gums and wattles rich and evergreen.

And many urban people too love Mother Nature
And of workings of Nature there is much to know
They love to hear the birds sing in their gardens
And take pride in plants and trees they helped to grow

I respect those who respect Mother Nature
The damage done to her they try to mend
For Nature brings her beauty to all Seasons
And to every Nature lover I'm a friend.

In quiet side street in inner suburbia
Deciduous leaves to Mother Earth drift down
And wattlebirds are calling on the gum trees
And Mother Nature too lives in the town.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Wind Child Love Embracing

wind child still
I see your joy laughing eyes
wind child still
I see your warm eyes laughing

wind child still
I see your eyes green healing
wind child still
I see an emerald sea your eyes

wind child still
I see your soft dove brown eyes
wind child still
I see your fawn eyes new life running

wind child still
I see your dark black eyes blessing
wind child still
I see your soul dark passion eyes

wind child still
I see your love welcoming eyes
wind child still
I see your smile universe embracing

wind child still
I see your love of God’s creativity spreading
wind child still
I see stars in heaven smile in your soul eyes

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Beauty of a Mother

The beauty of a woman starts
When her womb begins to grow
The child that she'll give birth
Soon will call her, “my mother”

The beauty of a mother reigns
When her arms cradle her child
And her charm shines within
Her heart full of love and care

The beauty of mother un-fades
When her hands guide her child
In all places walking side by side
To protect her child from danger

The beauty of a mother is her brain
To teach her child to read and write
To let the child know the difference
Of what is wrong and what is right

The beauty of a mother is her act
To treat her child without compare
To list none of whatsoever is best
For her child is the gem of her life

Then the beauty of mother reflects
From the eyes of her child in return
To respect, love, and care for her
When age and time set them apart

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Our Lady of Immaculate Conception!

I searched for a lady
With beauty, not external,
But of the heart,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!

I searched for a lady
With eyes without envy,
But glowing innocence,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!

I searched for a lady
With modesty, not vanity,
And heart full of piety,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!

I searched for a lady
With grace, not of movements,
But of the soul,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!

I searched for a lady
With wisdom, not knowledge,
And full of kindness,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!

I searched for a lady
With virtues, not vices,
And one who’s exemplary,
And I found no one,
And still I find none!

Where can I find her?
-One without sin, not earthly,
One born immaculate:
And it was Mother Mary-
The Mother of Jesus:
She was that only one!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-28-2000

poem by John Celes
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Turned Out As A Wind

it was not known when,
but a gentle wind was blown here
puffed up with a lot of care
that would reflect someone's pain.
catching the hands of feet-burnt shadows
brought them back to the spread of shades.
a tree with fits of anger
was given a pat on the shoulder

buzzed and howled a swarm of flies
in the reddened eyes of a baby-cow.
they had made a meal of eyes
ere the flies were driven off by the wind.

the wind has fanned a mother who stews some tar
and an half-burnt baby too.
a blind man
who had scratched and scratched
and turned out insane,
stoned at the wind too.

once more wind was blown in disguise
as a word that spoken soft.
reached the shelter of cracking fireworks
but to put out the flaming fire,
caught in the flame
and charred and backed off.
kissed and kissed on the hoods of brooks
with swollen glands of small-pox pus,
and fell down fainted in a fatigue.
crows and cats of market places
took their turn to pick their shares
while this wind was ablaze with blue.
if you were a gentle wind
if i werte a gentle wind
we could've wiped out
the sweat of wind.

poem by Chayamsu V R
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Adage 3

'A good meal ought to begin with hunger.'
French Proverb

one who is full
shall never be full
because he is

to be full
one must be empty again
to be a wall
one must start being a window
blink
and then open your eyes
and then close
each eye
slowly
this is the ritual of days and nights
shuttered existence
close
open
close
open
cl ose
open
fragile tiny hands of a new born baby
beside
the sleeping mother.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Kiss Me, Death!

kiss me, death...
i have followed the trail
of your perfume for too long.
my body aches from sleeping on rocks,
and my feet no longer have a vision!
the wind whips between these ancient trees,
that smile with the silent ache of longing.
and this small fire i've built is just that,
i leave no trace or thought.
and the stars that crumble to dust
in my hands already know,
only the crows wait for dawn.
i am the lover whose face you've forgotten,
the body of your desire!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Old Hands And Old Eyes....

old hands unbutton
the blouse of the day.
old hands make coffee,
open the dusty blinds.
old hands wash a few dishes,
make breakfast for the dogs...
old hands feed the stray cat,
make toast and wait.
old eyes caress the sunlight
as if an old friend.
old eyes see the work,
yet stop, to touch the morning.
old eyes kiss the trees,
the squirrels, and distant mountains.
old eyes ache with longing,
and amazement.

old hands and old eyes
begin the journey anew.
listening intently for the footfall,
for another candle, a hoe.
for the scent of nearness,
perhaps only remembered.
old hands and old eyes,
take the plow, the hammer,
and the nails....
old hands and old eyes,
waiting for love!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Here she walks...

Here she walks in the shade of solitary hills
Hair swaying, skin browned, cotton shirt upon her back
And sandals open to the dust, the camera hangs from her neck
And nestles on her breast. She frames
The silent frontier town that lies before her
With the living shutters of her eyes.

The crowds in the oasis know the name she's taken.
As one woman, child and man, they name her in their tongue
And with their gaze demand of her and whisper for each other
The reason for her smile, the playtime of her eyes -
A distant lover, transported? Or a letter
Delivered by mysterious means, unseen hands?

For she is smiling in the solid arms
Of her freedom at each step increasing. No man
Can raise his hand against her, not in rage
Nor with premeditation. No father now
Can make a servitude for her, no mother
Can turn away her face and and close her heart.

The sun freckles her arms and when it rains
The drops beat languidly upon her roof.
The watchman fans the embers of his jiko
To warn the jealous spouse beyond the gates.
The parokeet has learned to serenade the sunrise
And squarks the phraseology of love.
Witless or wise as she may be, the bird talks for me.

Like a young child, ready to show her kindest faces,
The future stands at the corner of the dawn
To beckon her to many of these pathways
To make each day more precious than the rain.

poem by Frank Bana
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