Hammer Purged By Rust (Part Two)
the railed fence broken,
buildings stink with shock,
the sky falls with shattered force.
young boys with brass boners
chase burning limbs,
lips too numb to talk.
in uniforms of pretense,
that hide all remnants of fear.
drilled to perform without conscious thoughts,
their mothers prayers denied.
to the kingdoms of the poor,
unleashing the vultures of greed.
striking dead any man who dares to stand,
burying the children on trash covered streets.
to banish thought, to blacken hope,
to sever hands that join!
walls built of bones,
young mothers fight back with stones,
the match of judgement struck.
wave upon wave, led by dogs and owls,
sacrificed in sacred mud!
and the gods of eternity
beat the drums of fate.
the ghosts of compassion,
just outside the doors of hate.
truth hangs in the balance,
the covers are removed.
only the man who dares to be man
will survive the coming flood!
and hand in hand left naked
will build a garden in the ruins.
when light reveals the heart that feels,
and the skulls rise and speak...
children drenched in ash and oil,
warm by fires that stroke the night.
when nothing sleeps with nothing,
and the skies weep with stars!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Some Mothers Son
Some mothers son lies in a field
Someone has killed some mothers son today
Head blown up by some soldiers gun
While all the mothers stand and wait
Some mothers son aint coming home today
Some mothers son aint got no grave
Two soldiers fighting in a trench
One soldier glances up to see the sun
And dreams of games he played when he was young
And then his friend calls out his name
It stops his dream and as he turns his head
A second later he is dead
Some mothers son lies in a field
Back home they put his picture in a frame
But all dead soldiers look the same
While all the parents stand and wait
To meet their children coming home from school
Some mothers son is lying dead
Somewhere someone is crying
Someone is trying to be so brave
But still the world keeps turning
Though all the children have gone away
Some mothers son lies in a field
But in his mothers eyes he looks the same
As on the day he went away
They put his picture on the wall
They put flowers in the picture frame
Some mothers memory remains
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Young mother!
When the mother is left with young children,
The hands are full and the mind is not dull,
Her eyes are down on the children, who rattle,
Not on the spouse, who suddenly stops to tattle,
Young mother is as busy as a bee, flying around,
The messy house to have the neat hive and honey,
She is not a queen bee to order the servants,
She is a human and needs help and love,
Helpless responsible young mothers are great,
For they have sacrificed their comfort for their brood,
So many professionals gave up their career,
For the love that they have upon their future,
Young mothers of the world, just relax and not to cry,
So much work day in and day out, but you are the Gods,
To provide what your young children need,
To cover them with comfort of loving blanket,
To protect them from all invisible germs and harms,
To plant the seeds of care in their mind to bloom,
Disciplined children are the outcome of your salty sweat,
Continue to sacrifice as our ancestors did.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Naked Man!
only the naked man,
who's left all baggage behind,
can stand in the heat of the fire,
and slay the corporate beast!
only the naked man,
who wears his scars with pride,
can forgive the unforgivable,
and so heal this land.
only the naked man,
without pretense or game,
can stand up to the truth,
and set the captives free!
only the naked man,
with nothing left to lose,
can find the light
in a sky darkened by greed.
only the naked man,
beaten and cursed,
will stand and give a hand
without seeing your face...
only the naked man...
no longer praying to an unknown god,
will beat the sacred drum,
that wipes away your tears...
only the naked man!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
And, Magic!
and so once again,
spring hath violated
the tomb of god,
and brought forth magic!
shadows dance,
seeds are planted.
life bursts through
the frozen casket...
light begins anew,
poets too long slumbered,
cast the webbing from their eyes,
birthing words into being.
thunderstorms, and magic.
the sun carries the hands of time.
summer dares come, wave upon wave,
poets dance naked in the moonlight.
lovers come together,
fission, and creation.
worlds are formed,
history testifies!
wine lusts for the lips,
as flesh for flesh.
the drums beat wildly,
death is but orgasm!
all too soon,
autumn aproaches.
the harvest of desire,
fires built in the night.
hair turns grey,
thoughts lose form.
leaves begin to turn,
and fall, tis magic!
and poets rhyme the turning
of the earth and the sea.
worship the shell shocked earth,
dance in the memory....
then leaves turn brown,
decay, and return.
poets lose their eyesight,
follow the beat of the heart.
the winter chill comes,
barelimbed trees offer prayers...
at the graves of the poets,
marked by fresh fallen snow.
words lost, or engraved forever,
in the coming of spring,
in darkness to light...
what else could it be...
but magic!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Heart In My Hands
if i laid down my cross,
by the riverside.
and built a fire
out of things denied.
if i took off my mask,
revealing all i tried to hide.
if i took the chance,
and let you look inside.
would you love me?
would you know me for a man?
would you see me for more
than kingdoms built on sand?
would you if i would?
i know that i can...
i'll stand where i am,
with my heart in my hands.
if we forgot and forgave,
the stumbles and the falls.
if we broke down anger,
and tore down the walls.
if you knew your heart,
would you stop, would you pause?
would your feet follow your longing,
would you answer my call?
would you love me?
would you know me for a man?
would you see me for more
than kingdoms built on sand?
would you if i would?
i know that you can...
just stand where you are,
with your heart in your hands.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freedom Rant, Part Two... (For Greg And Terence)
socialism, existentialism,
the pages are revealed.
patriot lies, god dies,
unmarked graves in a field.
the addict weeps, cold hard streets,
poverty has a heavy hand.
discrimination, salvation,
leaving footprints where we stand.
single mothers, live for another,
food stamps and minimum wage.
desperate young men, without a friend,
commit acts of senseless rage.
the prisons turn, the money earned,
fills the bellies of greed.
children taught to kill, against their will,
to survive, to feed the need.
those who slept with goats, and came in boats,
to steal the land of the free.
buried the bones, beneath time and stone,
became written history.
now the sins of the past, come due at last,
the slaves rise against the lie.
feet cross the line, eyes read the signs,
for it's liberty or die!
the farms foreclosed, bankers pick their noses,
the factories shut down...
streets filled with ghosts, businesses closed,
nothing left but the sound.
of family trees, brought to their knees,
and babies born in empty rooms.
where roaches crawl, blood spattered walls,
black eyes, needles and spoons.
while Bibles scream, in human dreams,
of the gospel of flesh and bone.
suicides, mass genocides,
stones stacked upon stones.
hungry faces, leave human traces,
on words spoken without a voice.
beneath the gun, dare we stand or run,
we stand before our choice.
Fox News, for those who refuse,
to feel anything at all.
whose bloodless hands, sign time's demands,
on the dawning of the fall.
the guns of war, as ignorance roars,
but who falls victim to this day?
backs turned too long, hearts turned to stone,
is it too late to pray?
nay, i say! another way!
one chance to make a difference...
for it is this act, taking dignity back,
that is the cost of our forgiveness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Masters Of War
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like its your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young peoples blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
Youve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You aint worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that Im young
You might say Im unlearned
But theres one thing I know
Though Im younger than you
Even jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your deathll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And Ill watch while youre lowered
Down to your deathbed
And Ill stand oer your grave
til Im sure that youre dead
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Broom In My Hands
we walk the edge of suicidal silence,
sweeping shadows beneath curtains
with brooms made of straw.
while somewhere soupbones
boil in the pot,
and the sound of coffee making
startles children's trains on tiny tracks..
the heroin news grates against the mind,
and dogs wait in silent anticipation.
Jesus dies again, a matinee,
the Bill Of Rights stutters
neath a thin layer of dirt.
travelling shoe salesmen grope lady's legs,
and old men on park benches
peer over bifocals.
the woman ironing, in her bra and panties,
quietly curses, with trembling hands!
bare chested men split wood in the sun,
while boys tinker on cars with oily hearts.
the soldier returned home to no home,
hangs himself from the rafters.
a picture of his baby boy,
falls from his pockets.
crows gather on a wooden fence rail,
the young woman lights a crack pipe,
staring at naked walls.
while dead bodies march in lines that rhyme,
with buildings left empty,
and mailboxes spilling over.
the soft silk of the thigh,
and the lip turned up...
names whispered and lost,
small rooms speak of distance.
be it love, be it madness,
the clock falls from the wall.
and nothing feels real....
except the broom in my hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sometimes I Feel You
Sometimes I feel you
Your presence
Tickling my neck
Sometimes I feel you
Waking up
Feeling my Sweat drip
I saw you
Sometimes I reach for you
My hand stretching
My muscles stiffening
I cannot get to you
Sometimes I talk to you
My eyes closed
In the middle of the night
When my body sleeps
And my mind does not
Sometimes I feel you
Dripping from the sky
You are lonely
You seem sad
You bring weather
That makes my bones weak
Sometimes I feel you
Through my window
Gently stroking the blinds
Sometimes I hear you
Whistling through the air
Creating a tornado of despair
Sometimes I grieve for you
Your life was too short
When you left this world
I wasn't even born
But, you are not a stranger
You are my angel
And when you cry
You bring rain
And when you smile
The clouds move
Like your lips do
And the sunshine peaks through
Sometimes I feel you
Through black and white pictures
Your eyes gazing at me
Seeing the creation your daughter has made
You try hard to smile
Behind a garden
You have tamed
Only soon
Your garden will no longer be in your hands
Your eyes dry up
Your flowers dry up
Your hands no longer tame gardens on Earth
Sometimes I feel you
Through my mothers garden
Sometimes I taste you
Through my mothers recipes
Sometimes I see you
Through my mothers eyes
poem by Diana Poems
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Air Was Naked
After the putsch, through night he set himself alight
ensnared in flames of societal conflicts, for a
vision of tomorrow, in the birth of a bloody dawn.
The drone of history had failed on a loaded salt.
A solitary murder of truth was sufficient to unsettle
me for a downturn of unborn wounds of drowned
voice, of a requiem. The dead were coming back to life
in dark alleys of black skulls. The pink scarves
were still holding the snow flakes of standing
wheat for the thirsty children, of grieving mothers
who lost the homes to red hands, the white paper,
the hungry guns. The thieves were coming again.
I was never naked in my blood, my howling bones.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Liberty... (Dont Betray Me Now!)
Liberty...
dont betray me now.
i have paid your price,
in bodies burning,
and mouths that tremble.
in toil and struggle,
in sweat and faith.
take not thy hand from my heart,
for you have spoken to me with eyes.
eyes that see the beauty
of the common, and simple.
eyes that drink equality,
seeing hands joined in darkened rooms.
eyes that pray common prayers.
who am i to have a face?
who are these faces,
giving dignity to names?
history written in warm blood,
on the farmhouse walls,
on the factory floors,
in the carpenter's apron!
i am the voice of what should have been...
what could have been!
i am family handed down to family,
i am equity and justice.
i am the black hand taking down
the all white sign...
i am the horses of Crazy Horse,
Sitting Bull, and Cochise.
i am the mill worker's only son,
going to college.
i am the daughter of the minister,
marching for women's rights.
i am the young man in prison,
teaching himself to read!
i am the sound
of machines shut down,
of fields left unplowed,
of courtrooms empty.
i am the bodies of the young men,
killed in your napalm wars...
i am the mother and father,
burying their only son.
i am the rage of the poor,
with calloused hands torn.
i am the housing projects,
the trailer parks,
and the prisons full.
i am the cities gone mad,
with despair and grief.
i am the spirit of rebellion,
and the body of revolution!
i am the scientist, the doctor,
the preacher, and the drunkard.
i am the free thinker,
daring to question.
i am the man alone,
who dares to stand and defy.
i am the voices of the grandfathers,
and grandmothers,
crying out from their graves.
i am the migrant worker,
the bedpan emptier,
the garbage man,
and the small town sheriff...
the stink of injustice,
and the vote not counted.
Liberty, o Liberty,
turn not your face...
for i am the breath and the blood,
that moves your body!
i am the prayer too long unprayed...
one hand in a fist,
and the other left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ghost Dance
12 hours pass, flash by again twice
toll for the dead to awake again
the 8 o'clock rising still and eiry
as we follow suit of the sun dance
on hour goes by so quick so fast
and we blend to the pacing crowd
the beast struck nine and the dead join the living
hand in hand we dance the ghost dance
and look down into anothers distant eyes
hollow, gone and forboding us
what awaits beyond fleshy worlds
lust, gluteny, blasphamy and sloth
join in hands with thy brothers
vanity, gluteny and greed
the beast struck nine and the dead join the living
hand in hand we dance the ghost dance
throw back our heavy heads again
and scream to darken the clouds
let the rain fall let it wash us
pure as we now dirty and alive
distance apart us one key and two
unlock the secrets of time
the beast struck nine and the dead join the living
hand in hand we dance the ghost dance
loincloth needed to cover mine shame
as we're told as we are is imperfect
we cover and cower and hide
our shame merely shame to them
red, salty tears sting our black eyes
as again we cry for their loss
the beast srtuck nine and the dead join the living
hand in hand we dance the ghost dance
and the beast be the sun dance
as time claims us all in the end
hand in hand with our brothers
we trace regrets as our ghosts
and dance in circles around their heads
red right hand of the devil baptise me
the beast struck nine and the dead join the living
hand in hand we dance the ghost dance
poem by Sabrina Burton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Poet
who is the poet then?
the master of words,
phrases, rhymes, and symbols...
or the one who wipes the ass
of the old man in the nursing home,
whose family does not come anymore.
or the young gay teacher
in the projects, walking the thin line
between the hatred of gangs, and hope.
or the small time farmer
who planted one last crop,
knowing that the bank was coming
to take it all away.
or the soldier in Iraq,
who stops to help a child up,
and sees his own children miles away;
cant speak, and cant breathe.
or the young man in prison
for something that he did;
just trying to survive, day to day,
and to find a new way.
or the young woman who was raped,
being humiliated on the witness stand,
and they call it justice!
or the man left standing
on the brink of losing it all...
the eyes of his family haunting him;
with nowhere to turn,
and no one to ask for help,
and a gun in his hand!
if poetry then is written
by the hand of God....
the hands are human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
His Church Can Rise Up
Today The Church can rise above, through God’s power and His Love.
She can rise up to the task at hand, and for The Lord can take a stand.
My friend, even in the darkest nights, we can rise up to greater heights.
For we can rise up in Christ’s Victory, as we march forward to Eternity.
Jesus Christ will build His Church, and build it upon The Savior’s worth.
She’s not built upon an earthly frame, but built upon Her Savior’s Name.
Jesus Christ the very Cornerstone, guides His Church from His Throne.
For His Church, Jesus Christ alone, is her foundation and the capstone.
He’s the Groom and we’re the Bride, and His Church will not be denied.
He’s creating a Holy Priesthood friend, of whose service will never end.
We my friends are the living stones, bought and placed by Christ alone,
We’re being built into a spiritual house, by the Church’s Eternal Spouse.
Even though darkened forces rail, the gates of Hades shall not prevail.
Christ’s Victory we can proclaim, through the power of His Holy Name.
We need to rise up above the night, and lift up high Christ’s Holy Light.
We can rise above every situation, and point the world to His salvation.
Very soon The Church will surly rise, to meet The Savior up in the skies,
Dear friend Satan is the defeated foe, and this we need to let men know.
So we need to rise up and tell all men, that Satan is the one condemned,
And when they join The Church of Christ, they too shall gain Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©04/2006)
We want land! [Noi vrem pământ!]
Without a shelter, hungry, blue,
You put a burden on my back
And spat me and enchained my neck,
I was a dog for you.
Upstart boyar, maybe you planned
To satisfy the hell's demand
To be your dogs, we are in chains,
Suffer the burdens and the pains
And pull the yoke, obey the reins,
But we want land!
A loaf of bread from yesterday
If see with us, you want it bad,
You send to war our dearest lad
And take the girls away.
You curse what's holy, you command,
What's mercy you can't understand!
And our children starve to death
We pity them and lose our breath,
But we could get a little strength
If we had land.
Even the graveyard you reclaim,
You make it field, we pull the plow,
And all the bones are scattered now,
An awful shame!
These are our bones, we can't withstand
For you don't seem to understand
You take us out when the wind raves,
You pull the dead from the deep graves,
Oh, for their sake our heart now craves
A plot of land!
We wish to have, like any guy,
A tomb where bones will stay all piled
To know that they won't be defiled
The day we die.
For our children there will stand
Shedding their tears on the gray sand,
Not knowing where our body lies,
They'll look around, they'll strain their eyes;
As Christians, each of us now cries
We want some land!
To pray, we don't have time a lot,
For our lives belong to you,
We have a soul that's good and true,
Which you forgot!
You made a vow raising your hand
Not to allow us to withstand;
To beat us when we cry and wail
And if we run, throw us in jail,
Shot us with bullets if assail
To grab some land.
Into the ground, you know it's true,
You have your wheat. We have our tears
And mothers, sisters, brothers, dears;
Away with you!
This land is holy, understand,
It's our cradle, tomb at hand;
We've guarded it with our blood
And very often, like a flood,
Our tears have flown over the mud,
So we want land!
We have no strength, we've lost our words,
But we don't want to beg again,
Yet, you keep causing us much pain
Cruel fleeting lords!
May God be gracious when we crave
Your blood, to spill it like a wave!
When we don't want to stand aside
When hunger leaves us with no pride
Christs if you were, you couldn't hide
Even in grave!
poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Daughters
I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she's just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hand
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Oh, you see that skin?
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left
Cleaning up the mess he made
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without warmth from
A woman's good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world
So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Silence and Talking
You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts
You cannot stand the solitude of your heart, so you speak out
Indeed, you talk from fear of being alone,
Sound becomes a diversion and a pass-time
The silence of aloneness reveals your naked self, so you seek escape
You talk without knowledge revealing truth you do not understand
When you meet a friend let spirit guide your lips and direct speech
Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear;
His soul will know the truth from your heart
Like the taste of wine remembered,
When the color is forgotten and the vessel is no more
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Caravan Of Love
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready
Are you ready for the time of life
Its time to stand up and fight
So alright
So alright
Hand in hand we take a caravan to the marble land
One by one we gonna stand up with pride
One that cant be denied
Stand up
Stand up
From the highest mountain of valley old
We all shall together with heart of gold
Now the children of the world can see
This a better place for us to be
The place is which we were born
So neglected and torn apart
Every woman every man
Join the caravan of love
(stand up) stand up
Stand up
Every body takes a stand
Join the caravan of love
(stand up) stand up
Stand up
Im your brother
Im your brother dont you know
Shes my sister
Shes my sister dont you know
Well be living in the world of peace
And the day when everyone is free
Bring the young and the old
Want you let chilled flow from your heart
Every woman every man
Join the caravan of love
(stand up) stand up
Stand up
Every body takes a stand
Join the caravan of love
(stand up) stand up
Stand up
Im your brother
Im your brother dont you know
Shes my sister
Shes my sister dont you know
So are you ready ( hes coming )
Are you ready ( hes coming )
Are you ready ( hes coming )
Are you ready ( hes coming on the caravan )
You better get ready ( go for it )
You better get ready ( go for it )
You better get ready ( go for it )
You better get ready
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Children In America!
one out of three
children in America,
living in poverty?
what happened
to the land of promise?
children hungry,
children homeless,
children that wont
get a good education!
children, broken families,
children without future.
children without love....
turn to hate!
build your cities,
build your banks,
build your kingdoms
drunk on oil and blood!
your children, dying....
who digs their graves?
who closes their eyes?
who prays for their souls?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!