How Many
how many vacant store buildings
in small town America
does it take?
how many of our boys dead
on foreign soil
for no apparent gain?
how many unemployed people
waiting in line?
how many meth labs?
convenience store's robbed?
how many teachers laid off,
and kids that cant read
or do simple math?
how many sick people
who cant get medical care?
how many houses foreclosed?
how many homeless
wandering in worn out cars?
how many oil spills?
how many mines collapsed?
how many nuclear accidents?
how many prisoners
wrongly convicted
on death row?
how many small children killed?
how many suicides?
how many acts of rage?
how many acts of desperate hunger?
how many?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Liberal
if 'liberal' means....
i care about the working people,
the common everyday families,
the kids hungry, with little chance,
the single mothers,
the young boys sent off to war,
the ecology, global warming,
the prisoners wrongly convicted,
the victims of crime.
the elderly without heat,
those who cant afford medical care....
then call me 'liberal',
socialist, or whatever!
i call it being human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Have Mercy!
Have Mercy!
with final thoughts
i walk these streets,
past vacant buildings hallowed.
in silent mourning,
my heartbeat joining,
the concrete scarred by living.
passing strangers hurrying,
as if they had a life to return to.
while the shouts and cursing of working men,
rings inside the empty walls!
past tenemant buildings,
and unemployed stoops,
and eyes staring from windows.
dogs too hungry to bark,
squad cars passing slow,
tis the funeral of poverty.
while meth lab food stamp children,
sharpen knives against the curb.
and everything's grey, even the sounds,
the air is drunk with anger.
i caught a ride
with a trucker wired,
who mumbled slamming gears.
out into the country
once green and rich...
now brown and deserted.
fields not worked,
farm's foreclosed,
houses left to ghosts and memories.
tractors rusting in the sun,
the air is drunk with anger.
back into town,
past libraries closed,
and churches that ache with empty.
i can hear the sound
of the distant bells...
be it freedom or infinity.
past hospitals full,
and graveyards that move
with shadows in the night.
back to the small room
where i cant sleep...
where god weeps in the stillness.
America, America...
the air is drunk with anger!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Occupy... (Citizen Of The World)
occupy...
Wall Street, banks, financial institutions.
the Congress, the White House, the Pentagon.
the court system, the prisons...
empty factory buildings, small businesses,
the coal mines, the oil fields,
the docks....
vacant foreclosed houses,
homeless shelters, soup lines...
the lines of the unemployed.
the fields ready to be picked.
the illegal immigrants bent backs...
the big trucks shut down...
minimum wage slave jobs...
cheap imports made by child labor,
the oil industry, the automobile industry...
occupy...
big farms, those who would spray harmful
chemicals on the crops...
family farms, threatened foreclosure by the banks.
the education system,
the medical profession...
hospitals, clinics, and insurance.
nursing homes, social security, Medicare
and Medicaid...
occupy...
welfare housing, tenemants and trailers...
section eight housing...
law enforcement, emergency services...
occupy....
the military, all national acts of aggression,
the war industry!
voting rights, voter registration, the political process....
occupy...
human rights, equality, dignity and respect.
freedom of speech, freedom of information,
the truth!
occupy...
your neighbors' needs, the suffering of others...
hunger, despair, the human family.
occupy...
your own body, your sense of social consciousness,
your words, actions, and intents...
occupy...
a shared freedom as a citizen of the world!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Small People!
it is then...
the small people,
common men and women,
who by their hands built this dream,
who plowed the fields,
paved the roadways...
who picked your fruit,
who built your small businesses.
who worked your factories and mills.
who built your homes and churches.
who drove your trucks, who fixed your cars,
who made your clothes and your furniture.
who worked for too little
to make you too rich....
who hauled your trash,
who wiped your asses.
who worked as cashiers, clerks, and salesmen.
who covered for you when you were sick,
yet worked when they were sick.
who laid your bricks, who cut your logs,
who stocked your grocery stores.
who dug your graves and fought your damn wars,
the small people, that you throw away!
no jobs, no work, no benefits, no insurance...
no medical care, no cars...
no lights, no rent, no food, no shelter...
no name, no reason to be!
the small people...
too old, too tired, too angry, too used up.
self taught, no degree, experience doesnt count.
the small people....
pushed into a corner,
stacked in the alleyways.
broken wheels turning on broken glass.
the small people....
staring back from your mirror,
from the darkness outside your window.
the small people...
who are not going
to take it anymore!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Vacancy, For Rent
walking the streets
of a small southern town...
empty buildings, empty houses,
'vacancy, for rent'
no one moving much,
even the church parking lots
are empty.... seems like
Jesus and His disciples
packed up, and moved on...
probably looking for work!
only a sense of quiet despair,
the sound of old cars rusting,
and the howling of a dog.
just read the news:
an elderly couple, married
67 years, murder suicide...
he'd been sick, she had
alzheimer's.... afraid there'd
be no one to take care of her...
another unmarked grave,
forgotten people, abandoned
by their own government.....
another empty house that
used to be a home...
'vacancy, for rent.'
just walking the streets
of a small southern town...
church bells are ringing...
and the smell of death
hangs in the air!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Small Town
Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity
Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic thats me
But Ive seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now shes small town just like me
No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be
Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look whos in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and thats good enough for me
Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And thats probly where theyll bury me
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Front Line
I am a fireman here at home
And I put my life on the front line everyday
To save the people from burning buildings
Or from car accidents
Someday I am very lucky because I am able to save people from burning
Buildings and car accidents
But other days I am not so lucky because it depends where the fire is on The building
Sometimes I have to climb all the way to the top of the buildings
Very fast to save the people from the burning buildings here at home
Other times the fire on the buildings happened on the lower floor
Yes there had been times that I could not save the people from the
Buildings here at home because the buildings here at home had been Engulfed with smoke and all the people that live there died
Yes that was a very bad scene to see
At the end of the night I go home for my kids and my wife
When I arrive home my kids and my wife are already sleeping in bed
I don't have very much time to spend with my children
Because of my work
I don't enjoy being a fireman but the pay is good
So I don't have anything to complain about
I never talk about my work at home
At home I talk about different things to my wife and kids
But I know that my day starts very early everyday
poem by Aldo Kraas
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From Vietnam To America
In Houston, men killed their own children,
In Saigon, boys killed and robbed
Got life in prisons.
Right here, wives left their husbands...
And mourned their children's deaths,
Over there, girls sold their bodies
Every nights on streets.
From Vietnam,
Do my people have to pay that much,
For the stupid Communists and "United,"
To America,
Do my people have to pay that much,
From the sake of freedom and dollars,
From Vietnam to America,
Do my people have to go that far?
poem by Thanh Nguyen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They'll Debate!
small town, vacant store fronts,
set ablaze, and burning,
early morning February sun!
people stand and gawk,
by the old tracks, train forgotten...
childhood memories, up in smoke.
they call it America,
the land of opportunity;
freedom weeps, no one hears!
cars built overseas
powered by Middle East oil,
race by, headed for Walmart...
and tonight they'll debate
over family values and taxes.
somewhere, a church bell ringing,
and someone goes to bed hungry!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am (More)
i am, become...
i am the tear on the cheek
of the child sleeping alone.
i am the fear on the face
of the young couple
who have nowhere to turn.
i am the bullet loaded
into the gun held by shaking hands.
i am the family Bible
packed away in a closet forgotten.
i am the Muslim man
treated with contempt...
i am the sheriff of a small town,
and the meth lab busted.
i am the trailer burning,
the family that just got out.
i am the cancer patient
who has no insurance.
i am the picket line, the pepper spray,
the reporter struck silent.
i am the young kid working
the late shift in a convenience store.
i am the empty grave,
the eviction notice on the door....
i am thunder, i am lightning,
i am America's moan...
i am, become...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Malicious acts are performed by people for personal gain … Sorcerers, though, have an ulterior purpose for their acts, which has nothing to do with personal gain. The fact that they enjoy their acts does not count as gain. Rather, it is a condition of their character. The average man acts only if there is a chance for profit. Warriors say they act not for profit but for the spirit.
quote by Carlos Castaneda
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Posting Pictures
i'm going to quit writing poetry,
and start taking pictures...
pictures of the homeless,
the jobless, the hungry,
the war victims, drug victims,
crime victims, victims of oppressive
regimes, beaten, imprisoned, threatened...
starting right here!
the elderly left to die in want,
those left to live on the street,
families sleeping in cars,
parents burying their children...
smoke stacks smoking,
nuclear disasters, oil spills,
mountains being mined,
timber being cut...
lonely people walking alone!
small children crying...
lovers left in the cold...
empty churches full of people.
i'm going to post these pictures in color
for all the world to see,
post them in dead silence...
maybe then someone will hear,
hear, and offer a hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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America Revisited
put down your crack bowls
and your republican flags...
and let's go walking thru
the streets and alleys of America....
let's walk past the empty houses
with foreclosure signs in the yard...
past the vacant factory buildings
where the homeless break in
at night and sleep...
past the lily white churches
and the dead zone schools...
past the county jails and the courthouses
and the rooms where lawyers
buy and sell justice...
past the housing projects
where babies buy groceries...
down to the tent cities where
dreams hang in the air like opium.
down the dark streets where young
girls and boys sell their bodies
for their vampire pimps...
and everyday citizens buy them!
down to the unemployment offices
where angry people stand in
numbered lines...
past renegade gas pumps
guarded by dollar store slaves...
past the words of Jefferson, Franklin,
and Thomas Paine....
to the hypnotic ads of puffy-faced
liars with titles and plans...
down to the cemetary where
the last shreds of freedom
lie in unmarked graves....
and we call this....
America!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sonnet-Life
Life's fabric has both threads of joys and woes;
You take away the woes, it will not stand;
When both in optimum scales, well it goes;
You take away the joys, you can't withstand.
Life is a battle, we do always fight;
Sometimes with others' help; sometimes alone;
The war is waged between darkness and light;
When victory comes, we laugh; if not we groan.
Small things in life do matter very much;
Small acts of kindness can purchase hearts;
Small courtesies can most cruel hearts touch;
Small acts of help to people work like darts.
Like your life and it will give you pleasure;
Love your life and it will be your treasure.
poem by John Celes
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Our Small Town
Love going for walks around town
A small town a holler from the big city
The many old building lining the main street
Which by the way isn't main street that's a block away
From the small library to the high school a jot to get to
The sidewalks resemble the old boardwalks from yesteryear
The shops vary as the street winds to the highway
The country air blows thru the street full of manure
Good ole air, they say around here
The small diner with the local farmers dwell at
Talking of this year's events from farming to politics
The ladies at the sew shop talking gossip
It's amazing how time don't change as years pass
Every year the town picnic to the 4th July jamboree
To the harvest dance and everything in between
Small town people living the old time ways
Wishing every town was as good as it
Walking thru saying hey to neighbors all around
Can make everyday a good day
Seeing people in the park enjoying the kids play
The banner welcoming you to our small town
Small town America, loving it, living it
poem by Michael Peterson
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After It's Gone!
wild eyed strangers...
kids wearing dirty clothes,
and hand me down coats.
people walking, head down,
in the early morning cold.
just a few stores open,
the price of gas up.
smoke rises from chimneys,
all is quiet, as if waiting,
for the next storm to come.
life goes stumbling down,
the mail falls from the box.
families sleeping in cars,
gotta move with the sun.
the town clock strikes, echoing,
the steps of boots long worn...
empty buildings shout out
the rage of the dispossessed.
all that was, or could be,
now nothing more...
than the bitter taste of coffee,
two hours after it's gone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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On The Road To Gethsemane
on the road to Gethsemane...
i pass burned out buildings,
farm lands scorched by the bombing.
i pass the skeleton bodies
of young children who starved.
i pass the unmarked graves,
of young boys sent to war.
i pass the flag of the liars,
and the tents of mourning.
i pass vacant factories,
and houses left empty.
i pass through cocaine streets,
where all flesh is for sale.
i pass the unemployed masses,
and their desperate eyes.
i pass the baby born unwanted,
and the prison's stink.
i pass empty churches,
and hollow ringing bells.
i pass families broken,
and peoples enslaved.
i pass the moral guns of prejudice,
rank with immorality!
i pass the crippled, the sick,
and those desperately alone...
these tears of blood
are human tears,
this cross we all bear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Math Suks
If necessity was the mother of invention
Then Id like to kill the guy who invented this
The numbers come together in some kind of third dimension
A regular algebraic bliss
Lets starts with something simple
Like 1 and 1 aint 3
Any 2 plus 2 will never get you 5
Theres fractions in my subtraction
And x dont equal y
But my homework is bound to multiply
Math suks (math suks), math suks (math suks)
Id like to burn this text book
I hate that stuff so much
Math suks (math suks), math suks (math suks)
Sometimes I think that I dont know that much
But math suks
I got so bored with my homework
I turned on the tv
The beauty pageant winners were all smiling through their teeth
And they asked the new miss america
Hey babe can you add up all those bucks
She looked puzzled then just said math suks
Math suks (math suks), math suks (math suks)
You dont even have to spell it
All you have to do is yell it
Math suks (math suks), math suks (math suks)
Sometime times I think that I dont know that much
But math suks
Geometry and trigonometry and if they dont tax your brain
There are numbers to big to be named
Numerical precision is a science with a mission
And I think its gonna drive me insane
Parents fighting with their children
And the congress cant agree
Teachers and their students are all jousting constantly
Management and labor keep rattling old sabres
Quacking like those peabody ducks
Math suks (quack quack), math suks (quack quack)
You dont even have to spell it
All you have to do is yell it
Math suks, thats right, math suks, you got it
Sometime times I think that I dont know that much
But math suks
All right there goes our g rating
Math suks, math suks, math suks the big one
Math suks, math suks, math suks the big one
Math suks, math suks, math suks the big one
Math suks, math suks, math suks, math suks
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Like Birds
I cant look at the rocket launch
The trophy wives of the astronauts
And I wont listen to their words
cause I like
Birds
I dont care for walkin downtown
Crazy auto-car gonna mow me down
Look at all the people like cows in a herd
Well, I like
Birds
If youre small and on a search
Ive got a feeder for you to perch on
I cant stand in line at the store
The mean little people are such a bore
But its alright if you act like a turd
cause I like
Birds
If youre small and on a search
Ive got a feeder for you to perch on
Ive got a feeder for you to perch on
If youre small and on a search
Ive got a feeder for you to perch on
Ive got a feeder for you to perch on
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The End...
spraying the crops
with Agent Orange!
old people sitting in the cold...
babies born to babies,
with nowhere to turn...
young people living in cars.
one war over, another begins!
the price of oil goes up.
meth labs, break ins,
another business closing doors...
the lies and the promises
become even more hollow....
salvation, redemption, just plain survive!
the buildings on fire,
they just stand and watch!
black skin, brown skin, white skin, all....
indignant, and hungry,
turning against the wind!
in the end...
only the truth will stand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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