En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Howl (The Returning)

black eyed, hungry teeth,
souls drawn tight through a needle.
displaced, desolate,
lives packed on borrowed trucks.
padlocked doors, Wall Street roars,
dead soldiers coming home.
street corners, somebody's daughter,
selling shadows wrapped in dreams.
religious freaks, hangman's noose,
dark glasses see only white!
Christians and Muslims, russian roulette,
hollow threats and doomsday lies.
starving children, doors locked,
faces turned away.!
oil rigs pumping, dry humping,
the earth screams, 'it's rape'!
protesters marching, riot squads,
take away your rights.
prisons full, hard degrees,
anger has a price!

lovers meet, passion burns,
scars left by point of change.
wild eyed addicts, guns in hand,
taking what they need.
the righteous wake, it's too late,
their enemies their brothers.
mountains crumble, trees fall,
rivers full of sludge.
war cries, patriot lies,
grease the grimy wheel.
suffocate, dedicate,
dead bodies to the ground.
faceless rise, tired of lies,
too damned hungry to care.
common folk, dressed in black,
lift unspoken prayers!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Do You Care? Do You Care?

there are people dying everywhere,
do you care? do you care?
there are people hungry everywhere,
do you care? do you care?

gunshots, bomb drops,
thunder splits the sky.
preacher on the tv,
says you're gonna die.
patriots, deviants,
doors ripped off the hinge.
children eating fathers,
freedom on the fringe!

equality, dignity,
slam the prison doors.
bodies in the ditch,
aint nobody keeping score.
nuclear rain, cocaine,
oceans full of oil.
god died, the president lied,
coming to a boil.

there are people dying everywhere,
do you care? do you care?
there are people hungry everywhere,
do you care? do you care?

black skin, white skin,
grated till they bleed.
angry men without hope,
taking what they need.
well paid lies, cut the ties,
glass figures stand in line.
love screams, shattered dreams,
the blind lead the blind!

trees cut, doors shut,
food stamps and day old bread.
schools closed, books burned,
hear the cry of the dead.
injustice rages, guilty pages,
we reap what we have sowed.
this world on fire, with desire,
the truth the final code!

there are people dying everywhere,
do you care? do you care?
there are people hungry everywhere,
do you care? do you care?

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Can Feel..... (The Change Coming)

i can feel the change coming,
the dark swell of the clouds.
the rumble that shakes the streets,
i can smell buildings on fire.
can hear the planes,
the sound the bombs make falling,
the pulsing hate of the oil rigs,
the shuffle of money behind closed doors.
the wail of prayers in desperate churches,
the street dealer selling a loaf of bread.
the metallic sound of shovels digging graves,
the ignorant drone of great leaders.
the sound of boots on pavement,
breath shuddering through broken windows.
the silent stare of the angry and hungry,
the thunderous clenching of fists.
the haunted sound of chains and cell doors,
and riot squad bullhorns.
the tongues of truth cut from bodies,
the last cigarette lit.
the pounding hearts of the common,
black and white joined.
coming in waves, determined as one.
and the cries of the children...
always the cries...
held in the hearts as a beacon,
the reason to live and die!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Black Thunder

black thunder/ broken pieces, tired eyes.
church bells silent ringing, crow feet scarred pillows.
small children walking, without tongues praying,
wagon wheels bogged down in sand.
black thunder/ second hand lives, worn out lies.
dead soldiers mournful singing, borrowed tomorrows.
blind mouths moving, talking without saying,
unlit rooms forged by fugitive hands.

black thunder/ pregnant women without faces.
waves lapping orphan feet, ships lost in the storm.
refugee stars lost in unmarked skies,
an old tree dying rotting on the ground.
black thunder/ families disappearing without traces.
trash blown deserted streets, old men waiting to be born.
molded crucifixes, covered with flies,
clouds chant scriptures without a sound.

(guns silent weeping,
angels prayerful sweeping.
dreams born dying, dreams unfolding,
looking without seeing, touching without holding.)

black thunder/ hungry barefoot ghosts whisper.
priests covered in blood, empty windows open.
tiny infinities wrapped in colored matchsticks,
nowhere standing lost by the road.
black thunder/ brothers burying virgin sisters.
dialogue without talking, homeless heroes smoking.
ants' prophecies well hidden, time worn bricks,
strangers huddled against the cold.

black thunder/ salvation starved borrowed clothes.
smoke charred walls, forever dripping to the floor.
flesh tokens paid, lifetimes yet unforgiven,
candles dressed in cemetery suits.
black thunder/ nobody cares, nobody knows.
horses stomping stalls, doors open to doors.
while the dead barter for the living,
with bayonets and religious boots....

black thunder!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Children of Ignorance

the children of ignorance
with bits in their mouths,
led blindfolded to the slaughter
without a thought or a prayer.

whipped into a frenzy by lies,
wrapped with golden ribbons,
sold by street vendors in suits
with hollow faces and marble eyes.

fed the 'word of God' with shotguns,
wearing crucifix painted robes;
selling their daughters for gasoline,
and their sons to political wars.

marching to hatred and violence,
leaving the weak to suffer and fall.
in the name of patriotism and Wall Street,
led like dumb sheep to die.
and they're already dead!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Government's Heroin

the lies,
and propaganda,
spewed forth
by the Wall Street,
Pentagon pushing elite...
the lies,
that cover a dying earth,
and hide the faces
of starving millions,
that bury the bodies
of the victims in unmarked graves.
that strip the working class
of all dignity and rights...

the lies,
and propaganda,
nothing but the government's heroin,
doled out in measured doses,
numbing the souls of the masses...
but now the spoon is tarnished,
the needle bent beyond repair.
track marked arms linked in arms,
angry, and determined!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Statement We Make!

the statement we make,
be not written on paper...
it is written,
in the tired eyes of the workers,
underpaid, and struggling.
in the hunger of the unemployed,
in the rage of the homeless.
in the walking of the broken,
in the families of dead soldiers.
in the anger of the young,
with no place to turn.
in the seething of the prisons,
and the tomb infested colleges.
in the smoke filled air,
and the rivers full of waste.
in the haunted mines,
behind the wheel of the big trucks.
in the pot standing empty,
in the fury of the poets.

black and white,
male and female,
old and young,
Christian, Muslim, and atheist...
straight and gay,
all standing equal,
feet set with respect.
an army of one becoming many...
demanding freedom!

the statement we make,
with our bodies and souls,
with our very lives...
written in human blood!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Truth... Demands An Audience

i keep watching
old people dying...
with unspoken living,
trembling on their lips.

truth...
demands an audience!
the silent screams
of mountains and rivers defiled.

even the trees whisper,
the sad hurt of poverty.
the wind cries of justice,
in the empty rooms of god.

do you tire of this flame?
wish i'd go away?
give it time,
even my footprints will disappear.

trees will fall,
mountains will crumble.
and the oil raped rivers
will stink of death.

hungry mouths will go unnoticed.
without faces or names.
cities full of empty buildings
will murmur in the night.

and nothing will return
to claim it's just reward.
the unmarked stone stays silent...
even the silence tastes bitter!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Hard Rains A-gonna Fall

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
Ive stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
Ive walked and Ive crawled on six crooked highways,
Ive stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
Ive been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
Ive been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And its a hard, and its a hard, its a hard, and its a hard,
And its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin,
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin,
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And its a hard, and its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
And its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin,
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin,
Heard ten thousand whisperin and nobody listenin,
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin,
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And its a hard, and its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
And its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And its a hard, its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
Its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
Oh, whatll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, whatll you do now, my darling young one?
Im a-goin back out fore the rain starts a-fallin,
Ill walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioners face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And Ill tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then Ill stand on the ocean until I start sinkin,
But Ill know my song well before I start singin,
And its a hard, its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
Its a hard rains a-gonna fall.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

I Am Sick......

i am sick of your justice...
sick of dead bodies strewn,
sick of your bursts of gunfire,
and your bombs without conscience.
sick of the napalm fingers of your equality,
trading flesh for nickels and dime.
sick of your powder and your pills,
sick of the rape of the young girl
beneath your flag!
i am sick of your nuclear bibles,
sick of your buying and trading.
i am sick of the pound of your oil rigs,
sick of the stink of your morality.
i am sick of your hanging trees,
your courtrooms stacked.
i am sick of the money you sleep with,
sick of your colorless freedom.
i am sick of your smokestacks gone silent.
sick of your riot squads gassing.
i am sick of the amendments you've twisted,
sick of your hate and your prejudice...
i am sick of your slavery,
your prisons, your human rights violations.
i am sick of your political lies....

revolution, by common bond,
the choice of integrity, or death!
the dignity of the human soul demands,
that we live or we die!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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!

Lies Told To Children

religious incantations,
written with dead bodies,
buried in ditches
with face drawn shovels.
the tint of skin tastes
like things done in the night.
and lies told to children
to let them sleep!
redemption killed
on a desert highway,
left to stink in the sun
of another faceless day.
we are what we have done,
in the final end.
yet we close our eyes,
and wash the blood from our hands!
blame it on the cost of freedom,
a white god with special needs.
religious incantations,
and lies told to children!

written for the spirits of over
100 million Native Americans killed!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Hard Rains Gonna Fall

(george: like to bring on a friend of us all, mr. bob dylan!)
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been, my darling young one?
Ive stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
Ive walked and Ive crawled on six crooked highways,
Ive stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
Ive been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
Ive been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
Its a hard, and its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
Its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it,
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin,
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin,
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
And its a hard, its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
Its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
What did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warnin,
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin,
Heard ten thousand whisperin and nobody listenin,
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin,
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
And its a hard, its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
Its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
Who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded in hatred,
Its a hard, its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
Its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
Oh, whatll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And whatll you do now, my darling young one?
Im a-goin back out fore the rain starts a-fallin,
Ill walk to the depths of the deepest dark forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
The executioners face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color and none is the number,
And Ill tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
Reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then Ill stand on the ocean until I start sinkin,
But Ill know my song well before I start singin,
And its a hard, its a hard, its a hard, its a hard,
Its a hard rains a-gonna fall.
Its a hard rains a gonna fall
Its a hard rains a gonna fall

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Guillotine

the guillotine stands
alone in the square,
the pinnacle of pulse....

that drains the heartbeats....
traffic heavy, horns honking,
hurrying, hurrying....

trucks and buses puffing clouds
of death into the air....
neon signs keeping score.

billboards selling the dream,
street preachers selling Jesus....
corner whores selling themselves....

in sterile rooms atop the skyscrapers,
far from the stink, far from
trash strewn in the alleyways

like tiny lives forgotten,
gum stuck to the shoes.....
they gamble with futures,

trading hungry mouths without faces;
never looking back.... vultures
in black suits and ties...

winning, winning, or losing it all.
while the homeless and the addicts
walk the streets below....

looking for something they cant remember....
light dancing on the razor-like blade.....
heads from bodies, hearts from souls......

profit from the last heartbeat!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Do They Come Clean?

at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?

homeless people, young girls
sold on the block,
hungry children, AIDS victims,
gotta watch your stocks.

black and white, brown and red,
gunfire and poverty;
kids afraid to go to school,
aint no profit in honesty.

SUV's, invaded countries,
oil doesnt buy liberty.
the takers take, the hurting weep,
at the cost of dignity.

politicians lie, preachers sell
narrow minded philosophies.
prisons full, bodies in the street,
the faces of reality.

smoke fills the air, oil fills the seas,
trade the future for the fix.
unemployed standing in line,
faceless numbers, brick upon brick.

close your door, shut your windows,
turn up the sound....
of anger, despair, and loss....
cries for help as they drown...

tell me....

at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Shakespeare Daughter's Hungry Street

Jules travelled down smoking art surreal street
to explore bohemian style flavoured beat.
Where all the noble artist souls are found
carrying her doves heart, she was stage bound.
Down to Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Jazz sax soared art savouring lovers danced.
Midget naked dancing twin brothers pranced.
Fire eater sister showed her fiery flash style.
Marching the military two step erotic mile.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Some priest held paintings of narrow grief.
Some lovers carried crosses of their belief.
Some miracle workers photographed their smile.
Some frozen suit prophets flaunted their style.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

The red body wine skull shape face glowed.
Humanities blood of experience muse flowed.
Sax and ghost trumpeter explore reality theme.
Every jazz hip poet was singing up wild scene.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Some choir angels sung 'let humanity be heard'.
Redemptions poems quote reality to disturb.
Let the high barbed pitched tongues glow.
Artist dreams and mad sanity will overflow.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

The immaculate dripping sky turned bright red.
Some saint laughed loud, cool your aching head.
Poets, junkies, taxman, lovers played high dice.
Each and every sister painted their own paradise.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Drinking her own redemption flavour wine divine.
Slept childlike and woke mysteriously to fine.
The seven stone evangelist had shifted outa town.
The sculptured Valentino had fallen nose down.
Down upon Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

Jules travelled down smoking art valley street.
To savour bohemian flavour feel burning heat,
but finally her natural innocence was blown.
All the poets ritual seers faces had flown.
Down to Shakespeare daughter's hungry street.

poem by Wayne Falconer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Day After Greed

walking the greying streets,
between the broken down
and vacant buildings....
through the alleyways..

concrete graveyards...
the hint of smoke hangs
in the air.... the stain of soot,
the taste of death... lingers....

i closed my eyes and saw
the bodies... strewn in the street
like trash blown against a fence...
eyes wild, faces contorted, ...
death, and it's brothers and sisters...

storefronts dark and ominous,
gas pumps stand alone like angry
sores, oozing into the emptiness.
great black birds fly, casting shadows
that search for tiny particles of light....

stray dogs roam in packs,
hungry for flesh!
only the sound of the great
oil rigs pumping in the distance....
an old tattered flag blown
by a cold infidel wind!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Fireflies In The Dark

like fireflies in the dark,
those who stand firm are taken,
stamped, and put out...

you silence the human cries
of freedom, ban books,
ideas... ban all thinking.

take anything original
back to the assembly line;
to be remade, reformed....

in the image of mindless
obedience... trained to kill,
trained to follow... trained to hate.

while the lovers of trees, rivers,
and mountains... become
the new faceless minority....

in the land of coal dust excess,
the land of black and white tv.

poverty, disease, and drug abuse
will thin the ranks of the rebellious.
and children without hope

bury their children in dumpsters.
while the angry poets rage
having spent more, done more time...

in your prisons than in college.
and dead mothers walk the streets
crying bitter tears that fall unseen.

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

America, Grieving

America, grieving...
your oily fingers on
the wheel of the world,
your black heart of prejudice...
you pull the crumbs
from the mouths of the needy,
and litter your walkways
with the bones of children.

you poison your own crops,
and defile your own water.
you educate your children
in prisons dark, and
on foreign sands fighting...
for freedom, no!
you batter the people of color,
bruise them with your stars and stripes...
your hanging trees condemn you!

you cut the hearts out
of your working people,
and feed them fear and lies.
the stench of your excesses
rises to meet god,
the god you've created
in your blackened jealousy.

you taunt the spirit
with cries of freedom,
free speech, free thoughts...
and then break it with the
oppressive load of your debts.
Wall Street and big oil,
and the corporate demons...
no democracy here!

America, grieving...
your own will rise up,
and take down your flag!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Calm Like A Bomb

I be walkin' god like a dog
My narrative fearless
My word war returns to burn
Like Baldwin home from Paris
Steel from a furnace
I was born landless
It's tha native son
Born of Zapata's guns
Stroll through tha shanties
And tha cities remains
Same bodies buried hungry
But with different last names
These voltures rob everything
Leave nothing but chains
Pick a point tha globe
Yes tha pictures tha same
There's a bank a church a myth and a hearse
A mall and a loan a child dead at birth
There's a widow pig parrot
A rebel to tame
A whitehooded judge
And a syringe and a vein
And tha riot be tha rhyme of tha unheard

Calm like a bomb

This ain't subliminal
Feel tha crtitical mass approach horizon
Tha pulse of tha condemned
Sound off America's demise
Tha anti-myth rhythm rock shocker
Yes I spit fire
Hope lies in tha smoldering rubble of empires
Back through tha shanties and tha cities remains
Tha same bodies buried hungry
But with different last names
These vultures rob everyone
Leave nothing but chains
Pick a point here at home
And tha picture's tha same
There's a field full of slaves
Some corn and some debit
There's a ditch full of bodies
Tha check for tha rent
There's a tap

song performed by by Rage Against The Machine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Martyrs!

martyrs...
silently trudging head down
to the promised land.
familiar?
a neighbor, a forgotten uncle,
the stranger you saw on the corner;
the faces...
bombing victims in the Middle East,
hungry children on foreign soils,
the kid picked up for looking suspicious.
the bullied kid that hung himself,
the family living in the backseat
of a car in Florida.
the tired eyed man standing
in the unemployment line.
the protesters, and the cops
with pepper spray and clubs...
the face of the young boy taken
from his drug addict parents...
bodies and faces,
souls wrapped in dirty flesh.
silently trudging,
martyrs!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!