I Am
i am, become...
i worked your steel mills,
i walked the i-beams of your scrapers.
i dug deep in your coal mines,
i plowed your fields, picked your crops...
i picked your cotton, milked your cows,
worked your furniture factories,
in your cotton mills...
built your tracks, rode your trains,
popped your trucks, poured your concrete...
my sweat and blood, the foundation,
the nails in the wall!
i an America, the common,
and the magnificent...
i am the pulse, the breath, the beat.
i am the lover, the fighter, the dreamer...
i am the father, and the mother...
i am the sinner and the holy.
i am the truth, at all costs.
i am the man behind the wheel,
the dream behind the man...
the faith behind the dream...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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Small Town America
just an old southern
mill village.... cotton mills
on one side of the road,
furniture factories on the other.
momma worked there,
my sister worked there,
my brother worked there,
and i worked there....
$1.90 an hour, loading trucks
by hand, stacking rolls of cloth
eight feet high without a lift...
putting brackets on beds, or
running bandsaws....
hard hand work, paid every week.
all those buildings empty now....
windows boarded over, signs
falling.... rats run across haunted floors.
even the old gas station
down at the end of the road....
is closed.... no more gas,
no cigarettes, no cold beer.....
and the Sons Of Jesus,
and the Elk's Club quit sharing
the old dance building on the corner....
no one lives here anymore.....
no one lives, no one dies....
and the bum on the corner
that looks like your brother
has no name.... in
small town America!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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America, America...
i remember...
$1.55 an hour, furniture row,
55 hours a week.
getting up hay, milking cows,
and them cotton mills
we worked in...
family member to family member,
generations of workers.
no running water,
carrying buckets up the hill,
spiders on the outhouse wall.
the hoe, the shovel, and the plow.
reading by candle light,
and writing socialist manifestos
on a 1913 underwood typewriter!
making love in the front seat
of a 1966 Rambler Classic.
raising babies, raising hell,
renegade thoughts...
climbing mountains, picking music,
living, living, just living
and working!
America, America...
where did you go?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Vacant Eyes
standing in line
for a cup of soup,
second hand coats,
and worn out shoes.
the hands that
built your houses,
paved your roads,
worked your steel mills...
harvested your crops,
worked on your cars,
built your cities and towns,
your stores and your churches.
tremble with the cold,
hold the steaming cup
like a prayer...
wipe the corners of vacant eyes!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Living Wage!
a living wage....
seems like not so much
to ask... after 40 years
of
...working
.....daylight
.........to
...........dusk....
feeding someone elses dream...
America the great,
...America the fallen,
can
...you
.....not hear?
can
...you
.....not
.......feel?
the men and women
that built your highways,
your cities and towns...
worked your mills,
your factories, your farms,
are crying out!
we have to eat too!
we need shelter!
we need hope!
honest hard working people...
is this
...how you
......pay us back?
do you remember our names?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Railroads And Riverboats
The railroads, and the riverboats, that bred the mighty man
That we read about, and we dream about
The men who built this land
And the farmers and the lumbermen and the men who worked the mills
And the poor hard working miners
Who died inside the hills
While the rivers that flow
Are the blood of our land
And the trucks they keep rumbling
On the great concrete band
And the railroads keep pushing
To be all they once were
And nature is calling
No one's listening to her
And the immigrants, by the boat load, in a dozen different tones
Sang of freedom, in the new land
Climbed the ladder rung by rung
Some to Boston, some to Pittsburg, Philidelphia and St. Paul
And the old ways, led to new days
They were welcome one and all.
While the rivers that flow
Are the blood of our land
And the trucks they keep rumbling
On the great concrete band
And the railroads keep pushing
To be all they once were
And nature is calling
No one's listening to her
With the railroads, and the riverboats, and the bread lines far behind
And the days we sang together
Long gone but still in mind
And the men who, came before us, men who brought us to today
And the story, still unravels, from the dreams of yesterday
While the rivers that flow
Are the blood of our land
And the trucks they keep rumbling
On the great concrete band
And the railroads keep pushing
To be all they once were
And nature is calling
No one's listening to her
And nature is calling,
No one's listening to her
song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Workers Of America
Workers of America shout long and loud
As we work together hard and proud
We are the ones that built this great country of ours
From the strain on our backs and our blisters and scars
We were the ones to clear the fields and lay the tracks
We are the ones to build the cities and break our backs
And we are the ones to sweat and bleed and die
As we built this great country, which no one can deny
We work the factories, and the stores and the mills
We dig the ditches and collect the garbage to pay our bills
We are the ones to work in the snow and in the heat of the sun
If it wasn't for us the workers, no work would ever be done
It wasn't the politicians or the judges who built this great land
But it was the workers of America as destiny had planned
Also we are the ones to fight the fires and all the wars
When our elected officials send us away to foreign shores
And we are the ones to feed the deprived and the needy
While the rich man cares for no one, but himself and the greedy
Without us the workers this land or any land would certainly fall
As we are the one that mixes the mortar and builds the wall
We pay the taxes to keep America's heart beating
And we are the ones to keep America always competing
Workers of America look up, as GOD gives us a nod
And listen to the past, as our forefathers do applaud.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The invasion army
When houses dazzle on all the hillocks,
every swamp is drained
for sport fields,
bulldozers make roads
right through the veldt
and it becomes mines, factories
and office blocks
and sown farms cover the fields
and the bush veldt
disappears into timber mills,
the last trees become burning wood
and furniture
and concrete creeps up into the Karoo
and the clean air disappears
behind industrial fog,
car fumes and poisonous gas
so that the sun shine fades
there will be nowhere
to draw a trench
to ward off the technology
that covers the earth
since the invasion army
are marching in unstoppable
with lorries, bulldozers,
scrapers, graders
and cranes
and every yellow machine
and in only a few glamour books
you will read about warblers, plovers,
jackals, baboons, suricates,
rock rabbits and wild animals
and humans will be like in a zoo
curtailed beyond their own railings
and work and play caged in
while the state watches,
spies and controls them.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ballad for the Forgotten Workers
down by the river, down on the street,
past the empty factory buildings,
smokestacks that no longer smoke.
past the run down tenements,
past the vacant store fronts.
to fires that dont burn, and...
...engines that dont stroke.
down the road, leaving the city behind,
there's miles and miles of fields,
stone silent and turning brown.
tractors rusting in the sun,
a bucket by the well...
old house lies empty, falling down.
the sea of hands lost forever;
red and white, brown, and black.
headstones in the parking lots,
but they're never coming back.
built your cities, built your country,
plowed your fields, fed your hungry.
thrown away in your quest for power...
but their names mark the hours!
(steel workers, no more steel!
teachers, no more books!
farmers in the food lines,
no carpenters, no cooks.
cotton mills moved to Asia,
we cant even make tables and chairs.
no time clocks and no paychecks, ...
... nobody really cares!)
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am (Desire)
i am, become...
i am the stillness of the mountains,
and the whisperings of the grasses.
i am the kiss of the river,
running o'er stones and dirt.
i am the magnificent eagle,
but no less the sparrow...
i am the wind that weeps
for the land of the free!
i am concrete and glass,
the great cities you built.
i am factories and mills,
i am trucks hauling freight.
i am rows of corn,
your tractor, your mule.
i am brick houses built,
row upon row...
i am breasts and hands,
i am lips and legs wrapped.
i am sweetness and wetness,
i am heat and the moan..
i am the cave of desire,
the ride long, deep, and hard.
i am the dance of the lovers
in the great room of darkness.
i am children taught by lamplight,
books written by the candle.
i am integrity and dignity
handed down from generation to generation.
i am discernment and questioning,
and the prayers of all traditions.
i am the hope that listens,
hears, and cares....
i am the magic belief
that awaits the star,
and the birth...
the faith that demands
that living goes on...
i am all that you are
given without holding back...
i am tomorrow believing in today!
i am, i dance, i make love, i sing...
i am America's desire,
i am, become....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Im A Lover Not A Fighter
Well I met a pretty girl, as pretty as can be
I thought she was my baby till she introduced to me
A great big tall fella, about six foot tall
I shivered and I shook, couldnt do any more
cause Im a lover not a fighter
Yes, Im a lover not a fighter
Yes, Im a lover not a fighter
And Im really built for speed
Built for speed
Well, some people think Im lazy but theres one thing they dont know
cause when Im in the mood I can go caddy[? ] go
cause Im a lover not a fighter
Yes, Im a lover not a fighter
Yes, Im a lover not a fighter
And Im really built for speed
Built for speed
Built for speed
Whoa yeah
Well I can roar like a lion, I can sting like a bee
But some times I think, baby, Ive got rabbit blood in me
cause Im a lover not a fighter
Yes, Im a lover not a fighter
Yes, Im a lover not a fighter
And Im really built for speed
Built for speed
Built for speed
Whoa yeah
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Degree
someone asked me what my degree was in...
well, i've been a factory worker,
a mill worker, a carpenter, a trash collector...
milked cows and rode horses,
grown gardens and cut wood.
i've been a kick boxer, a fugitive,
a poet, and a mad lover.
a two bit picker, a prisoner,
an addict and a thief.
a street preacher, a hobo,
a father and a husband.
a monk and a heretic....
need i say more.
i've loaded trucks and worked sawmills,
been a salesman and a business manager.
i've climbed mountains and lived in caves,
bathed naked in waterfalls.
i've been a winner, and a loser,
i've been a friend to the end.
i've been a fighter and a believer,
a socialist, and a renegade.
i've read books and gave poetry readings,
sat up all night typing naked thoughts.
met Jesus in a drunk tank,
walked with Buddha through lifetimes.
been a human being, been an asshole,
and reaped my own mistakes.
have stopped in the rain to change tires,
and rescued turtles from the highway.
walked thirty miles to kiss a woman,
and jumped out several windows.
drove too fast, fought too hard,
have fallen from great heights...
other than that...
i guess you're out of luck!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Family Farm (Season After Season)
his granddaddy built
the old house from the
ground with his bare hands....
that old tractor has plowed
fields season after season...
how many winters has
that old barn seen?
how many buckets of water
from that old well?
how many children
conceived and born
under that tin roof?
how many times has
that fence been mended?
how many potatoes and
canned goods stored
in that old cellar?
how many nights spent reading
by candlelight....
how many pensive eyes
staring through that window?
how many cows milked?
how many eggs picked up?
and that old dog who's
been here forever.....
tomorrow the 'bank's' coming
to take it all away.....
and all that's left of a family
is that which can be loaded
on his old truck...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Labor Day
Labor Day....
forty years of working
and cant pay the rent...
lost my benefits,
lost my house,
cant retire,
now or ever...
cotton mills, furniture factories,
truck driving, house building...
cant afford to fill up with gas.
run down trailer,
better grow your own food.
dont get sick,
cant go to the doctor.
they're bashing unions,
cutting unemployment off.
cant send your kid to school,
cant afford to be buried...
those people in Washington,
and those on the stoop,
cant see your face,
and damn sure,
dont know your name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cotton Fields
When i was a little bitty baby
My mama done rock me in the cradle
In them old cotton fields back home
It was back in louisiana
Just about a mile from texarkana
In them old cotton fields back home
Let me tell you now well got me in a fix
I caught a nail in my tire doing lickitey splits
I had to walk a long long way to town
Came upon a nice old man well he had a hat on
Wait a minute mister can you give me some directions
I gonna want to be right off for home
Don't care if them cotton balls get rotten
When i got you baby, who needs cotton
In them old cotton fields back home
Brother only one thing more that's gonna warm you
A summer's day out in california
It's gonna be those cotton fields back home
It was back in louisiana
Just about a mile from texarkana
Give me them cotton fields
(it was back in louisiana)
Let me hear it for the cotton fields
(just about a mile from texarkana)
You know that there's just no place like home
Well boy it sure feels good to breathe the air back home
You shoulda seen their faces when they seen how i grown
In them old cotton fields back home
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cold Metal
Pop
Uh
I played tag in the auto graveyard
I looked up at the radio tower
Rag tent by the railroad tracks
Concrete poured over steel bridge
Pondered my fate
While they built the interstate
Im a product of america
From the morgue to the prisons
Cold metal, when I start my band
Cold metal, in my garbage can
Cold metal, gets in my blood
And my attitude
Yeah, a huh
Threw my hide in an automobile
Heard a song called drive the wheel
Truckers, trailers, tractors caught me workin
This is the song of my heritage
From the bad to the buddha
Cold metal, thats what it be
Cold metal, from sea to sea
Cold metal, its how we win
And also how we sin
How we sin, how we sin, how we sin, how we sin
Cold metal, in the afternoon
Sounds lovely like a hendrix tune
Cold metal, its the father of beat
The mother of the street
Cold metal, it rolls on by
Cold metal, gonna raise it high
Cold metal, itll even fly
Rust buckets in the sky
Cold metal, got to be
Skeleton of the free
Cold metal, its gotta be
Better save a tree
Save a tree, save a tree, save a tree, save a tree
Yeah
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My mother worked in factories, worked as a domestic, worked in a restaurant, always had a second job.
quote by Ed Bradley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cotton Eyed Joe
Traditional
If it hadnt been for cotton-eye joe
Id been married long time ago
Where did you come from. where did you go?
Where did you come from cotton-eye joe?
(repeat)
He came to town like a midwinter storm
He rode through the fields so
Handsome and strong
His eyes was his tools and his smile was his gun
But all he had come for was having some fun
(repeat intro)
He brought disaster wherever he went
The hearts of the girls was to hell broken sent
They all ran away so nobody would know
And left only men cause of cotton-eye joe
(repeat intro)
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seeking Refuge
'And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.'
- T.S. Eliot
you have gone that far to the edge of that cliff
where you now stand
to explore all the possibilities of touching a cloud
and now that you are touching
this cotton dream
you are feeling nothing at all
you look down
below your feet to that village near the equator
that you left years ago
and you think finally that everything amounts to nothing
except that pink cotton candy
that you once tasted
as the best metaphor
for your dream-cloud
your cotton dream
so sweet to your teeth
come to think of it
it is never too late to build this bridge
rather than jump
and die in that muddy river
just below the cliff
where you are now
still standing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dream On
(bayer sager / golde / mayoff)
I surround myself with superficial things
Somethin to toy with
They dont mean a thing
I got my share of secrets
A long time overdue
I got a world inside me
Id better keep on running to
I dream on
I dream on
A fantasy to guide me
And hope to see me through
I dream on
I dream on
Do you wanna be a dreamer?
Be a dreamer
If you wanna be a dreamer
Be a dreamer
Come on, baby, be a dreamer, be a dreamer, oh, oh
Now, my friends all say Im crazy
And Im blowing every chance
til until I hear your sweet, sweet music
Nothins gonna make me dance
cause Im a dreamer and my eyes give me away
Oh, theyre always sayin
All the things Id never say
I dream on
I dream on
A fantasy to guide me
And hope to see me through
I dream on
I dream on
Do you wanna be a dreamer?
Be a dreamer
If you wanna be a dreamer
(be a dreamer)
Come on, baby, be a dreamer, be a dreamer, oh
Do you wanna be a dreamer?
(be a dreamer)
If you wanna be a dreamer
(be a dreamer)
Come on, baby, be a dreamer, (be a dreamer), oh, oh
I believe in magic
And in wishes coming true
Somethin tells me, baby
That you believe it, too
I dream on
I dream on
A fantasy to guide me
And hope to see me through
I dream on
I dream on
Do you wanna be a dreamer?
(be a dreamer)
If you wanna be a dreamer
(be a dreamer)
Come on, baby, be a dreamer
(be a dreamer)
Ooh, hoo
If you wanna be a dreamer
Be a dreamer
Be a dreamer
Oh, yeah
Do you wanna?
Do you wanna be a dreamer?
Ah, ha, be a dreamer
Yeah, be a dreamer, oh, ho
Do you wanna be a dreamer?
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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