I Am # 2
i am, become...
i am the poet, the prophet,
the clown, the fool...
the old man running the pawn shop,
the teacher who tries but cant seem...
the whore working her corner,
the policeman walking his beat,
the old woman shivering under her quilt,
who cant pay for heat!
the murderer, the dealer,
the victim, the prisoner...
the soldier come home to no home,
the farmer whose farm foreclosed.
i am the bow, the arrow,
the hammer, the nail...
the sacred relic, the condom,
the head on the platter.
the street preacher, the pagan priest,
you'd burn at your stake!
the homeless man in the alley,
the match, and the fire.
i am the protester beaten,
the union organizer, the march.
i am America come howling,
i am, become...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Am.... (Hand Of Silence)
i am the fire raging out of control,
the blade of the shadow on poverty's neck.
the broken sound when no one can hear,
the cold feel of the gallows,
the wings of the dead bird.
i am the raccoon trapped,
and the fury of loss.
i am the waiting that kills,
moment by moment.
i am the hand too tired to touch,
the baby just born that no one wants.
i am the ribs showing on the starving child,
the refugee fleeing with nowhere to go.
the smell of despair at the county dump,
the apartment without curtains or furniture.
i am the soldier killed who hesitated with conscience.
i am the prisoner afraid of both detention and freedom.
the young gay teenager who hangs himself,
the pregnant girl who takes too many pills.
i am the protester beaten and left on the sidewalk,
the old man alone without food or heat.
i am the touch of Jesus in the addict's eyes,
the street bum sleeping in the alley.
i am the farmer whose farm was taken,
the family left without a home.
the 40 year worker in the unemployment line,
the young girl taken and sold as a whore.
i am the Buddhist monk who sets himself on fire,
the rebel imprisoned for speaking the truth.
i am the millions of young who cant afford school,
the millions of workers who cant afford insurance.
i am the immigrant deported,
whose family has no chance.
the young mother caught stealing food.
i am the morals hidden by despair and anger,
the conscience of the poor holding the gun.
i am the color of skin covered with blood,
the face of god in strays of all kinds.
i am the Buddha weeping,
the body of suffering....
the hand of silence covering the grave.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Equally Holy....
there is no difference,
in the man painting the walls
of the chapel,
and the homeless man pissing
in the alley...
in the Madonna,
and the young woman
giving birth on the floor
of a welfare apartment.
in the Buddha,
and the child starving
to death in a third world country...
in the doctor saving lives,
and the addict on the street.
in the peacemaker,
and the soldier afraid on the battlefield...
in the leader, the priest, and the whore.
in black or white, and the illegal immigrant.
all are equally holy!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dealer
If you fool around
With the dealer
Remember soon
Youll have to pay
Hell creep behind you
Like a hunter
Just to steal your soul away
I dont want no one
Messing with my woman
But just the same
I dont see nobody
Fooling with you
If youre snowblind
Madonna can hold you
But if you dont understand
There is nothing she can do for you
Running from the dealer
Trying to save your soul
I can feel the fire
Coming from inside you
I know what its like
Cos Ive been burned before
Aint no mercy
In the hunger but
Youre a fool to yourself
Cos your dealer keeps you begging for more
Running from the dealer
Trying to save your soul
In the beginning all you wanted
Was the calm before the storm
If the bluebird plays the eagle
He finds his song will turn to stone
Dealer
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gasoline Alley
(rod stewart, ron wood)
I think I know now whats making me sad
Its a yearnin for my own back yard
I realize maybe I was wrong to leave
Better swallow up my silly country pride
Going home, running home
Down to gasoline alley where I started from
Going home, and Im running home
Down to gasoline alley where I was born
When the weathers better and the rails unfreeze
And the wind dont whistle round my knees
Ill put on my weddin suit and catch the evening train
Ill be home before the milks upon the door
Going home, running home
Down to gasoline alley where I started from
Going home, and Im running home
Down to gasoline alley where I was born
But if anything should happen and my plans go wrong
Should I stray to the house on the hill
Let it be known that my intentions were good
Id be singing in my alley if I could
And if Im called away and its my turn to go
Should the blood run cold in my veins
Just one favor Ill be asking of you
Dont bury me here, its too cold
Take me back, carry me back
Down to gasoline alley where I started from
Take me back, wont you carry me home
Down to gasoline alley where I started from
Take me back, carry me back
Down to gasoline alley where I started from
Take me back, carry me back
Down to gasoline alley where I started from
Take me back, carry me back
Down to gasoline alley where I started from
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Other Hand...
the black man's hand,
the poor man's hand.
the Muslim hand, the Jewish hand...
the gay man's hand,
the working man's hand,
the ex-convict's hand,
the farmer's hand, the garbage man's hand...
the Christian's hand, the atheist's hand,
the father's hand, the soldier's hand,
the peacemaker's hand,
the healer's hand, the teacher's hand,
the prodigal's hand, even the murderer's hand...
the victim's hand, the broken hand,
the praying hand, the touching hand...
all, when extended,
feel like my other hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Christmas (Tuckerman sonnet)
(after A. E. Housman)
Home are the soldiers, they are home and free,
they are home from the far off battlefield
never to a man’s will again to yield
home with loved ones, some friends to see.
Home is the farmer from the working field
where many acres of land lies prepared,
he is at the place where he wants to be
safe under God’s almighty constant shield
free from all kinds of dark iniquity
tranquillity is in the open veldt,
the evening falls, twilight is at hand,
with his cattle all having being cared
and soldier’s dance with a happy band,
close the farmer’s wife is being held
[Reference: XXII “Home is the sailor, home from sea” by A. E. Housman.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Gasoline Alley Bred
Woman, get your head out of curlers.
Time get your butt out of bed.
Get down your hats and baggage, my child.
Going back home,
going back to the homestead.
I'm a-gonna heat me some water,
and put a shine upon my shoes.
Telephone my ma,
Keep the room above Joe's
'Cause we're coming back,
coming back to the homestead.
Everything is packed,
getting back to the homestead.
This time, this time we'll stay.
I know that we could have made it;
we had ideas in our heads.
And I wish somehow
we could have saved it
but we're Gasoline Alley bred.
Yet the years haven't really been wasted,
and I know it in my head.
We did good for the life that we've tasted
'cause we're Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley bred
Woman, you can really believe it,
I did everything a man could do.
Breaking my back just to make us a dime.
That won't mean a damn
when no one wants to know you.
Woman, I know how you're feeling.
I've seen the hurt upon your face.
How many time do you think that I've cried?
Knowing every day that your heart was getting broken,
holdin' back your pride til you were nearly chokin'
Oh let's get away.
chorus
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Prayed For You... (I Just Did)
if i prayed for you,
with the eyes of a child,
beaten, bruised, and hungry...
would you see, would you know?
if i prayed for you,
with an old man's hands,
hard, calloused, and gentle...
would you feel, would you know?
if i prayed for you,
with a mother's tears,
her daughter raped by your soldiers...
would you change, would you know?
if i prayed for you,
with a homeless man's heart,
a human story untold...
would you care, would you know?
if i prayed for you,
with a farmer's faith,
plowing and planting unseen...
would you believe, would you know?
if i prayed for you,
from a soldier's conviction,
who laid down his guns and walked away...
would you be inspired, would you know?
if i prayed for you,
with a real doctor's conscience,
who made his life's work for the poor...
would you love, would you know?
if i prayed for you,
with the protester's courage,
beaten and arrested for the truth...
would you live, would you know?
if i prayed for you,
from the heart of god,
revealing holy desire....
hey, i just did!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Howler
Here is the angel of the worlds desire
Placed on trial
To hide in shrouded alley sihouettes
With cigarette coiled
To stike at passing voices
Dark and suspect
Here is the howling ire
Here is the sacred face of rendevous
In subway sour
Whose grand delusions prey like intellect
In lunatic minds
Intent and focused on
The long thin matches
To light the howling fire...
No, no, not me,
Burn, I dont wanna burn.....
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Band
Hey, there! Listen awhile! Listen awhile, and come.
Down in the street there are marching feet, and I hear the beat of a drum.
Bim! Boom!! Out of the room! Pick up your hat and fly!
Isn't it grand? The band! The band! The band is marching by!
Oh, the clarinet is the finest yet, and the uniforms are gay.
Tah, rah! We don't go home -
Oom, pah! We won't go home -
Oh, we shan't go home, and we can't go home when the band begins to play.
Oh, see them swinging along, swinging along the street!
Left, right! buttons so bright, jackets and caps so neat.
Ho, the Fire Brigade, or a dress parade of the Soldier-men is grand;
But everyone, for regular fun, wants a Big-Brass-Band.
The slide-trombone is a joy alone, and the drummer! He's a treat!
So, Rackety-rumph! We don't go home -
Boom, Bumph! We won't go home -
Oh, we shan't go home, and we can't go home while the band is in the street.
Tooral-ooral, Oom-pah!
The band is in the street!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Morning Bell
Morning bell
Morning bell
Not another encounter
Release me
Release me
You can keep the furniture
A bump on the head
Howling(?) down the chimney
Release me
Release me
Please........
Release me
Release me
Where'd you park the car?
Where'd you park the car?
Clothes are all ?? with the furniture
Now I might as well
I might as well
Sleepy jack the fire drill
Run around around around around around....
Cut the kids in half (x3)
The lights are on but nobody's home
Everybody wants to be a
The lights are on but nobody's home
Nobody wants to be a slave
Walking walking walking walking.......
The lights are on but nobody's home
Everybody wants to be a
Everyone wants to be a friend
Nobody wants to be a slave
Walking walking walking walking...
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bleecker Street
Bleecker street, bleecker street
Sure like to find you underneath my feet
You make me feel kinda cool and complete
My down home one and only bleecker street
They say broadway cant be beat
And fifth avenue is pretty neat
But none of them big boys can compete
With my down home one and only bleecker street
I could be
In hawaii
Chasing waves
Admiring the sky
London, paris, amsterdam...
But Im just ecstatic
Where I am
Life is sexy, life is sweet
In manhattans ninety-six degree heat
Just pounding tar to my favourite beat
My down home one and only bleecker street
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Walk As One!
for all those who are hurting...
souls troubled, in turmoil.
for those in need,
those left alone...
for all those with nowhere to turn.
for all those hungry, body or spirit,
for those who are beaten,
bruised, and scarred...
for those on the street,
and those addicted....
for the prisoner, the victim,
the soldier far from home.
for the lover left empty,
for the dreamer who's lost hope,
for every tear shed in the darkness...
i feel you, i am by your side,
i am the wind whispering to you,
i am the night shadows that embrace.
i am the prayer prayed for you, by you,
and the answer coming in time...
i live inside you,
in the breath you breathe...
you are me, and i am you,
and this path we walk...
we walk as one!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Home Is
Home is where my heart hasn't been
Home is where my heart's yet to be broken
Home is where I meet new sins
Home is wher I cant go back again
Home is where I haven't been beaten
Home is where my faults dont mean a thing
Home is where I haven't been beaten
Home is anywhere you and I wanna be
The DirtyWhore
The Dirty Whore
Whore whore whore the dirty little whore
With her heavy hips and juicy lips
She is bound by her pimp who gives her, her daily dose
Crack Coke heroine or lsd
In them she her emotions pores
Whore whore whore the dirty little whore
As she tickles your dick and gives you new kicks
Biting down your balls to take it all
She massages your chest as she bears her breasts
Coming close yet staying a far
As her panties she removes to make new moves
Saddeling up your prick up and down she rolls
Whore whore whore the dirty little whore
Her job is tough her beat is rough
Pimps and pushers her companions at night
She dines with gangsters and cops alike
Getting paid well and getting beaten at times
Taking pills to giving new thrills
Whore whore whore the dirty little whore
Either at street corners, in bazaar's or mandi's
My friends you are bound to meet this raandi
500 for a blow 5000 for a shag
She even carries rubbers in her bag
To please you is her job
But you of your morality she will rob
Beware of the whore the dirty little whore
poem by Anuj Tikku
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Bo Weevil
You may talk about the ladies
The ladies of your own
These boweevils they'll rub you up at home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
The first time I seen a bo weevil
He was sitting on the stair
The next time I seen a boweevil
He had his own family there
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
The farmer he took the boweevil
And put him on the ice
The boweevil said to the farmer
You treat me mighty nice
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
Alright
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
Alright now this next verse
Is about myself, and when im done I hope
You'll all sing along with me on 'he's looking for a home'
I said if anybody asks you people
Who sang you this song
You tell 'em its Jackie White
He's just been here and gone
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
Alright
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
They're all looking for a home
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coming Home
It's a long and lonely highway.
When you're traveling all alone.
I was on my way to nowhere.
But now i'm coming home.
I'm coming home.
I've been running through the fire.
I've been running for so long.
If i took it any higher.
Baby i would be still be gone.
But now i'm coming home, coming home.i'm coming home.
Coming home, coming home, i'm coming home.
Well my home was really never.
On a far and distant shore.
If i stayed away forever.
I could never miss you more.
And so i'm coming home,coming home.i'm coming home.
Coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
I think of all these years gone by.
Never even wondered why.
I never touched the ground.
All the time that's come and gone.
All the nights i've been alone.
And now i'm homeward bound.
I heard the thunder over canaan.
And i've heard the angels cry.
And their voices came revealing
"as you live,so will you die."
I'm coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
I'm coming home,coming home,i'm coming home.
Coming home, coming home, i'm coming home
I'm coming home
I'm coming home, coming home, coming home...
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Teacher
Words & music by paul simon
There once was a teacher of great renown
Whose words were like the tablets of stone
Because its easier to learn than unlearn
Because weve passed the point of no return
Gather your goods and follow me
Or you will surely die
Verse:
I was only a child of the city
My parents were children of immigrant stock
So we followed as followers go
Over a mountain with a napkin of snow
And ate the berries and roots
That grow along the timberline
Deeper and deeper the dreamer of love sleeps on a quilt of stars
Bridge:
Its cold
Sometimes you cant catch your breath
Its cold
Verse:
Time and abundance thickened his step
So the teacher divided in two
One half ate the forests and fields
The other half sucked all the moisture from the clouds
And we, we were amazed at the power of his appetite
Deeper and deeper the dreamer of love sleeps on a quilt of stars
Verse:
Sometimes we dont know who we are
Sometimes force overpowers us and we cry
My teacher carry me home
Carry me home my teacher
Carry me home
Carry me home my teacher
Carry me home
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the inner square
In the inner square
just outside the police station
a little group stands around a drum
in which coals are burning
and flames are shooting up
in the dark night.
Between them a man is standing,
holding out his hands
to get them warm
and above them the stars are bright
like lights in the night
but the moon
has a strange colour that particular night.
A woman constable walking past
stops and asks the man:
“Are you not one of those wild men
who are following the prisoner? ”
It’s as if the eyes
of every policeman around the fire
like search lights fall on him
and he shakes his head decidedly
and draws the cap lower over his head
to get hot and avoid their stares.
“I really do not know him. Do not even know
the reason why you have captured him. Just came
to get some heat from the fire
and what injustice lies in this? ”
The women constable frowns
and walks away with swaying hips
and he remark about the way
that she walks,
which makes the other men around the fire laugh
and through the open door
of the police station
he notices how somebody inside
hits the prisoner through the face
and it’s almost
as if he feels it in his own face.
“Friend, you are not from here
and looks just as ruff as him, ”
one of the constables says jokingly
and his tooth glitters white
for his own joke.
This time the man is much more definite
and worry is eating at him:
“No. Constables, if I would know him
by this time you would know me too?
You probably know
his accomplices? ”
A constable that was at the arrest
comes and stand at the fire
and the flames flares up more brightly
causing him to see the man
between them clearly.
“You talk in the same dialect as the prisoner?
Were you not at the arrest? Surely you were there? ”
Every policeman and even
some of those in the police station
is now staring at him.
“Truly, no. He is totally strange to me!
You cannot lay the guilt
of that man’s deeds onto just anybody.
Just because we maybe comes from the same place.
I can say under oath that I do not know him.”
His gaze catches that of the prisoner
and he sees love
and no condemnation
and on that hour, minute and second
a cock crows
and pain rips through him
that he has just betrayed the Son of God
and the man walks away from the fire
into the night, just blindly
and he cries
while rain is falling around him
and he wonders what it takes
to stand for the truth
while lightning bolts hits blue-white around him.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just The Wind!
in my dreams...
quite often i am wolf,
running with the pack,
howling in the moonlight!
sometimes a hawk,
gliding spiraled unchained skies...
an old bluesman,
sittin' on a porch pickin'.
a half naked priest,
chanting o'er stormy seas.
a poet, prisoner, woman giving birth,
a man hanged for wrong reasons.
a lover killed by a jealous blade.
a bent over man picking crops,
in someone else's fields...
a drifter, and a searcher,
and on a good night....
just the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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