I Am Only As Old...
i am only as old
as the memory of childbirth.
dollar signs in dimestore windows,
milkshakes for a quarter.
non-filter cigarettes and broken Trojans,
long hair ironed with loving hands.
when revolution smelled like sex,
and god reeked of napalm.
when young girls with hard nipples
passed doobies to wide eyed poets.
and the streets convulsed with anger,
that sat at the back of the bus.
while religious M-16's jammed,
and radical students were beaten
with patriotic pride....
as young bodhisattvas with thumbs extended,
rediscovered the land of the free.
and for a time not owned by owning,
we heard the beat of a distant drum!
i am only as old as oceans,
crossed at the cost of life.
and prison cells that defined freedom,
more by the given than the taken.
when right meant more than morality,
and intent itself became destiny.
when color became a flavor,
and all tasted good.
when freedom felt like dignity,
and every hand fit!
i am only as old as dreaming,
the dream forever new!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Seek freedom
What does the sun of man want
What does mankind want
Under the sun
Is it to eat all the food
In the world and have fun
So that nobody gets nothing to feed
Or destroy the righteous and his seed
May be gather more riches
And be superior
So that others become
Poor and inferior
Or gather all the women
In the world by your side
Is this the ultimate pride
What fore does mankind want
Apart from being free and happy
You need freedom to live your destiny
So do i need freedom
Everybody needs freedom
The rich man needs freedom
So do the poor man also need freedom
The king needs freedom
So do his subjects needs freedom
The master needs freedom
So do the servant needs freedom
Freedom belongs to the old man
As well is the young man
the human society without freedom
Is an evildom
Freedom is love for one another
Freedom is the ultimate power
poem by Matt Ancient
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Then I Will Abide...
when justice no longer has a color,
and is not defined by economic status,
religious or sexual preference,
then i will abide by your laws!
when freedom is as real in the alleys,
the dumpsters, and on the streets
as it is in your brick houses,
then i will believe in your freedom.
when all men and women,
of all colors and ages,
are treated with equal dignity
and with respect,
then i will stand for your equality.
when each of you can look
into the eyes of your neighbor,
and see God...
then i will abide in your humanity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O My Soul...
where have you gone,
o my soul...
where have you gone?
are you lost in the tears
of a thousand faces
blackened by hunger?
in the cries of the dying?
of the homeless?
in the defiant feet
of those standing in line?
the unemployment line?
the soup line?
the line just outside
the prison walls?
in the lover left desperate,
who takes his own life?
in the students beaten,
who stood up for freedom?
in the young man hated,
for the color of his skin?
in the young woman sold
on the lonesome street corner?
in the windowless offices
where lives and deaths are decided?
in the hole behind the gun,
eyes hard as steel?
in the bare apartment,
where the children are cold and hungry?
on the corner, 'neath the bridge,
in the back of the car?
where have you gone,
o my soul...
where have you gone?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Extension 33
Living at the y, extension 33,
Nothing to care or to worry.
Once I was in love with a blind man,
But my auntie told me, dont do it, its not worth it.
Living at the y, 33 years,
No one to call or to write to.
Once I was in love with a married man,
But my instincts told me, dont tell him, itll kill you.
Im sad I didnt marry the blind man,
But whats a life with three blind children?
Im glad I never told the married man,
It saved my pride and freedom.
Living at the y, in 33 rooms,
Nowhere to visit or write to.
Once I was in love, it nearly killed me,
But now I have my pride and freedom.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The prison of poverty...
Freedom in our land not gives us enough food,
Freedom in our land not has enough work,
Freedom in our land creates the lazy cowards,
Freedom in our land not worth to have power of people,
Believe me that we are free to do anything that could,
Walking through the streets to find out the meaning,
Of acquired freedom that we have to materialize nothing.
What a rush is this, human have no direction to go towards,
What a mad rat race is it, that human take part in it,
What a planner are these people,
who neglect the people in their planning,
What type of freedom is it that put,
minds of people in the prison of poverty?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Freed Islands
A FEW brief years have passed away
Since Britain drove her million slaves
Beneath the tropic's fiery ray:
God willed their freedom; and to-day
Life blooms above those island graves!
He spoke! across the Carib Sea,
We heard the clash of breaking chains,
And felt the heart-throb of the free,
The first, strong pulse of liberty
Which thrilled along the bondman's veins.
Though long delayed, and far, and slow,
The Briton's triumph shall be ours:
Wears slavery here a prouder brow
Than that which twelve short years ago
Scowled darkly from her island bowers?
Mighty alike for good or ill
With mother-land, we fully share
The Saxon strength, the nerve of steel,
The tireless energy of will,
The power to do, the pride to dare.
What she has done can we not do?
Our hour and men are both at hand;
The blast which Freedom's angel blew
O'er her green islands, echoes through
Each valley of our forest land.
Hear it, old Europe! we have sworn
The death of slavery. When it falls,
Look to your vassals in their turn,
Your poor dumb millions, crushed and worn,
Your prisons and your palace walls!
O kingly mockers! scoffing show
What deeds in Freedom's name we do;
Yet know that every taunt ye throw
Across the waters, goads our slow
Progression towards the right and true.
Not always shall your outraged poor,
Appalled by democratic crime,
Grind as their fathers ground before;
The hour which sees our prison door
Swing wide shall be their triumph time.
On then, my brothers! every blow
Ye deal is felt the wide earth through;
Whatever here uplifts the low
Or humbles Freedom's hateful foe,
Blesses the Old World through the New.
Take heart! The promised hour draws near;
I hear the downward beat of wings,
And Freedom's trumpet sounding clear:
'Joy to the people! woe and fear
To new-world tyrants, old-world kings!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Everybody dreams.
Everybody dreams.
Children dream,
Adults dream,
Old people dream.
I dream, too.
I dream about the friends with whom I'll grow old,
I dream about the person whose hands I'll hold,
I dream about being young and in love,
I dream about loved ones, looking down from above.
I dream of the places I'll one day see,
I dream of being wild and free,
I dream of my house, high on the rocks,
I dream of the sand underneath my socks.
I dream of the people I'd love to greet,
I dream of the things I'll say when we meet,
I dream of hearing their voices sing,
I dream of being happy with everything.
I dream of travelling with a map in my hand,
I dream of never coming back to this land,
I dream of finding myself - in sense
I dream of jumping far off this fence.
I dream of any things that one day I'll know,
I dream of the freedom: a dream I won't let go,
I dream of my future and marvel at my pride
As my heart is flying and singing inside.
poem by Twilight Whispers
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Freedom Of Choice
A victim of collision on the open sea
Nobody ever said that life was free
Sank, swam, go down with the ship
Just use your freedom of choice
Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Your freedom of choice
In ancient rome there was a pawn
Who faught alone
And watched it fall
He cast a stone
He felt secure
He felt that hed never be hurt
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!
Give into the voice
You dont want it
Seems to be the rule of thumb
Dont be tricked by what you see
You got two ways to go
Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Freedom of choice
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!
In ancient rome there was a pawn
Who faught alone
And watched it fall
He cast a stone
He felt secure
He felt that his voice would never be heard
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom from choice!
Is what you want
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom from choice!
Is what you want
Freedom from choice
Is what you want
Freedom from choice!
song performed by by A Perfect Circle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom Isn't Free...
Who says our freedom is free? Not Me.
True, We are freer than most, but not enough,
that we should boast.
Before you say Freedom is free, stop and count the cost
of all the lives lost,
Freedom isn't free, when there's killing in our streets.
Freedom isn't free, to the Soldier that is waiting to be shipped over seas.
Freedom isn't free, with the pain, he or she is feeling inside, with
the thought of having to leave they're loved one's behind, and
it hurts so bad that it brings them to their knees.
Freedom isn't free, when your living in uncertainty.
Freedom isn't free, having to say good-bye, to a loved one that
is going off to war.Freedom isn't free, to a soldier who is on the front lines, knowing he or she, could die anytime.
Freedom isn't free when your lying in bed,
waiting and wondering, if you'll ever see your loved ones alive again.
Freedom isn't free, when a little child crys in the night,
for his or her Mommy and Daddy, and they're not there to hold them close, and comfort them, and to ease their fears, and wipe away they're tears. And all those in all the other wars, and the lives that are still being lost at this very moment.
Do you still say Freedom is free?
Freedom isn't free, when a Soldier is wounded in battle.
When news reaches, Family and friends at home,
And their told that their Soldier is wounded far beyond repair,
The loss and pain felt can not compare.
Freedom isn't free, with all those many Soldiers that wished they
had died because of all the pain in their broken up bodies.
Freedom isn't free, when your lying in bed, and you hear that dreaded
tap on your door.And you pray to God that you were only having a bad dream.
Freedom isn't free when you open the door and listen to the
bugle play, and you feel a sudden chill.
Everything goes still.
Freedom isn't free, when there is a Flag being draped
over a coffin, of a Brother, Sister, or a friend.
Freedom isn't free, when you think of all the children,
of the mothers and the wives, of Fathers, sons and husbands, whose
lives have been interrupted.
Freedom isn't free, when you think about the graveyard at the
bottom of the sea, of the unmarked graves in Arlington.
Who say's Freedom is Free? Not Me!
Written 7/23/008
BY Nora Eason
poem by Nora Eason
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We Are Told
We are told that we have got freedom yet not freedom to do as we like
There are places we are not allowed to walk in or where we cannot ride a push bike
Which means that our freedom is so called since we cannot even walk where we please
Ours is such a limited freedom we are not as free as a breeze.
Without a passport we cannot travel to another Country and that is for a limited time
And if we overstay our visa that is a deportable crime
By the Immigration Department of Government by a Government not blessed with a soul
There is a name for such a practice 'tis known as population control.
Young men in wars fought and died for freedom but was it for freedom they died?
When their Government leader told them they were fighting for freedom to the young and naive troops he lied
They fought for the glory of their leader and risked their lives on a foreign shore
They were used as pawns in a deadly power game just that sad to say nothing more.
We are told that we have got freedom though we have to be careful with the words we say
And if our speech on it has got restrictions then what is freedom anyway?
Young men fought and even died for freedom at least that's what we are made to believe
By so called patriotic politicians people who are known to deceive.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Fight For Irish Freedom
'My fight for Irish freedom' the autobiography of Dan Breen
But perhaps he should have called his book 'When young blood stained the green'
For human blood for freedom too huge a price to pay
And liberty or freedom define it anyway.
The freedom of expression whatever that might be
To speak our minds on certain things we are not truly free
Look at poor Salman Rushdie his book you may have read
For his satanic verses some people want him dead.
From the point I am about to make you may think I tend to stray
And what has Rushdie got to do with Irish freedom you might say
But for freedom of expression there has been a World-wide
fight
And yet fear is a deterrent to a basic human right.
The fight for Irish freedom whatever that might mean
For there is more to freedom than the 'wearing of the green'
In Ireland like all Nations there is inequality
Of prejudice and class distinction the World is yet not free.
The ill fated Easter Rising in Dublin of the year nineteen sixteen
And my fight for Irish freedom the story of Dan Breen
Is living on in history yet do we understand
That there is more to freedom than owning a piece of land.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Jail Cells, And Poverty!
do jail cells demand certain colors?
do they smell like poverty?
are they the colleges of the hopeless?
or just a place to hide the fire
till the flame goes out?
does anybody want to be poor?
does anyone deserve to be poor?
who picks the judge?
who enforces the law...
the law passed by filthy rich politicians?
is God white?
how about Jesus or Buddha?
does He live in the suburbs?
what kind of car does He drive?
does He have servants of different colors?
and what is the final price of freedom?
not to mention equality,
and equal distribution of goods...
'red, yellow, black, and white...'
every color of poverty sucks!
whether man or woman,
young, old, or a child...
no human being was meant to be owned!
forced poverty and justice prejudiced
by color or economic stations...
are the last forms of slavery!
what will you do when
the oppressed rise as one,
and put you in the cells you built?
what will you learn,
what will you know?
and what will you smell like?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Freedom Is Never Free
They tell me
'Freedom is never free.'
I know that-
More than most realize.
Freedom cost us more
Than we should have to give.
Freedom cost us blood.
It cost us the lives
Of our fathers,
Our sons,
Our brothers.
But while freedom is never free,
Remember-
It has been bought at great price,
And so is a thing of great value.
We must defend it,
From those who would take it away.
The defense of our freedoms
Will cost us-
More than we wish to pay.
But we must pay, to defend,
For if we try to make freedom free,
We forget-
True freedom is never free.
poem by James Grengs
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Freedom...
Freedom...
Have you heard such a thing?
Freedom...
Is it a bird taking wing?
Freedom...
To a land far away,
Freedom...
Where everyone can play?
Freedom...
To be free from what you have done,
Freedom...
From the slave you have become?
Freedom...
To see the loved ones once again,
Freedom...
To let go of all this pain?
Freedom...
Have you heard such a thing?
poem by Claudia Lutz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Call For Revolution!
a call for revolution...
rivers rise, and overflow their banks!
branches bud with leaves in the autumn,
butterflies arrive to bring the snow!
every window opened, every lock is broken,
every pot is filled, every table shared.
the language of ears sees no colors,
and dignity wears no chains.
prophets return to being carpenters,
and poets till the earth.
soldiers lay down their guns to become fathers,
nations give way to family.
the faces of god all become one,
the hands of god become many!
freedom becomes a verb not a dream,
hunger is buried by compassionate hands.
forgiveness a way of living,
respect the bridge all must cross.
truth is applauded for asking questions,
as the young and old exchange gifts.
every moment sacred and shared,
the earth revered and protected.
a call for revolution....
just as far away as near!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Freedom and Beauty
It is a beautiful mind to feel free.
It is a beautiful feeling to set someone free.
Freedom is the hard statement to get.
Freedom is the only feeling to get.
*
Freedom is the statement that shows your independence.
Freedom is the power that shows your right.
But while speaking of almost 7 billion individuals on the earth
At least 7 billion needs and rights that might complicate their life.
*
Showing his independence might be more important for some people.
Feeling responsible for others may be more important for other people.
*
To be honest with you, i never felt free,
Because I didn’t know what it is.
After I realized what freedom is,
I saw how hard to recognize that you are free.
^
How hard to know that you are free to live.
How hard to know that you are free to speak.
How hard to know that you are free to love and trust.
How hard to know that you are free to be loved and trusted.
^
That what you have in your everyday life, is your freedom.
This is not just everyday schedule, that’s your freedom.
How blind are we to not see how free we are.
How ugly is it to not see how beautiful freedom is.
^
Freedom is beautiful, but hard to see.
Freedom is beautiful, but hard to feel.
poem by Sukhee Bukhbat
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Cry For Freedom
(m&l - weikath/hansen)
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever to be free on their load
Time has run out for all tyrans in this world
Your slaves are heedin the call
Mankin an end to all this terror and pain
And the end to your lies and your law
Takin away all your gold and your money
cause dead men don´t need it anymore
Much too long we felt the slash of your whips
So now you will feel our sword
Freedom the eternal cry will echo high in the sky
The day will come when all power has been broken
Your blood will flow down to the gates of hell
Satan will wait for your souls
Pray to your God he wont help you hes dead
He wonpt fool our minds and souls... anymore
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever on their load
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever to be free on their load
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom 2
Once more, one fear surrounded me
Not knowing that has beaten me
The hot sun speaks louder
A cold pain has shut laughter
No where to run away
As if liberty has turned gray
People shout, clap and walk
People have no opponent to talk
One hope, one fear, one enemy
Many hearts, many thoughts, one enemy
One campus, one map, one road
Prison puts such heavy load
Feet by feet, hand in hand
People want freedom of their land
Oh, hunger of a free walk
Put my old enemy and me into talk
Put his hand in mine
We both shout out the same line
“Jail is bad even in heaven
All we want is freedom, freedom, freedom”
What he wants to do with his freedom I don’t know
But that is freedom on different ways we go.
poem by Kianush Maleki
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