I Am Responsible.... (Poet's Heart)
i am responsible....
for the child dying of starvation,
whatever color, whatever country.
for the young Muslim child alone,
his family killed by the bombs.
for the addict shaking on the street corner,
for the young girl selling her body
on that same corner.
for the family kicked out of their house,
who have nowhere to go.
for the young angry men in prison,
for the victims of the crimes.
for the stink of poverty,
and the abuse of wealth.
for the planes, the bombs,
the guns and the flags...
for the political prisoners who spoke out.
for the elderly going without food and lights,
trying to pay for their medicine.
for the victims of racism and prejudice,
and those that wave that banner.
for the preacher, the thief,
the murderer, and the lost....
for the woman treated as less.
for the young man who commits suicide,
and for those that caused his desperation.
for the immigrant killed crossing the border,
hoping against hope for his family.
for the 'moral' who cant feel,
for those who feel, those who suffer.
for the bones of those we've killed
on our journey to civilization.
for the Jew, the Christian,
the Hindu, the Muslim, and the Buddhist...
of equal worth and value.
for the atheist, the doubter, the searcher,
and those who question all.
for the man, the woman, and the child.
for the sins of the past,
and the path to the future.
i am responsible...
because i am human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (The Branch, Part Two)
i am...
the orphaned child and the abandoned dog,
the woman raped, the young man killed.
i am the body hanging alone and cold,
the old woman shaking in an empty room.
i am the young girl taken and enslaved,
the needle, the spoon, and the revolver.
i am black skinned, brown skinned anger,
and the bones of bodies hidden...
the speaker of truth detained and tortured,
the invisible trail left behind.
i am...
the rage of jobless, homeless, hopeless...
the unemployment line and the sweat shop.
i am the family living in a stolen car,
and the child who runs away.
i am the store clerk killed by the robber,
her minimum wage death unnoticed.
i am the shadow crossing the border,
the inmate that breaks and runs.
i am the guns silenced,
and the lies revealed...
i am human rebellion.
i am the branch covered by leaves,
waiting for certain autumn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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For All of These, and More
for every daughter aborted
in China because sons
are preferred...
for every young girl or boy
sold into slavery here
in the states...
for every whale killed
by the Japanese ships...
for every expanse of ocean
filled with our oil...
for every tree cut
by the saws of greed...
for every woman and child
working in sweatshops...
for every political prisoner
that we ignore...
for every homeless person
in the 'land of the free'...
for every kid in jail
who never had a chance...
for every old person
left alone to die...
for every family in Africa
left to starvation....
for every plate of food
thrown out, wasted mindlessly.
for every mountain raped
by the miner's hands...
for every kid that is different,
that is abused and beaten...
for everyone killed in our
money driven wars...
for all of these, and more...
i ask forgiveness, as
a member of the human family.
for all of these, and more,
i take responsibility.
for all of these, and more,
i choose to live today...
with an involved hope
for tomorrow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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They Are Our Future!
when a child is born
in a slum area, whether
it be assisted apartments,
trailer parks, low income
housing, or homelessness...
and he grows up amid hunger,
poverty, need, gunfire, drugs,
and street crime...
and the world he becomes an
adult in offers him little
chance for employment, or
education...
what do we expect?
what we often get is an angry
young man just looking for a way
to survive!
our young people most often become
the opportunity we leave for them.
we are responsible for their future.
for they are our future!
there are those who make their way
out of these abject conditions, and
go on to make the world a better place.
these should be our heroes!
but every child should have food,
shelter, a loving environment, an
equal opportunity for education, and
hope for employment! every child
should have an equal opportunity
to live his/or her, dream!
again, these children, are our future!
we are responsible!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Dont Even Know Their Names!
his spirit left his body,
and walked through the hells.
a firm voice spoke:
'keep your eyes open,
look, and see! '
he saw dark skinned children,
their bodies frail and thin,
their features carved with hunger.
he saw women and children,
running from the bombs,
young men gunned down,
in the streets.
he saw the homeless family,
sleeping in a beaten old car,
hoping no one would come
to make them move.
he saw the young addict shaking,
the young woman helpless,
her baby crying in the bare apartment.
he saw the young man sent to prison,
trying to hide his fear,
a fear so strong they
could smell it on him!
he saw the woman who'd been beaten,
the man jobless and angry.
he saw millions of Native Americans,
slaughtered, and left for the crows.
he saw the old couple hungry,
in their apartment with no lights,
and no heat in the dead of winter...
'i cant take it any more,
what has this got to do with me?
i dont even know their names! '
'their names are anybody, and everybody...
they are why you must return.
they are your children, your
brothers and sisters, your father
and your mother...
they are your responsibility!
you must return to finish the work! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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
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Her Voice
i believe there is a God
i can hear her voice
in the tears of the homeless
of the hungry, of orphaned children
of the young woman lying on the
kitchen floor bleeding
in the hollow ache of the young
man who just killed a family
with his M-16
in the stink of helpless
on the young boy raped
in the prison cell
in the vomiting anger
of the man who caught his wife
cheating, and shot her
in the prayers of the mother
whose son joined a gang,
and walked away from her dreams
in the cry of the baby
left in the alley
behind the church
that refused to help
his mother
in the pen on the desk
of the man at the bank
who just foreclosed
on another family
i can hear her voice
and feel her hurt!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Saw God
i saw god...
in the small child shunned,
playing alone.
in the pregnant girl scared,
still a baby herself.
in the young man going off to war,
chest stuck out, and knees gone weak.
in the angry young man,
who learns to read in prison.
in the old woman in the empty house,
every wrinkle a chapter of love.
in the stray cat curled
against my leg.
in two young men in love,
kissing on the steps of a church.
in the family living on food stamps,
day work, and faith.
in the addict with the guts
to go into rehab.
in the body in the funeral home
that no one came to see.
in the couple married for twenty five years,
survivors of struggle, passion, and despair.
in the jobless shuffle of the heads down line.
in the old man fishing with his grandson,
in the mother teaching her daughter to pray.
in the poet, the carpenter, the farmer,
the doctor, the garbage man, and the cashier.
in the bride and the groom,
even the murderer and the victim!
in the anger of the protesters,
in the sin, and forgiveness.
in the black, the white, and every color between.
in moonlight pouring through poverty's window....
yes, i saw god...
never entered a church, a temple, or a mosque...
i merely entered the heart
of the living... and touched!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Who Am I? I Am! (Part Two)
i am the abandoned dog,
covered with ticks.
i am the wedding ring
flung against the wall.
i am the old man
who cant seem to remember
why he did what he did.
i am the restless boy
roaming the streets.
i am the old woman waiting
for her check to come.
i am the rent unpaid,
and the lights cut off.
i am the gun in the corner,
covered with dust.
i am the broken teeth
of the homeless man.
i am a child of Jesus,
and a renegade sinner.
i am the buddha in the dumpster,
covered with trash.
i am a Muslim, a Hindu,
and a Bhakti searcher.
i am the atheist who questions,
the prodigal who repents.
i am the gallows, the prison,
and the prison of fear.
i am more than less,
and less than more.
i am black, i am white,
i am brown, i am red...
i am human, i am eternal,
i am dust, i am tears....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Wanted To Know....
the starving child you saw on your tv screen,
the one that made you turn the channel.
the old homeless man who tried to bum a dollar
when you were pumping gas...
whose hands were shaking,
who smelled like trash,
who you made fun of when you left...
the one you gave 50 cents to,
just to get away from...
the young painted up girl you called a whore,
the guy strung out on pills
buying groceries with food stamps...
the veteran who came home
to find his family gone....
no job, no home, he blew his brains out!
the gay boy who slit his wrists,
tired of being bullied.
the old couple evicted broke and sick....
the bodies of women and children killed by the drones,
the young man in prison who just got gang raped.
the disabled woman you cursed when she made your change,
the old man buying dog food who doesnt have a dog...
well, you wanted to know what god looks like!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Angry Young Woman
Angry young woman on sunrise strip,
Walking away to the new world.
She left her man, she left her children,
cause she knows she has only one life to live.
Angry young woman with her background on her forehead,
Three children and two abortions.
Played a little piano ten years ago.
And some typing from the college where she met her husband.
Angry young woman in the dark of the night,
Hears her children crying for dinner,
Hears her man shouting for his shirt
And thinks of the first sundays they spent in the park.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
(angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket)
(angry young woman, angry young woman)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angry Young Woman
Angry young woman on sunrise strip,
Walking away to the new world.
She left her man, she left her children,
cause she knows she has only one life to live.
Angry young woman with her background on her forehead,
Three children and two abortions.
Played a little piano ten years ago.
And some typing from the college where she met her husband.
Angry young woman in the dark of the night,
Hears her children crying for dinner,
Hears her man shouting for his shirt
And thinks of the first sundays they spent in the park.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
(angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket)
(angry young woman, angry young woman)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Who Commit Crimes Against Children
Those who commit crimes against children will surely be made to pay
If the Law does not catch them then Karma will one day
Self esteem they do erode and self confidence destroy
In the mind of their young victim the innocent girl or boy.
The abuse of children by an adult surely a crime of shame
Not many worse crimes than it that one could wish to name
Their innocence stolen from them in their most vulnerable years
For the victims of child abuse humanity sheds tears.
The abuse of a child on human innocence an attack
And innocence when stolen cannot be given back
Some of those who commit such crimes as children may have known abuse
But that for their behaviour not a good enough excuse.
Any crime against a child is a hard crime to forgive
And those guilty of child abuse with their sins have to live
And though on another human being one ought not to wish ill
If the Law does not punish them then Karma surely will.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To every child! ! !
To every child who thinks about giving up......
DON'T
You may feel unwanted
You may feel unappreciated
Just remember..........
'Every child in every family has a role! ! '
To every child who thinks about running away.......
DON'T
You may feel neglected
You may feel ignored
Just remember..........
'Every child in every family has a role! ! '
To every child who thinks about ending it all........
DON'T
You may feel forgotten
You may feel lost
Just remember.............
'Every child in every family has a role! ! '
To every child who wants to withdraw from the world.......
DON'T
You may feel like you're in someone's shadow
You may feel like no-one understands
Just remember..........
'Every child in every family has a role! ! '
To every child who wants to die.......
DON'T
You may feel scared
You may feel afraid
Just remember..........
'Every child in every family has a role! ! '
So,
To every child who feels they won't be missed when they're gone
You will! !
You may not think it now
You may never believe it
And the reason why........
.........because........
'Every child in every family has a role! ! '
poem by Becky Ginn
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I Am (More)
i am, become...
i am the tear on the cheek
of the child sleeping alone.
i am the fear on the face
of the young couple
who have nowhere to turn.
i am the bullet loaded
into the gun held by shaking hands.
i am the family Bible
packed away in a closet forgotten.
i am the Muslim man
treated with contempt...
i am the sheriff of a small town,
and the meth lab busted.
i am the trailer burning,
the family that just got out.
i am the cancer patient
who has no insurance.
i am the picket line, the pepper spray,
the reporter struck silent.
i am the young kid working
the late shift in a convenience store.
i am the empty grave,
the eviction notice on the door....
i am thunder, i am lightning,
i am America's moan...
i am, become...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If Not All
mountain...
hawk,
tree,
newborn child,
dying old man,
fire in a clearing,
moonlight reflected through a window....
the prisoner,
a vagrant man,
the immigrant crossing the border....
the young woman giving birth,
starlight on wet grasses,
the prisoner walking
to his own execution....
an agnostic,
a heretic,
and a pilgrim....
a child of god,
a child of darkness....
which am i?
if not all!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Death Papers... (Part Four)
i name the bullet, the noose,
the needle, and the disease.
the failing heart,
the body bent and broken,
the moment that breath is taken...
for you have not killed me!
i name the war, the planes,
the bombs, and the guns.
the lying flags,
and oil tainted chants.
the strike, the stab,
the tearing of flesh...
for you have not killed me!
i name the empty plate,
the orphaned bed
by the endless road.
the goon squads of indifference.
the prison cell, the alleys burning...
for you have not killed me!
i name the love that ends,
the heart that's broken.
the tidal wave of loss,
and darkness without feeling.
the empty hand and the empty heart...
for you have not killed me!
i watch the body burnt
on despair's self engraved altar...
wondering...
'could that be me? '
and with laughing wings
reach for the sky...
that has no end, or name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Unborn children do not have a voice, but they are young members of the human family. It is time to look at the unborn child, and recognize that it is really a young human, who can feel pain and should be treated with care.
quote by Sam Brownback
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young Man
Written by james young
Lead vocals by james young
People say with age there comes experience
But as soon as you are born you start to die
Older men are chosen to speak wisely
But call the child to the sacrificial rite
Who can we get to win the fight?
Young man!
Who can we get to make love all night?
Young man!
Who do we send away to die?
Young man!
I heard a lonely woman cry for a
Young man!
The fire bombs in distant lands are burning
Jarring every synapse in your soul
Life and death are a meaningless profession
Tomorrow brings a horror yet untold
Who can we get to win the fight?
Young man!
Who can we get to make love all night?
Young man!
Who do we send away to die?
Young man!
I heard a lonely woman cry for a
Young man!
Young man!
Young man!
Come home my son
We'll give you a rest
Welcome my son
We'll give you the best
Time's stowaway
The young man
Short are the days
Of the young man
Young man!
Young man!
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Crime and Punishment
the angry young man,
who grew up in poverty,
whose mother worked two minimum wage jobs,
just to give him food and shelter...
who lost her jobs
when the economy fell,
and became sick with no insurance...
the angry young man,
who robbed the convenience store,
and while trying to avoid capture,
killed a young police officer...
who left behind a young pregnant wife,
and a three year old little boy,
left without a daddy....
the angry young man,
in jail awaiting trial...
awaiting justice....
where do we begin?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Woman Drowned By Culture
When this woman, no this girl,
Is drowned by her culture
her eyes hide her tears
When there is more than just a broken heart,
A family, a child, a nation, a world
In chaos, quietly creeping upon every heart
She dreams of a foreign land
Where corruption is only half as strong
She puts a brave front on
For the young child on her hip
With an unknown future
And famished eyes
For the young girls
Sold on the street like filthy possessions
She says with her eyes
What culture does not allow her to speak in words
So when man looks upon her
They don't see the covered face
But the passion and fierce hope in her sight
poem by Hana Behrs
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