I Am There... I Am Here!
the further i get from myself,
the closer i get to my self...
in variant forms expounding,
in a thousand blades of grass.
in the block long laid in the factory building,
vacant but for ghosts of unnamed families fed.
in the boat too long stuck in sand,
in the dirge darkness of the mine.
in the rabbit turd, the chattering squirrel,
in cattle feeding awaiting death.
in the sterile stink of the hospital,
in the bedpan, and the monitor silent.
in the crud of the old man's beard,
the sagging breasts of the old woman rocking...
in the cry of passion from the back seat of a car,
in the old man bumming a smoke.
in angry minds gathered at the table,
whispering of revolution.
in the picket line, and the heads caved in,
in the death row cell.
in the empty church, on the courthouse steps,
in gunshots heard in the night.
in the crack pipe, and the college textbook,
in black skin, white skin, and all others.
in the thoughts men are afraid to think...
in feelings too long repressed.
in the sacredness of mundane and simple...
in the beauty of the moment...
yes, yes! i am there, i am here!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
White Skin Black Heart
Yeah, whatcha gonna do now, now that you started?
Whatcha gonna do now, now that its done?
The words got out there, they float around and are coming right back down.
You gonna leave us lying here
Dealing with the consequences of a bad sound
Of a bad sound.
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Whatcha gonna do now, that its spoken?
These words of a habit, have not faded away.
.................... it clear, conscious gets opened like a wound.
If you cant concieve a better line and better times,
Then let silence bury you, in the end.
When you feel it, when you feel it
Youre condemned.
You see, youve lost your strangle on the freedom road! you
Think ........................of something a long time ago! you
[spewed it out you were so] insecure! it was like ............. on
The toilet floor! youre a [nine seat] drunk, ............... and
You say you want something, .......... you heard the rednecks
Roaring for blood and then they wanted more! life was so small, you
Couldnt get enough. you made a start.
White skin black heart
Dripping,
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Drag your eyes from [aurora] black heart!
White skin black heart
Drag your leg, get outta here [my sight]!
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
You didnt have to start
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Factory
Days are long but the minds are strong
In the factory
Heads are down and all the people frown
In the factory
I'm so down I put my head around every noose I see
Days are long but the minds are strong
In the factory
Eyes are mean but the walls are clean
In the factory
Patience now they're gonna string you out
In the factory
I'm so tired I never go outside every night I sleep
Days are long but the minds are gone
In the factory
song performed by by The Vines from Highly Evolved
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Warriors
I fall
Down
No control somehow
No help
Now
My favour slides
No one comes
Here
Now Im feeding strangers
Thin air
Like cold death
Here in my heart
I fell for so long for you all
I fell for so long for you
I fell for so long for you
Come in
Im the ghost
Of the white faced clown
Shes gone
Gone. I wont look back
Shes gone
Im old
So old
This infection of time
My skin
Age
Shows no kindness to me
I fell for so long for you all
I fell for so long for you
I fell for so long for you
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Human Blood, Angry And Red!
i put on my black skin
to walk through your lily white churches.
i spoke not a word...
my silent body exuded,
years of poverty and oppression,
discrimination and hunger.
i laid down my shackles
on the steps of your courthouse,
i spit blood on your law books,
human blood, angry and red!
and the woman i slept with,
walked beside me step by step.
she bore my children,
i washed her feet with awe.
we spoke and listened,
forever equals...
take down your sign,
ribs are made to barbeque!
my son fell in love
with a young painter from France...
a delicate young man,
features sharp and clear.
i spent dinners in their company,
conversation that cut darkness.
stunned, admiring... their devotion,
their love wrapped in thought.
i laid down my shackles
neath the altar in your church,
i spit blood on your holy books,
human blood, angry and red!
i turned away from your armies,
took the needle from my soul.
shook off the shudders of ignorance,
and laid down my gun.
sold all my possessions,
walked away from debt induced bondage.
stuck out my thumb,
and headed high in the hills.
i slept neath the trees,
could hear the song of the river.
whispered to the owl,
lying close to my dog.
intimately knew every star by name,
every blade of grass,
and the coolness of stone.
speak, o wind, speak and deliver!
i laid down my shackles,
in the chambers of your progress,
i spit blood on your agenda,
human blood, angry and red!
i crossed the border at midnight,
silently moving, shadows in shadows.
with nothing to lose but my life,
nothing to gain but my life.
hands eager to work,
heart eager to dream,
believing in the impossible dream,
of freedom!
i laid down my shackles,
at the foot of your Statue Of Liberty,
i spit blood on your Constitution,
human blood, angry and red!
kill me freedom!
rip the heart from my chest.
i wear your scars
on my back and my face.
bury me in equality,
let my name be every name.
rip the skin from my bones,
let my bones be the steps...
on the path to compassion,
on the road to human kindness...
let my memory be fairness,
my image be joined hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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All The Same!
i am the illegal immigrant,
picking your fruit.
while my children are hungry,
and my wife scrubs your floors.
the young black man in your prison,
the anger of the poor.
i am the books,
you forbid us to read.
i am the Vietnamese family,
whose children speak english.
the young Sioux poet,
whose words sound like tears.
i am the white man's reservation,
and the white man's god....
the sound of the gas pump,
the feet of soldiers marching to death.
i am the grandson of the miner,
who never came out.
the body of the union organizer,
buried beneath rubble.
i am the picket line,
the cold floor of the cell.
i am the old woman who died,
alone in her nursing home bed.
the sound of the church bells,
on midnight's empty streets.
i am the needle and the crack pipe,
the sound of the window breaking.
i am the whistle of the train,
so near and so far.
i am the child adopted,
by two women in love.
i am the mission, the soup line,
and the shelter....
the body in the alley,
and no one cares.
i am the song of America,
i am the wind of freedom.
i am the torch of justice,
the bridge that has no name.
i am the god of many colors,
and all the same!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am... (Window Bare)
i am...
words spoken with dark skinned hunger,
battles fought in the realm of the heart.
right and wrong that convicts the motive.
the smell and the feel of all that is common.
the question asked in the silent church.
the blood spillt on the courthouse steps.
the language of factories, mills, and shifts.
the cast iron skillet well seasoned.
the field plowed, the seeds planted.
the man standing against the angry mob.
the body hanging from the gnarled old oak.
the prison cell, the stink of fear.
the lovers lost inside each other,
the old woman staring at dishes just washed.
the haunting whisper of buildings vacant.
the old man's body found three days later.
the fury of the neon streets,
the deal made, the blade withdrawn.
the soldier come home to homelessness.
the farm foreclosed by the unseen bank.
death and life, and faded jeans,
the lone rose wilting in the window bare!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Summer 1962.
Summer 1962
just you and
her sitting in
some field on
the green grass
beneath a hot
summer sun and
she speaking about
things between
you both and you
not really listening
but hearing a steam
train in the distance
and wondering how
high the smoke went
and seeing it in the sky
and she silent for that
moment and you turning
and looking into her
bright eyes and seeing
in the blue and white
the death of far off
stars in some future’s
long black cold night.
poem by Terry Collett
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Death, Death And Death
I see the death everyday
Death in relations
Death in religion and faith
Death of man in man
Everyday, everywhere, every moment
Death, death and death.
I experience the death around me
Millions and billions of ceremonies
The smoke on maps of mankind
Death in temple and streets
Death in clubs and parties
Death, death and death.
I foresee the death of humanity
Harassment, discrimination and hatred
Death in purity and sacredness
Death in broken mirrors and home
Death in king, death in masses
Death, death and death.
poem by Abhimanyu Kumar.s
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Simple Woman
Simple woman who does not put make-up
Doesn't follow in fashion, the way she dress up
Long skirt and blouses, covered from bottom to top
Never been seen her fine good skin
But she is a woman with good lookin.
Simple woman who captured my heart
Though I can only see her from afar
My eyes sticked and don't blink apart
With black long hair and smile she makes
That feels me like going for a race.
Simple woman I'm dreaming every night
Wants to hold her and hug her tight
Sometimes imagine her in a dim light
Dancing with me till midnight
With love song and romantic candle light.
Simple woman is what I need in my life
'Coz I'm sure she would be a faithful wife
Has pure heart and sincere love that reside
Oh! woman I need you by my side
Wish you love me, and be mine.
poem by Judith Kempis
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I Met Death
I was waiting, watching one day
When Death came along, looking
As if there was something he wanted to say
His hair was as black as the sky at night
And in the wind it blew like smoke
He had come a long way in his worn black cloak
So I invited him in and I did say
If you’d like to you can stay
But Death said:
“I’m only passing through
For the clock’s hands they say
They are ticking the seconds of my life away”
And I answered,
Thinking I’d misunderstood
As Death’s dark black eye gleamed under his dark black hood
“If your Death, how can you die? ”
You see, Death didn’t seem the kind to lie.
And Death wasn’t phased at all,
“No longer Death I may become,
Or so says He if I don’t complete
The most horrible, horrible, feat.
“The most horrible feat? ”
I had to say
Could it be so horrible,
That Death couldn’t say?
“Death, ” said Death, “is the horrible feat.”
And then he faded away, like smoke into the blue, blue sky
But I think, before he left, I might have seen him cry.
I had never in my life, seen Death again
Until the night I stood outside in the rain
When he said, “I’m sorry miss, but this is good bye.”
And I found out what it’s like to die.
So we went, and parted, to each our own way,
But one more time I want to heard Death say, “I’m sorry miss, -“
Marking the end of the day
poem by Jinny Tikanus
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Pretty Lil' Princess
A pretty little princess danced before my eyes
Soon we shared these loving longing sighs
Skin so fair i feared it would shatter
If my hand were to touch it with just a soft patter
Long silky black hair bright rosy cheeks
I drempt of her each night for weeks and weeks
Skin so fair, such ebony hair
I longed to see her pose so i could sit and stare
Rosy red rosy cheeks
I hear a symphony when she speaks
Golden smile of pearly white teeth
A blossoming bloom just out of reach
My heart to hold my soul to teach
A blossoming bloom is not out of reach
At last I have held her and she did not melt
At last she knows what passion i've felt
So many days her radiant beauty shined
So many days on thoughts of her i've dined
A radiant beauty with ebony hair
I long to pose her and sit and stare
I long to kiss her skin so fair
This radiant beauty with ebony hair
Pretty little princess stands on her tiptoes
kissed my face and kissed my nose
Pretty little princess alights up off the ground
I know for a while i must have you around
poem by Beau Golden
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Eyes Fastened With Pins
How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death's laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death's supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death,
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough,
But the address somehow wrong,
Even death can't figure it out
Among all the locked doors...
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away,
Undressing slowly, sleepily,
And stretching naked
On death's side of the bed.
poem by Charles Simic
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Weeping... (Betrayed)
weeping...
i know the sound,
the feel, the taste.
the deep intensity
of storm laden skies.
the grey dust
on the building vacant.
the stink of human flesh,
when hunger ripens into need.
the death of oil tainted water,
and smoke choking out the air.
the sudden take of violence,
seems reason never justifies.
the cold clank of chains,
the sobbing dirt of endless fields.
the baby gasping for life
in a room designed by hate.
the old woman dying on a makeshift bed,
rats running across the floor.
the old man left alone,
to read books that resemble life.
the church empty, the alleys full,
the eyes staring at the ground
in the unemployment line.
the hand too poor to be touched,
the body too old to be loved.
the jack-o-lantern face of god,
in a world too stoned to know.
the rope hanging from the ceiling,
the silence when words run out...
weeping...
time betrayed by the hands of death!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Backyard
We had this
animal graveyard
set just far back enough
in our Clearing
so we didn’t have to be afraid
of all those furry ghosts, wandering ‘round in the cool, sharp Louisiana night and
seeking us out—their tiny patches of unkempt, crooked hairs
suffused with moonlight
cast up from the Palm Lake.
We buried our minds there, our memories,
unable to let slide the pulsing insecurity of feeling, fear; no
emotions at all
could be allowed to roam
with those shunned ghosts in The Woods. They must be buried—
the uplifting with the shattering,
like the weeds with the flowers and fruits,
from the rising daylight
till Momma said
the streetlights are on, come on inside for dinner.
We weren’t the only family with a
cemetery, I’ve found.
As the Clearing and The Woods turned to hazes of misremembered dreams and
days repressed or forgotten—and on the odd and empty day, fantasized about—
and as our animal ghosts continued to haunt us
well into the bloodshed of adolescence,
the bleak shield of adulthood,
the strange cadences and lulls of intermingling lives with others...
as we learned the beauty of our own wretched secrets and swamps,
found the silver in our sins,
I discovered
You mine around in others’ graves long enough,
you find their coal,
just as black and dirty as it is beautiful—
just as bleak,
and haunting,
and abashedly sinful and sweet
as the ghosts in your own backyard.
Beaujolais Day
(DickKellyMosleyRotheryTrewavas)
I went to Morisson's grave at Pere Lachaise cemetery
The stony flowers and the matching graffiti were guiding me
To the steps inside of me
And what would you do if I got down on my knees to you
What would you do if I lied to your face
Could you still hold your dreams
Could you live with your silent face
So what would you do would you walk right through me
Would you stand in the way like the others before
Get in the way
Would you drink to me next Beaujolais day
Tell me the truth save a prayer for me
I would love to leave you but you would cry all night long
Eternal romantic victory failed on Beaujolais day
I heard a wheelchair whisper across a stale silent gymnasium
Trailing an ivy league jacket like a matador
Through the jitterbug steps of the night before
Through the chalk white chill and the tear fandango
Heading away to the inner wrangle
Do we cry for a cell
Do we need for a cell
What would you do would you cry for me
Could you set off ... could we go gently
Blame it away
Do you really want to head for the open door
Got to crack a bottle while you dream for me
Just an absent friend and a misery
Laying awake do we stay right there
'Till Beaujolais day
On Beaujolais day
So what would you do would you lie to me
Would you sit right back in a victory
Would you play for me
Could you die for me
So what would you do would you walk right through me
Heading away saying it's just another victory
This is Beaujolais day
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Skin
Skin discloses unrealized dreams:
people moved with desires,
thinking about children they never had,
the books they never wrote,
the world they hoped to change.
Skin tells secrets:
it cracks like desert ground;
it uncovers the trails of life,
telling how long you have been here.
White skin,
black skin,
brown skin...
speak loud.
And when it is covered,
it itches.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Lonliness (Feels)
lonliness...
feels like,
the train passing,
middle of the night,
long forgotten tracks.
the factory building empty,
set ablaze by anger.
the flight of the crows,
pawprints left by a stray cat.
the tears of a man
when he thinks that
no one can see.
the clouds that bury stars,
the trees that hold up the sky.
the black hand of death
wrenching light from the heart.
the prayer long unanswered.
the echo of your own voice,
the key that doesnt fit the lock.
unmarked stones in a graveyard.
the windowpane covered with dust.
the lone wolf staring,
the letter sent to the wrong address.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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These Words Too Say What Love Was
ATHESE WORDS TOO SAY WHAT LOVE WAS
These words too say what Love was-
Though I am long from that love and those feelings-
Once there were songs in the night and great passion
And we were a kind of happiness that only the very blessed know-
I had dreamed of such love for so long
And you in your beauty were all Beauty could ever be-
We loved for a long time
And in that love I learned forever that Love is real-
But somehow in a way I will never understand
For you that love died-
And I was left loving without being loved
And had to go a long time in the pain of longing for you again-
But that was long long ago
And now where our love is no one can ever know
For it is only in memories that cannot truly capture what it really was-
Love it is true is the most beautiful thing we know
And I knew this with you
And will be grateful for it forever-
Though the nights the many years of nights in the long time that has passed say
There are other feelings by which we live and kinder quieter loves also -
O passion of my life oh destiny long gone oh Love I will never know again,
Do you blame yourself at all as I long ago have forgiven you
For abandoning the Beauty of our Life for long sad years of concentrated mindfilled gladnesses?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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At the zoo
There are street hawkers
selling their wares
next to a wall build
of rocks and stone
on all sides of the entrance.
Carved wooden walking sticks
african faces in black wood,
grass brooms, pottery,
hats and t-shirts
and African drums
and paintings line the sidewalk.
Light pink flamingos
parade next to their dark brown pool
and walk among long palm trees
while they call to each other.
Some white swans
drift on a lake in the park
and catch something to eat
with dipping heads
from the dark water.
a Couple of elephant throw
red-brown sand
over themselves
and their pleated skin
looks like rough sandpaper
and at the back
there’s an old white farmstead
with a green roof
and some hay
for them to eat.
Some spotted Hyenas
swim in a stream
and their dark brown
dots stand out
against their light coats.
There’s some long walkways
going through gardens
that stretch into the distance..
Just the head and back
of a lonely Hippopotamus
rises from a dark brown pool
and it drifts with its nose
under the water
in the direction
of some other Hippopotamuses.
Some bridges run
over the small stream
of the Apies river
which splash over rocks.
a Blue crane
combs its blue-grey coat
next to a striped Kudu cow
that grazes on the green grass
with the Kudu bull watching
the visitors.
a Big brown bear
walks up a rock slope
and splashes in cold pool.
Some Impalas are gathering
on a rocky slope
and a narrow path
stretches up the wooded hill.
A Tiger lies sleeping
under a tree
and two black-backed jackals
stand grinning next to each other.
There are yellow-gold lions
that hides in the long green grass
and a slim female
with two cubs
steps out and watches
and the big male
comes out with a twisting tail
and roars menacing at the crowd
while one of the keepers
are giving them meat.
There’s a great view of the buildings
of Pretoria from the top
of the hill
and some high rises
and towers jump up
into the sky.
I take a cable car
for the long way down
and see the Union buildings
far in the distance
and miniature animals
flash by on the bottom.
A Leopard growls
when I leave the cable car
and I hear the calls
of some black Chacma Baboons.
Some African Buffalo
stand grazing like cattle
and a Rhino
lies stretched out
on the grass.
Some of the gamekeepers
are feeding a giraffe
and it stretches its neck
over a high wall
and time catches me
and something of the animals
stays with me
when I walk back to the car.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Untitled: Iv
once upon a time
long long ago though it
may seem just a moment ago
on a full-moon night
we shared our unshed tears
silently absorbing each others presence
our bodies trembled
within the skin-confines
intermittently
we broke into
all-knowing smiles
the moisture in the eyes
brought more glint to the whites
what mattered that night
was the connect
not related to the routine
mundane world
on this night
i now stand in a puddle
and once again long
to share our unshed tears
on a full-moon night...
17jul2010
01.50hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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