I Am.... (Falcon)
i am...
the lament of oceans,
grieving lost children.
the latent sound of artillery,
mother and son huddled.
i am women oppressed,
sold into slavery.
i am the crack in the window,
through which freedom stares.
i am black skin white skin
drenched in blood,
i am sweat and toil,
fields swept by heat.
i am the american poet,
who learned his craft in sawmills...
built houses by hand,
and grew his own food.
i am pigs and chickens,
slaughtered in cells.
i am pride in prison,
and self education.
i am the grandfather weeping
over a picture of his grandson.
i am the price of justice,
names spent and forgotten.
i am the lover stalking,
the shadows of night empty.
i am the fire and the cross,
the curse and the cost.
i am mistakes and failures,
i am guts and desire.
i am balls and fury,
gentleness and understanding...
i am the prodigal son,
my mother is the wind.
i am the fighter
who stayed too long...
i am the pilgrim naked,
the owl in the night.
i am jesus and buddha
weeping over hitler's grave.
i am the victims of holocaust,
the victims of everyday choices.
i am the immoral saint,
and the renegade monk.
i am the lie of america,
yet the truth and the hope.
i am the murderer and the murdered,
and the child abused.
i am the promised land,
and the walls of jericho.
i am the reservation,
bad whiskey and poverty.
i am custer sent to
vietnam, iraq, and afghanistan.
i am the tears of crazy horse,
and the death of the earth...
i am sackcloth and ashes,
and the sin of blindness.
i am heat and desire,
i am hunger and want.
i am the heart beating,
defying all odds.
i am the falcon,
the wolf, and the turtle...
i am the kiss
that turns shadows to light!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Lover, Come To Me!
lover, come to me!
i am the wind,
the sound, and the fury.
the small patches of fur,
left in the ditch.
the stained sheet,
the crack in the window.
i am the barking of dogs,
the song of cicadas...
i am the broken plow,
the hammer laid aside.
the bucket full of rainwater,
the tree bent by the storm.
i am the bodies of the innocents,
the nightmares of the guilty...
the stink of blood
dried by the sun...
the wagonload of melons,
the tornado swept roof.
i am the small shop,
where things are built by hand.
lover, come to me!
the oceans rage...
mountains are shaken,
the night has no end.
the sweat of desire,
covers my nakedness.
i am invisible.
i am the ghost
whose body you feel!
i am the madness
that your stillness defines...
lover, come to me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lonely In Your Nightmare
Even on the darkest night when empty promise means empty hand
And soldiers coming home like shadows turning red
When the lights of hope are fading quickly then look to me
Ill be your homing angel,Ill be in your head.
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
And theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
I see the delta traces living lonely out on the limb.
And a passing glimmer warm beneath your skin
Please tread gently on the ground when all around you earth
Turns to fire
Only get a second chance when dangers on the wind.
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
-
Must be lucky weather when you find the kind of wind that you need
Cmon show me all the light and shade that made your name
I know youve got it in your head, Ive seen that look before
Youve built your refuge turns you captive all the same
Because youre lonely in your nightmare let me in...
And its barren in your garden let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in..
Because youre so lonely in your nightmare let me in..
And its cold out on your stone range let me in...
Because theres heat beneath your winter let me in...
Do, do-do, do do do do
Do, do-do, do do do do
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Am..... (Feathered Wing)
i am the kiss of the feathered wing...
having no body i walk across oceans.
driven by ancestral blood i go deep in the mines,
listening for the voices of freedom.
i define hunger with faces and eyes,
i unload the gun, and tear down the idols.
i am the maker of mountains,
bare branches bringing forth leaves.
i am the winds of change,
the still small voice within.
i am the womb of the unborn child,
i am the casket, the forever dirt.
i am the groan of the lover left alone,
the shout of the old man's empty room.
i am the stink of poverty,
and the bitter taste of wealth.
i am money burning
on the altars of mankind.
i am the voice of the god
you no longer remember.
i am the touch that breaks down walls.
i am conversation without words,
i am black and white,
both male and female!
i am death unlike what you feared,
i am the bridge you're afraid to cross.
i am the pierced tongue,
and the language of birds.
i am the promised land
deep within you!
i am the wail of justice
during the height of the storm.
i am the storm, and the quiet that follows.
i am the end of human striving,
and the beginning of breath.
i am the price and the cost of condemnation.
i am the scriptures written in the grain of trees...
i am the hand that stills troubled waters.
i am nothing, came from nothing,
to nothing i return!
i am the sight that heals blindness,
the cure for the disease.
i am you...
evolving!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
By The Fires Of Hell
i kissed the cyanide lips,
of the god of my childhood.
walked the desolate streets,
strewn with human refuse and garbage.
under the heavy curse
of false morality and judgement.
to the edge of town,
where the hanging tree stood.
the sweat stained pits,
of bodies faceless and rotting.
a black and white movie,
dirge of the pilgrim.
walls made of wax,
and ideals with numb fingers.
church bells ringing,
forever just ringing!
why is it true souls are always homeless?
i hear the voices, i feel the weeping.
poverty breaks the glass,
and hunger melts the candle.
when sins become as real as death!
so who pays the price?
and who bears the load?
in the end we are always naked!
i wait beneath the tree,
by the shadow of the rope.
whose hands? my hands?
whose retribution? my guilt?
then soft as the wind,
and light formed from shadows...
i hear the voice of the Lover,
calling, from beyond the door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Color? (Hope)
what color
was the dust
from which the stars
were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?
what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....
the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?
what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?
what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?
what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?
what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?
nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?
and what color is hope?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stillness Wrapped, Unwrapped!
stillness wrapped...
layers and layers of sound,
sound defined by color, sweat,
stink, breath, and desire...
i walk the great plains of night,
the hunter, and the hunted.
i kneel in the shadow of a star,
giving praise to the Great Mother!
i am wings of bat,
the eyes of the great owl.
i am wolf urine on the grasses.
i am bark and bay and howl.
i am the flute of the whipporwill,
the shallow breathing of the mountain aroused.
the small black boy in Mississippi past,
staring hard at the walls of angry cant.
i am the political prisoner,
the religious heretic.
i am the murderer repentent,
the one who kills him.
i am the quiet drunk
alone at the corner table.
the book hidden in in coat
that cant stop the bullet.
i am the old woman hungry
for a lovers touch...
i am the touch, the memory,
the coming and breaking.
i am the prodigal, the refugee,
the starving girl who gives
her last piece of bread
to her younger brother.
i am the stray dog, the abandoned house,
the fire, and the homeless man who died.
i am the grave, the gravedigger,
the preacher, and the epitaph....
i am nothing now....
but stillness unwarpped by time...
sound, color, sweat, stink,
breath, and desire....
ashes, and unplowed earth!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Know a Dream Called America
I know a dream called America -
That led to freedom - our precious -
freedom. That was won - That was won -
through - loneliness - hunger - blood-
Sweat - and tears. By your christian forefathers - who
Fought on with determination - through
The night - and through the day - till
The war was won. In the cold - cold - winter snow of
Seventeen-Seventy-Six - that won us
our freedom. Happy birthday America to everyone
Say a prayer for your country - everyone -
Give a helping hand - everyone - for the
Cause of freedom - everyone - let no one
take your freedom from this land - for
It is our hope - and our passport everyone -
And our golden gate - to the promised land -
Where our almighty God abides. - Happy birthday America - to everyone -
May we share - many many more. I know a dream called America -
That lead to Freedom - our precious Freedom. That was won - that was won -
Through loneliness - and hunger - blood -
Sweat - and tears Happy birthday America - to everyone -
Say a prayer for your country - everyone -
Give a helping hand - everyone - for the
Cause of Freedom from this land - for it's
Our hope - and your passport - everyone - and
Our golden gate - to the promised land -
Where Almighty God - abides.
poem by Theresa M. Leicht
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Somewhere Between....
somewhere between....
a small fire and a rainy night,
an open book, a candle in the window.
the words of Jesus, revolution without restraint...
an agnostic, and a dreamer.
a murderer and a healer,
a poet and a farmer.
a pair of worn out shoes,
and a stone statue of Buddha.
a mad lover crawling in windows,
and a monk staring at the stars.
the last wolf in the night,
and the first rays of dawn.
somewhere between...
hope and despair,
understanding and anger.
a child and a dying old man.
a prayer and an erection.
a train coming in the distance,
and a lighthouse in the harbor.
the bark of the gun,
and the prayer of shovels.
somewhere between....
loving you and suicide.
standing to fight and running.
spreading my wings, and digging a ditch.
your breast and your lips,
a tear and a poem....
somewhere between!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am... (Human Heart Beating)
i am...
the silent tomb that has no face.
the burnt edges of the holy book.
the hand that fits the yearning hand.
the light inside the shadow.
the cross carried without a murmur.
the house built out of simple things.
the grandchild, and the old dog.
the plane dropping medicine
instead of bombs.
the oil rig shut down and deserted.
moonlight on the ocean calm.
straw huts burning with devouring fire.
lines of women and children going nowhere.
the stock market crash, and the day after.
big trucks shut down, and markets bare.
familes joined together to share the little.
the wind crying freedom's hidden name.
white skin, brown skin, black skin one.
the human heart beating, red and raw!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cry Of The Lonely...
i have heard the cry of the lonely,
the tree bent with grief for the ocean.
the squirrel who dreams of wings,
the mountain melting with need to wander.
the child orphaned by war or poverty,
the monk on fire for a world that's blind...
the beaten body in the prison cell,
the door opened, no one there.
the naked body weeping on an empty bed,
the voice calling without echo.
the tongue that walks the rainy night...
the moon hidden by clouds cold and distant.
the lonesome sound of the faraway train,
the lover who walks the garden...
the empty streets, the hollowed houses,
where not even the scent of memory lingers.
the bruised hand stuck in the pocket,
the letter never addressed.
the flower that bloomed, and no one saw,
the bent nail on the back of the shed....
the candle snuffed.... the last words lost...
lips swollen, set, and driven...
am i the cry, or just the shell,
that brushes against your heart without name?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Beast
I saw the beast
In the sea
He should
Have been drowned
Not set free
He had a brother
An evil twin brother
Their mother
Was the devil
But not like you see
No horns no fire
No cardinal desire
She was just a mother
Who wouldn't see
What she did see
How could she let
Her sons go free
Knowing
That her grandson
Is in the heroin sea
Screaming get this beast off of me
All because
She didn't see
What she did see
God tell me
Why is she free
She should be in prison
With her sons and a preist
Now lets hope
Justice will come and see
For all the victims
poem by Dave Alan Walker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freedom Rant.... (For Greg Uhan)
burn down, tear down,
empty buildings on fire.
wages getting smaller,
the cost keeps getting higher.
gasoline, political machine,
waiting to ignite.
the walking dead carry their beds,
two wrongs dont make a right.
unemployed, polaroids,
given to the flame.
drunk on fears, unspoken tears,
even hunger has a name.
gunpoint, tossed in the joint.
making meth in backseats.
bloody coins, where nothing joins,
bodies covered with sheets.
momma's grave, cant be saved,
redemption calls for blood.
funeral hymns, unpardonable sins,
caskets made of wood.
black face, white face,
poverty goes barefoot.
media lies, freedom dies,
all faces covered with soot.
women sold, sacrifice the old,
babies born on floors.
the price of life, a gun and a knife,
close the window, bolt the doors.
the few who stand, shifting sands,
burned at the stake.
carry the cross, pay the cost,
give more than they take.
for children unborn, shoes not yet worn,
god burns inside their eyes,
chains broken, guts and hopin',
eagles mourn the empty skies.
words of truth, from aged and youth,
open doors and break the chains.
good and bad, desperate and mad,
we are the coming change!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am (Kneeling)
i am, become...
i am forgiveness,
wanted, prayed for, needed,
in heart and action...
i am the blood of those
you killed crying out,
in the name of God and humanity!
i am the action done with foreknowledge,
the action done without intent.
and even worse the inaction,
that turns the head and closes the eyes.
i am the earth gasping with death,
crying out to her children.
i am your children, and
your children's children...
starving at your feet!
i am the people of color
you killed without remorse...
and the poor of all colors you flush.
i am the young boys and girls
you sell into slavery,
on every darkened corner.
i am the young men you trained
and sent to die...
to feed your war machine!
i am the working class bartered away
in the game of oil and dominion...
the memory of your parents and grandparents,
all they fought and stood for
sold like trinkets on the block.
the words of freedom, of Thomas Jefferson,
whose grave you now defile...
i am the weeping that has no tears,
that tears you inside out.
i am the hurt that covers you
with shadows and agony,
that makes you sick to your soul.
i am numb with silence,
struck blind, struck down...
i am America kneeling,
i am, become...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Pebble Is A Mountain.....
i was there the day you were born...
you were there the day that i died....
i entered your mother with fevered passion,
you were the grandmother knitting outside.
i killed your son in battle,
you buried my wife in an unmarked grave.
you baptized me in the river,
i lit the fire when you were martyred.
you went to sea in search of a new land,
i sat in my tepee waiting for death.
you slew me with righteous indignation,
i prayed to the Great Spirit for your soul.
i worked forty years to feed you,
you stole the cross from around my neck.
i led the immigrants by night,
you waited with a gun and a badge....
you died inside my prison,
i felt the blow of justice.
i starved outside your window,
while you drank and danced till dawn....
i was an addict and a murderer,
you fed my addiction with greed.
you saved the world one winter night,
while i wandered lost again....
or perhaps, the other way around,
i cannot tell the difference.
there be no walls in an empty room,
and a pebble is a mountain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Old Fires
The fire burns low
Where it has burned ages ago,
Sinks and sighs
As it has done to a hundred eyes
Staring, staring
At the last cold smokeless glow.
Here men sat
Lonely and watched the golden grate
Turn at length black;
Heard the cooling iron crack:
Shadows, shadows,
Watching the shadows come and go.
And still the hiss
I hear, the soft fire's sob and kiss,
And still it burns
And the bright gold to crimson turns,
Sinking, sinking,
And the fire shadows larger grow.
O dark-cheeked fire,
Wasting like spent heart's desire,
You that were gold,
And now crimson will soon be cold--
Cold, cold,
Like moon-shadows on new snow.
Shadows all,
They that watched your shadows fall.
But now they come
Rising around me, grave and dumb....
Shadows, shadows,
Come as the fire-shadows go.
And stay, stay,
Though all the fire sink cold as clay,
Whispering still,
Ancestral wise Familiars--till,
Staring, staring,
Dawn's wild fires through the casement glow.
poem by John Freeman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!