I Am.... (Here, I Am Gone!)
i am...
the screen half torn from the door,
the print of the raccoon,
on the hood of the car.
i am oil tinged rainwater,
caught in a bucket.
the sound of trucks
on a distant highway.
i am snake skin, and spider's web,
and the trail of the ants.
the old woman hanging clothes,
the dog on the porch.
i am children dirty half naked,
the watermelon, and the broomstick.
i am poverty boiling,
on the salted burner.
i am the funeral suit,
and hymns made of wool.
i am spit dripping,
from the chin of eternity.
the unshaven gristle
of autumn awaiting winter.
i am the kite stuck
in the highest branch.
i am the lover, the potter,
the gospel of the snail
going home!
i am the wrap of two bodies,
two tongues, and one soul.
i am the song of rust,
tempting the grass.
i am here, i am gone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Scriptures
i read the scriptures written in human faces,
in calloused hands, in bruises and scars.
in the spider's web, in the trail of the snail.
in the pot stained with use,
in the axe and the plow.
in the old woman's silence,
in the broken window.
in worn out boots, and the broken lock.
in the gravel drive,
in the eyes of the hungry....
in the fear of those oppressed by war.
in the dead squirrel's body,
in the nest left empty.
in the prisoner staring
through a window barred.
in the old man's chair,
a dog's turd and a hill of ants.
in the fallen leaf,
in the empty room.
in solitude and stillness,
in the prayer of lonliness.
in trash strewn in the alley,
in the grave unmarked.
in the truth of doubt,
in a puddle of rainwater.
in fresh cut grass,
in the cow fresh milked.
in the lover's touch,
in the dialogue of silence.
in the shovel, the hammer, and the flute.
in the grain of the old tree,
and the woman giving birth...
let us speak of nothing less!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broken Glass
broken glass,
autumn chill,
the spoon tarnished...
with time.
an old lid turned up,
half filled, half empty,
wearing a spider's web,
and time earned rust.
a dog barks, a truck
goes by....
an old mattress
on the bed...
a baby's born
in a rundown trailer,
an old woman dies
alone in her chair.
life turns, the hands
of the clock sharp....
cut the fingers
at the touch....
the untamed heart,
on the unknown path,
fallen leaves left
by the door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Half As Much
I've been up and and down the highway
And i've seen what a man can do
To some little girl along the byway
That's why i sing this song to you
If you find your baby's gone
And you don't know where or when
You wonder, yes you wonder
If you'll ever see him again
Just remember, remember
These simple words i brought
Soon it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much as you thought
'cause i been up and down the highway
And i watch them as they pass by
Broken hearts and i wish that they'd go my way
I'd save them every little teardrop they cry
Won't you listen?
If you think you can't go on
And life ain't got it for you no more
You're waitin' every night
For him to come walkin' through that door
Just remember, remember
These simple words that i brought
Soon it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much as you thought
Well, it won't hurt half as much
No, it won't hurt half as much
Lord, it won't hurt half as much as you though
Fades
And everytime you're sad, you cry
You feel like you...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(It Won't Hurt) Half As Much
(Bert Berns)
I've been up and and down the highway
And I've seen what a man can do
To some little girl along the byway
That's why I sing this song to you
If you find your baby's gone
And you don't know where or when
You wonder, yes you wonder
If you'll ever see him again
Just remember, remember
These simple words I brought
Soon it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much as you thought
'Cause I been up and down the highway
And I watch them as they pass by
Broken hearts and I wish that they'd go my way
I'd save them every little teardrop they cry
Won't you listen?
If you think you can't go on
And life ain't got it for you no more
You're waitin' every night
For him to come walkin' through that door
Just remember, remember
These simple words that I brought
Soon it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much as you thought
Well, it won't hurt half as much
No, it won't hurt half as much
Lord, it won't hurt half as much as you though
FADES
And everytime you're sad, you cry
You feel like you...
(Transcribed by ear; corrections requested and welcomed!)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Simplest Of Things...
there is a rare beauty
in the simplest of things...
the door knob tarnished,
the book with the worn cover.
the hallelujah shout of the snail,
rain water standing in an old tire.
the lampshade covered with dust,
the iron sitting unattended.
the child's toy left on the floor,
the hand that always somehow fits.
the old woman's heavy breathing,
the coffee cup stained half empty.
the cry of young lovers from a distant window.
the dog's low growl at something unseen.
the tattered remnants of the robin's nest,
the broken eggshell clinging to grass.
the old hymn sung by the man working his garden...
the swing of the axe, the stacking of wood.
the spider clinging to the outhouse wall,
potatoes laid out in the cellar for winter.
the grave solitary three days after the funeral.
the cat cradled on the step while it rains.
the laughter of a love long in journey.
the cup of coffee shared with the transient stranger.
the prayer of the child, and the room gone dark....
words spoken from the heart with hands and feet.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tinged With Oil
sunlight dancing
on a puddle of rainwater
tinged with oil....
empty cars locked,
rusting in the warmth.
empty bottles, cigarette butts,
and ghosts walking quickly,
going nowhere, leaving a trail
of nothing behind.
stray dogs, beat down stop signs,
people afraid to touch,
much less to feel...
sunlight dancing
on a puddle of rainwater
tinged with oil....
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clean Dishes Inside A Dirty Sink
How can you give us away my blue ski turn into grey leaving out of grandma's house nothing was said no movement not even a mouse. And then thee abuse started.
The children there faces, moving into new places, the smile on there faces, the touch brought sad faces! His skin his hand his penis did stand, our mouth he open he inserted it floated, nasty the taste, he replied for goodness sake! the night was his day that we became the prey, the kids tried to fight, but he cut off the lights, his eyes, his vision the target the children the hall the kitchen, a Wilde animal became hidden and loose! the rooster the goose, the duck the snake had escaped! the run the chase naked all day, the snake was up he tore the kids clothes off, the bed he played his snake did lay on us until it got sick and spit! he put back in the cave it went. Until the next day
How can you give us away my blue ski turn into grey leaving out of grandma's house nothing was said no movement not even a mouse. And then thee abuse started.
Tired and sleepy naked and chilly under the covers we lay, no one did say nothing! ! but we prayed that a decision be made that our mother would come and get us but she didn't! scared and weary up to see the visit form mommy at the place where tears became the case. Never did she ask what's wrong with her clean dishes that became place in a space were the water is dirty. My mother time became over were back in the car, the odder the smell of the lotion that was put on the snake that made him sick and spit.
The bathroom time was interrupted he made you feel decussated, the sight when you see him made you sick that you wanted to kill him! We were three brothers whose mom did us dis just. We played it off each and everyday for hoping of a change or a brighter day to take place but it didn't come but he did! ! ! ! ! !
who once was full of life became the victims when the lights was turned off by night. Can this be my reality or I'm dreaming. My tears have a voice, on my inside just die, where my tears resides and awaken when I had to face my reality each and everyday So confuse about whats in front of me, that the world that one was a custom to has now become a memory that's dead and left my mind I shake my head to the sound of someone closing the door, because of the show the molestation the performance that was headed to an all time encore that made my brothers and I sick. Because we were clean dishes inside the dirty sink.
poem by Clarence Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Names Written In Blood
hard nosed old half drunk men,
missing fingers, teeth, and hope.
50 years of working for somebody else,
somebody else's money, somebody else's dreams.
a warm fire, a cook pot half full,
a woman bent on loving,
patient enough to stay.
and the snail trails of children,
grown and gone....
echoes in the living room,
echoes on the porch.
old woman buried,
echoes in the bed....
hard lined old faces,
eyes vacant as distance...
lips bruised with silence,
names written in blood!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace or Poverty
Their skin soaks up the heat
Leaving it as black as the midnight sky,
Their eyes wide, white, pleading
Begging to the passersby.
They litter the street
Half naked bodies,
Red and colouring their feet
Searching for a entrance
A door out of the circle of poverty.
Poverty means destruction
Destruction means fear
Behind locked doors we sit in early evening
Too scared to see a black face
Terrified of black feet crossing the threshold.
But why be fearful of your slaves,
Those you whip and beat
Treating like the dirt from the doormat
Where you wipe your feet.
Role diversity causes poverty
Poverty destroys peace
But peace minus poverty
Means Equality should increase.
poem by Sonali Shah
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Eternity Borrowed
eternity borrowed,
....when old lovers kiss
......like strangers meeting
for the first time...
rainwater dripping from tin,
...tastes like yesterday forgotten,
as lips
...and tongues,
........explore!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Eternity, And Such...
eternity, and such...
the stain in the coffee cup,
the holes in the old man's underwear.
the rough tongue of a stray cat,
the shadow moving in the alley.
the trail left by the snail,
paper cups blown by the wind.
the blood left on the highway,
the dog dead in the ditch.
the glass shattered on the floor,
the stink of the body
three days after...
the limb torn from the tree
by the memory of storm.
your pillow, my hat,
a shot of brandy in an empty room.
the sound the heart makes...
when no one can hear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pull My Chain
Got me on a short leash, tied to your screen door
I used to run with the big dogs 'til I stretched out on your front porch
Used to be a hound dog, chased a lot of fast cars
Now I don't even bark when the kitty cats stroll through the back yard
I used to howl at the moon, yeah I've been known to roam
Then I caught her trail one day, followed this girl home
I ain't the same, she knows how to put my chain
They say that an old dog, can't learn a new trick
Well she taught me to stay the first day and I learned real quick
There's a doghouse, a fence and a gate latch
I keep my tail waggin' and I don't mind beggin for a good scratch
I used to howl at the moon, yeah I've been known to roam
Then I met this girl one day that brought this old stray home
I ain't the same, she knows how to pull my chain
I used to howl at the moon, yeah I've been known to roam
Then I caught her trail one day, followed this girl home
I ain't the same, she knows how to pull my chain
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New York... Not In Autum
It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.
Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?
Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.
Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.
Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.
Days Like This...Remind Me Of You
It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.
Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?
Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.
Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.
Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.
Only On This Day...
For: J.L.
It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.
Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?
Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.
Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.
Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.
Autumn...Will Never Be The Same
FOR: J.L. With Love
It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.
Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?
Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.
Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.
Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.
Walk The Path In Stillness
walking barefoot...
down alleys dark,
while children play
with garbage and broken glass.
past unlocked doors,
through buildings spent,
left for ghosts and tribal memories.
past walls charred by sweat and time,
left to smolder with empty ache....
to the time before the time before,
when living had a name.
under war torn skies,
over bodies strewn,
and left for birds of prey.
down dusty roads,
holding a child's dark hands,
in shadows anguished pain.
the skies aflame,
as if stars died, and every veil is rent.
to the sound of freedom's hungered drums,
and shadowed wings beating fury.
to the barren room,
the mattress on the floor,
frost upon the pane.
where lovers turned upon the spit,
with bodies made of water.
eyes wide open, living thrust,
tongues tracing maps to destiny.
the hardened cock,
buried in soul's wet lips,
while angels silently prayed.
and the candle burned
till the break of dawn,
and moonlight's final kiss...
the barren room of the empty house,
where eternity revealed!
the field once plowed
has now turned brown...
sparrows pick at the dust.
and scriptures written
in hickory rust,
whispers lost to sound!
battles fought, and flags laid down,
cover caskets that wait for dirt.
the little girl's shoe, the old washtub,
the broken pot beneath the window.
while dogs bark, and ants converse,
and hearts are covered with snow.
the faces of god fade into wood,
stacked and thrown into the fire.
be it dream, be it madness,
or the simple turning of the wheel...
the wind turns with a final kiss,
bare feet walk the path in stillness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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