I... Then!
i am... then,
the fallen sparrow,
the broken pane,
the house where no one lives!
the worn out shoes,
the guitar in the closet,
the child with cancer
staring from the window...
the book signed and forgotten
beneath the pillow,
the shotgun in the corner,
eyes painted that hide.
the telephone that doesnt ring,
love stains on the sheet.
the old man trying to bum a cup of coffee,
and the young girl behind the counter
who takes him a cup.
the political prisoner,
his blood on the floor.
the refugee... his blood
on his face!
the heretic who turned away
and found the face of god.
the lover left alone,
the darkness of night.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Three Flights Up
On the first floor On the first floor
On the first floor there's a young girl reeling
Her body's numb and without feeling
As illusions dance on the midnight ceiling
Now she's falling, now she's kneeling
It's almost like she's bowed in prayer
A savior she's about to bear
She screams for help, but no one's there
On the first floor
On the first floor people walk the halls
But none can hear her desperate calls
There is no sound beyond the walls
So to the telephone she crawls
She telephones her only friend
The one on whom she can depend
But the phone rings on without an end
Then rings no moreOn the first floor
There's a party on the second floor
And through the picture window you can see them all
They're laughing and they're dancing
Admiring the Renoir that's hanging on the wall
But in the master bedroom where the coats are piled high
A silent, saddened lady thinks of what it's like to die
And as she dwells on all the years she still has left to face
She wonders how she'll ever find someone to take his place
Then suddenly she's jarred by the ringing of the phone
Oh, why do you ring now, just when I want to be alone?
So she walks into the bathroom and drinks some water from a cup
But the telephone stops ringing just before she picks it up
My family was very poor
So I worked hard to be secure
I married one I had to wed
And not the one I loved instead
When I was young my blood ran wild
But we stayed married for the child
Now three flights up, I'm all alone
My wife is dead, my child is grown
My daughter leads a wayward life
She's been a failure as a wife
And though she lives just one floor down
She never calls or comes around
Step off the platform and onto the train
Look out your window and into the rain
Watch all the buildings that pass as you ride
And count all the stories that go on inside
And then ask yourself if it must be this way
Should walls and doors and plaster ceilings
Separate us from each others' feelings?
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broken child
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has seen more than his young eyes should.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who would run away from it all if he could.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has been ravished by the likes of you and I.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child with to much pride to cry.
I see the face off a broken child.
a child who fights off anyone who cares.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wishes his mother was there.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wont let his hardships keep him down.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who refuses to give up and reveal a frown.
poem by Joshua Reid
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What Have I To Fear?
if death be but a step,
a flower fallen with silent shouts...
a kiss blown by wind but never lost,
a friend who tends the grave.
a hymn, a prayer, kind words spoken,
a drink at a corner table.
a book placed back on the shelf,
a child's drawing done in crayon.
a door closed, left unlocked,
cattle left in the pasture all night.
an empty bowel, a candle burned down,
a sparrow sitting outside the window.
a shovel of dirt, a broken glass,
boots left in the corner.
the dog's leg cocked,
the fire burned down....
the still darkness waiting on dawn.
the river overflowed,
the cage door opened...
then what have i to fear?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Never Sleep On
that book on the shelf,
the one you've forgotten,
waiting in silence,
untouched and unread.
the crack in the window,
rainwater seeps through.
the lamp by the table,
you never turn on.
the axe in the corner,
covered by shadows and web.
the limbs ripped from the tree,
blown by the storm.
that old photograph album,
pictures yellowed by time.
the guitar in the closet,
waiting to be strung.
and the sound of the ocean,
in the shell you never pick up.
the skin left by the snake,
clouds that cover the moon.
the letter you never opened,
the ring in the drawer...
my heart on the pillow,
you never sleep on!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Through The Veil for Dave Walker
there's a light
in the window
of the house
forgotten by time;
a book on the table,
unopened.
footprints on the floor
covered with dust.
a cup in the sink
half-empty.
the wind blows
curtains grey with time....
whispering, whispering....
names that cannot
be heard.
voices, echoes,
creaking the floor.
a book of photographs
on the closet floor.
walking through the mist,
the fog and the shadows,
touching small particles
of being left like gifts....
lives unwrapped into mine!
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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Fate Led Me Too It
sitting in the corner
surrounded by darkness
the light in her eyes
the heart full of hate
the single blade
the single vein
the single dropp of blood
that young boy
this young girl
that dreadful night
the screeching tyres
the shatter of glass
the night that boy left
the other car
the drunken man
the night he drove away
this young girl
this night
this night she joins him too.
poem by Charlotte Marie Peachey
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Family Forgiveness
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For the teen that use to be,
The nine year old girl whom eyes now,
Turn to water falls with the site of the bedroom,
Her daddy not to long ago tucked her in for the night,
And her little brother and her shared their pillow fights.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For that teenage girl,
Knowing that her sister,
Her own bloods hand constructed all of this,
Makes it even more heart breaking.
Even after all this time has gone by,
That same teenage girl can’t understand,
Why would her own blood destroy,
Her real dads house after he is dead.
The disrespect lay there so apparent,
green and in dirt.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be.
For destroying all that is left,
For destroying all that you were holding on too.
Once to be a respectable mans,
Nine year old girls play house,
But now is only just a house of pot.
Forgiven not forgotten that is,
The way it has to be,
Because she is my sister, and I have to.
It is in the contract,
And my conscience tells me so.
This will always be,
Forgiven but not forgotten.
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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You Girl Please (comfort me)
Moonlight pressed upon my pillow
I woke up to find myself alone
I lay down and tried to sleep
But I can’t sleep when I’m alone
You girl please, give me peace
Come and share the night with me
You girl please, comfort me
Truth in love is all I seek
Outside the wind beat loudly
On an aging window pane
Six eight time, a waltz in a heartbeat
Seeing god in each dropp of rain
You girl please, give me peace
Come and share the night with me
You girl please, comfort me
Help me in loves sweet release
break
Silent thunder, creaking floor boards
Caught and echo behind these walls
The stroke of midnight starts a new day
Lonely darkness floods throughout these halls
You girl please, give me peace
Come and spend the night with me
You girl please, comfort me
Your tender loving, share with me
Lightning’s lash rips apart the night sky
Window leaks like a face it cries
Tormenting breeze blows through the curtain
What’s this emptiness you left inside
You girl please, give me peace
Come and share the night with me
You girl please, comfort me
Your wild loving spend with me
Copyright Colin Coplin 1988 (updated 2010)
poem by Colin Coplin
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A Memory Of Love
I came upon a house so bare.
I knew there could be no one there.
I wished to enter so I knocked.
No one answered. The door was locked.
I saw a window through which I peered
and saw it looked just as I feared,
lonely, deserted, cold and musty
cobwebs hanging, everything dusty.
The need to go inside
was an urgency I could not hide.
Should I break the door or shatter the pane?
Encouragement came when I felt the rain.
I entered slowly and looked around
amazed and astounded at what I found.
Every room was empty but for one,
a bedroom with chair facing towards sun.
Beside the chair was a frame
holding the picture of a girl with no name.
Curiosity got the best of me
so I turned it over and I did see
her name scribbled hastily.
'Janette, my love I give to you
this picture I love to sit and view.'
and then I placed it back.
The house was no longer cold to me
for it housed a loving memory.
I left it right beside the chair
as if the lover still was there.
Upon leaving the bedroom I closed the door
so it would stay as it was before.
My intrusion on this private place
as I exited left a smile on my face.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Ibrahim II
You are better off today than yesterday,
But tomorrow comes and it will be worst off!
Oh Ibrahim my lover! ! This is how the world is,
And we have to face the realities around us at all times.
Of the water which was turned into blood!
Of the River Nile which was turned into frogs!
But, there is One Law for us all;
Yes, One Law for the native born and for the stranger.
The book of war!
The book peace,
The book of joy,
The book of love,
The book of romance,
The book of rivers;
And like the first moon of the year! !
However, all the rivers that flow ends up to the sea.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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
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Window Left Open...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces.
the broom in the corner wept.
the box in the closet drew breath sharply,
the book on the shelf turned away.
the bulb in the lamp burned out.
the spider packed up its web and left.
the empty nest fell from the tree.
rainwater gushed from the gutters.
the young boy locked in his room
crawled out the window.
the neighbor's dog barked...
god gathered her clothes,
and put on her shoes.
while warships sailed for another land.
drones killed three women on the way to market,
another baby died without having lived.
another factory shut down,
another church burned to the ground,
so many things said and unsaid.
another chapter, another book unread.
things are not what they seem.
another war on pillows fought by silence,
another day in a land untouched.
old trees pray for lightning,
old dogs wait without fear.
old photographs turn yellow and fade.
old men empty their pockets and die.
even Jesus couldnt wait this long....
they say the good die young.
the thief in the garden steals roses,
that he gives to a girl wearing glasses.
while passion weeps waiting for snow.
and leaves prepare to fall...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces...
the moth flew through a window left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Anybody's Idea Of Eternity!
i'd rather be a leaf torn
by a sparrow's beak...
a snail, a moth, the spider's web.
the old man passing out blankets
at the homeless shelter...
the mother nursing the child,
refugees of war.
the old dog curled against
the old man's leg...
the cigarette shared after making love.
a trash collector, a cashier in an all night store,
an immigrant picking fruit
with eyes in the back of his head....
the soldier who deserted,
and turned his back on the war.
the lover left with the scent of memory.
the young girl giving birth
on a bare apartment floor,
a rose petal wilted,
falling to the ground....
the last wolf wandering the endless night.
a spoke in the wheel of the wagon loaded.
the love letter written never delivered...
a pair of old boots standing in the corner,
a rain dropp lingering on a blade of grass...
then to be an angel playing a harp,
in anybody's idea of eternity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy Halloween
The blood that she let
Left me empty and upset.
My life now goes on forever.
I killed hitler with my fangs and a song.
His gardens died quickly,
He didn't belong.
Love was a dropp of blood for awhile,
Mine was to feed for the blood that she let.
Then I met friendly people on the street.
When I left them they were white as a sheet.
Tommorrow night I will eat candy,
My costume is real
My woman my blood to let
My tongue the blood to feel.
Give me a costume and reason to smile
I just use darkness and death all the while.
So, suck it up, you crazy believers
That we are the invisible creatures of myth
My journey for you
Is what she left.
The blood that she let
Is all that she left.
Happy Halloween.
Young Blood
i saw her standing on the corner,
(ooh ooh ooh)
a yellow ribbon in her hair,
(ooh ooh ooh)
i couldn't keep myself from callin' ,
looky there,
looky there,
looky there,
oh looky there!
young blood,
young blood,
young blood,
i can't get you outta my mind.
i took one look and i was flattered
(ooh ooh ooh)
i tried to walk along the lane
(ooh ooh ooh)
i couldn't keep myself from shouting,
whats your name?
whats your name?
whats your name?
oh whats your name?
young blood,
young blood,
young blood,
i can't get you outta my mind.
what crazy step
she looked so tept
i had to follow her all the way home
then things went bad
i met her dad
he said
you'd better leave my daughter alone
i couldn't sleep that night for crying
(ooh ooh ooh)
i saw the rising of the sun
(ooh ooh ooh)
and all along my heart was sighing
she's the one
she's the one
she's the one
oh she's the one
young blood
young blood
young blood
i can't get you outta my mind
young blood
young blood
young blood
i can't get you outta my mind
young blood
young blood
young blood
i can't get you outta my mind
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mystery Written
it is the mystery written
in the bed of pine needles,
in the broken branch,
in the bad place in the road.
in the hours between 3 and 4 in the morning,
when the spirit grieves itself with prayer.
in the cool of the darkness,
in the window cracked.
in the homeless dog's eyes,
as he stands in the road.
in the box unopened for twenty years,
in the eviction notice,
and the lights cut off.
in the kerosene heater,
and potatoes strewn in the cellar.
in the tear in the sheet,
in worn out shoes.
in love lost in waiting,
adrift, searching for a light.
in the answer that smells like dawn,
and the smell of strong coffee!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Scent Of The Lover....
i am still water, moonlit and waiting.
i am the crucifix made of fingers,
the letter written in blood.
the fool tripping over windmills,
the beacon from a distant shore.
dust in the corner, dew on the grass,
the eyes of the racoon,
the bat hanging upside down.
the whisper of moss,
the depths of the cave.
the pine tree fallen across the path.
i am the kiss long silent,
the iron skillet, the tin cup.
i am the body of the wind,
without beginning or end.
i am the child alone,
and the woman abused.
the angry man, and the broken glass.
i am the farmhouse deserted,
the voices of ghosts.
i am the spirits of slaves,
who call in the night.
i am the cock and the dawn,
the howl of the dog.
the pilgrim beaten and robbed,
and left for dead.
i am the cry of childbirth,
and the shout of death....
i am the scent of the lover,
that stains your soul!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before you bloom
I wonder if I'll see you in the future
will we cross paths
and commuinate face to face
not over a computer?
I know we grew apart
but perhaps
when we've finished growing we can make a new start
If I have money ill open up a bar
so we can have that lunch
hey
we can go for a drive to the coutry side in my car
we can go for a boat ride
we can sit on the hill top in platfields park
getting drunk in the sun until it becomes dark
we can leave the car
and we can get a taxi.
Your asleep on my shoulder
Im looking out of the window wishing upon a star
I awake you when we arrive
and when you get out Im left with the smell of your perfume
the driver smiles
and I tell him
I didnt go with you
because I know you havnt got the room
because youve got a husband and two kids
we are two friends
you are the love I was once with
we were two kids.
The driver takes me back to where I used to live
Im a stranger in a home thats a sweat home
the neighbours are new and Im stood all alone
in the dark looking,
staring at my house
I dont wanna knock I tell myself they're out
I stand staring
still
the lights are on but I know
it means theres nobody home
and I
I'm ready to go when the blinds move to the side
a ten year old boy looks at me and waves good bye
he smiles
he looks happy
he doesnt look sad
yet Im looking at a house where theres no mum
theres no dad.
Going to the park to get my car
I ring you
I remember what you said
I let you go.
I knew you had to put the kids to bed.
I'm Sitting on the hill
I'm whishing I was looking into your eyes
instead
Im alone
watching a lonley sunrise
boy and girl they are on a boat ride
and I can still smell your perfume
us kids
we're like flowers
we bloom
We do
I just whish I'd have bloomed with you.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Keg In The Closet
We had a dog named Bocephus? living in the front yard he liked sleeping out on the top of
the car hed drink beer out of the mason jar and he climb up on everyone bed
A white frame house, a college town, a bunch of people always hanging around, no real
problems we need to drown but we tried our best anyway, we went to class just to pass the time
back in eighty nine
[Chorus:]
We had a Keg in the closet pizza on the floor left over from the night before where
we were going we didnt really care we had all we ever wanted in that keg in the closet
This old guitar taught me how to score right there on the Lambda Chi porch, Mary Ann taught
me a little more one what you cant have, sweatshirts and flag football, spring breaks down in
panama, for a while we had it all we never dreamed it wouldnt last, we went to class just to
pass the time back in eighty nine
[Chorus:]
We had a Keg in the closet pizza on the floor left over from the night before where
we were going we didnt really care we had all we ever wanted in that keg in the closet
We all kind of went our separate ways, but I swear it seems like yesterday
[Chorus:]
We had a Keg in the closet pizza on the floor left over from the night before where
we were going we didnt really care we had all we ever wanted in that keg in the closet
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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