If.... (Morning Prayer)
and if there were no more words...
and headstones smelled like feet.
if the shadow of god was just that,
and the ants declared independence.
if the moth died for the cause,
and the wolf roamed free again...
if children buried guns in sandpiles,
and women gave birth on the grass.
if the sound of leaves turning resonated,
and mountains walked at night...
if the smell of the fire was for all,
and every bowl was filled.
if the language of silence was eyes,
and our bodies became wings....
if....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
What.... (If Not To Listen...)
what are we here for then
if not to listen...
to words spoken by the longing heart,
to the sound and inflections of suffering,
to the very heartbeat of need.
to the human cry against injustice,
to the song of freedom
borne by an angry wind...
to listen...
to the soft cry of the newborn baby,
to the moan of lovers entwined.
to the hum of the tractor,
and the thud of the axe.
to the hope of the hammer pounding nails.
to the voices of people choosing dialogue,
to the honest plea for forgiveness...
to listen...
to the song of the mockingbird,
the bark of the dog,
the meow of the cat...
to the marching chant of the ants.
to the sound of the butterfly's wings,
rhyming infinity!
to listen...
to the stillness in our own heartbeats.
for the name we had before birth.
to the prayers of clouds and trees.
for the sound of the Lover's footsteps.
to the ancient wisdom of mountains,
the forever birth of the rivers.
for the voice we've followed throughout time...
to listen...
for the bowls of hunger being filled.
for the silence after gunfire ends.
for the sound of hands joining ours.
for the sound of feet walking beside!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Marsh
i know how the marshes smell,
used to have the smell of fish and mud
untouched by the body of a boat,
a wooden boat
definitely without the noise of the machine
and the gun
and the bearded men that carry the guns
less the children
and their mothers who have never come
and stayed an inch deep in the water
i have gone there once
i was a virgin, a fresh mind like the lily
of the marsh
i was the pure air of the lilies, i breathe
and they breathe with me
until i become like some of the bearded men
who come with the noise of the machine
and the guns
i do not like the smell of the marshes now
there are dead bodies of children and women
and unaccounted men
rotten, time and the waters finally buried them
less the usual ritual
of good men.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Timeless....
timeless...
the smell of fresh cut grass,
the taste of sweat on a lovers neck.
the sound the shovels make
filling the grave,
and the moment just before
when life fled into the sunset.
the burnt fringe of the letter
you saved from the fire.
the echoes of passion...
in a box in the closet.
the silence just after
the guns stopped firing,
just before the world found its way!
the spoon in the bowl,
and the peace in the stomach.
the blanket, the fire,
shelter for the night.
the whisper you hear
when only god could be talking,
the prayer of the wind,
the lantern, the bridge!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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September Grass
Well, the suns not so hot in the sky today
And you know I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese are gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed
So Ill be king and youll be queen
Our kingdoms gonna be this little patch of green
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stains
We walked home together. I was never the same.
But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? I dont know
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you dont mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come
Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know? thats you and me, baby
Were so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass
Wont you lie down with me right here
September grass
Wont you lie down with me now
In this september grass
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
(repeat)
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down here now
In this september grass
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crawling Without Feet
women that smoke cigars,
and books that start with the ending.
the things dogs smell
written underneath stones.
the day guns rise up and walk out,
in utter protest.
the long trek cows and pigs and fish make,
on the way to becoming part of you.
the sound potatoes make
when you dig them...
the fire you built before you built it!
the things green beans whisper in the rain,
the groan of tomatoes ripening.
the sound of rust and leaves turning,
the name written in the first autumn chill.
the day we left the sea,
crawling without feet to the land.
and the day we'll return, utter failures,
or with the memory of a thousand small victories.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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1692
(copyright nazareth, tiflis tunes,inc.-ascap)
Mist upon the hill can remember murder,
Mist upon the hill that once flowed with blood,
Helped to cover up an approaching army,
Hid the killing lust in the eyes of men.
Sitting by the fire was a sentry sleeping,
Rolled up in their beds were children that play,
Unsuspecting what was to fall upon them,
None of them would see the dawn next day.
Bloody were the blades that fell on children,
Hate the blinding light tried to kill a name,
The mountains only know all the souls that died there,
Glen coe from that day can recall the shame.
The quiet of the night never gave them warning,
The silence of the hills wouldn't let them know,
They'd never rise again on a mist filled morning,
Never see the sunrise above glen coe.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Of This, And More!
the color in the stone,
the green in the grass.
the language of the wind
whispering through the trees....
the mountains that listen in stillness.
the baby's mouth, eyes follow suit,
the thundering wings of the moth,
majestic in flight.
the bleet of the sheep,
the low growl of the bear.
the rhythm of the water,
pounding the shore....
the moan of the lover,
universal and primitive.
the scent of the rain,
just before it comes!
the fit of the light
in the darkness of empty,
the lips on my heart,
sucking the fire from my blood.
all of this, and more!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Magic Lies In Silence Of Grass and In Your Voice
I am barefoot walking in the grass of morning,
The dew drops are comforting my feet,
I felt relieved by my stress and grief,
When i heard your voice in the grass rustling.
I lie down on grass and i could feel its silence,
I close my eyes and i enjoyed your voice,
The smell of grass was taken on the wings of wind,
Magic lies in silence of grass and in your voice.
Is amazing how much miracle stays in a blade of grass,
Opening my eyes i saw above the sky,
There was your face among the clouds smiling,
I had the feeling that i want to hug the sky.
I'm gonna miss you all the days of life,
And even when death will take my last breath,
Last thing i'll do passing to eternity,
I'm gonna miss you.
Winter will come, grass will fall asleep,
I 'll not hear the grass rustling anymore,
Only my memories with you will be always alive,
Rustling in my mind as grass did.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Body & Soul
Man placed God’s Christ within the tomb –Mk.15: 42-47
Who’d died in awesome pain –Mk.15: 21-41
His grave a simile to the womb –Mt.12: 39-40
Gave birth to Christ again –Ro.6: 4
He left behind the clothes He wore –Jn.20: 6-7
To rise as Lord and King –Mt.19: 28
Enrobed in Glory’s Light once more –Rev.1: 13-18
His praises now we sing
The complete Christ had left the grave
No bones were found within
Revealing, bodies too He’ll save
That leaves behind their sin
Yet who’ll believe Salvation’s plan?
From death to birth anew!
Fulfilled in Christ, who proved to man
By dining with the few
Earth’s food, the spirit has no need
This truth God’s Lamb has shown
Dining on fish, God’s risen Seed –Lk.24: 42-43
Nourished His flesh and bone
Once Enoch, walked with God the earth
One day he was no more –Gen.5: 24
Quite whole to him who gave him birth
He entered Heaven’s door
With whirlwind sent from God on high –2Ki.2: 11
Came chariot, fire and steed
Bore whole Elijah in the sky
Alive, as God decreed
So offer God your body true –Ro.12: 1-5
Through Jesus, free of shame –1Co.6: 11
Quite reasonable in Christ to do
When baptised in His name…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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The Bowl and The Spoon
i hear the sound of humanity's voices,
the sound of suffering and need.
i smell the fear, and i feel the anger,
of those left alone, the victims of greed.
i feel the hate of the guns and the bombing,
the terror of women and children.
i cry the tears and shed blood with them,
i hear the prayers of the dead for the living.
i feel the hunger of children left starving,
i am the anger of the unemployed in line.
i breathe the despair of those left homeless,
i am the hope of those looking for a sign.
i am the body that somehow god needed,
i am the ears the lonely pray for.
i am the eyes that see through the heart,
the prisoner walking through the last door.
i hear the sound of the baby crying,
i feel the mother walking across the room.
i am the father praying for work,
i am the bowl and i am the spoon.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sound Of The Beating Heart!
we spend lifetimes searching
for the sound the leaf makes
turning from green to orange to red...
we spend our loving burning branches
in the shadow of the tree.
we spend our faith trying to capture,
and hold the wind for a moment...
never knowing that what we search for
is only our own being!
we are the leaf, the branches, the fire,
the tree, and the wind...
the sound, the loving, and the faith.
and yet we are nothing.
we are but a moment,
familiar taste and scent.
we are eternity,
the breath of an unknown god.
the sun has set,
stillness comes walking
across the mountains.
i listen for the voices
that have no face.
dead poets sit by a vagrant fire,
immigrants, refugees...
spinning old tales.
my friends smell like trees,
and leaves turned brown.
we cross bridges unseen,
with no destination.
and the only sound
that even god can hear...
the sound of the beating heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Gasping For Light
1
i built a fire in the yard.
slowly walked back into the house.
gathering everything of value.
my books, my clothes, my boots,
old photographs, letters, pictures,
everything i've ever written.
every memory.
took them outside,
and fed them to the fire!
and walked off barefoot
into the night.
2
lover, dance with me!
we call unto each other
from distances, through barriers,
breaking down walls of seperation;
through tears and angry silence,
echoing through the night.
i kiss your eyes, your lips,
the arch of your neck.
your fingertips, your feet,
the inside of your thighs.
your wetness.
you open your eyes,
and the shadow disappears!
3
spirits dance in the moonlight!
a soft wind rustles
through the trees.
the howl of a dog,
car lights on a forgotten road;
a screen door closes softly.
old house wrapped in stillness.
only a faint sound.
the footsteps of God
walking in your heart!
4
i can smell your perfume,
or maybe the scent of rain coming.
i can taste you in the
cool damp earth,
in the blood of a small animal
killed by a passing car,
in the cry of the baby
waking up hungry,
in the web of the spider.
in the hollow of my soul.
5
two moths lost in the darkness,
gasping for light.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fat Dogs Wear Well Fed Collars
the wolf cannot wear your collar
the wolf cannot eat your slave bread
the wolf feels a free wind on free face
the wolf hears all sounds freedom fed
the wolf must hunt for its piece of meat
the wolf hunts mountains where free rivers meet
the wolf will starve to death as lean winter creeps
the wolf paints landscapes scenes as death inward seeps
the wolf licks not the beast man’s hand wolf never weeps
poem by Terence George Craddock
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One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Put Out The Fire
Words and music by brian may
They called him a hero
In the land of the free
But he wouldnt shake my hand boy
He disappointed me
So I got my hand gun
And I blew him away
That critter was a bad guy
And I had to make him pay
You might fear for my reason
I dont care what they say
Look out baby its the season
For the mad masquerade
Put out the fire put out the fire put out the fire
Oh you need a bullet like a hole in the head
Put out the fire put out the fire put out the fire
Dont believe what your grand-daddy said
She was my lover
It was a shame that she died
But the constitutions right on my side
cause I caught my lover in the neighbours bed
I got retribution
Filled em all full of lead
Ive been told its the fashion
To let me on the streets again
Its nothing but a crime of passion
And Im not to blame
Put out the fire put out the fire put out the fire
You need a weapon like a hole in the head
Put out the fire put out the fire baby put out the fire
And let your sons and daughters sleep sound in their beds
You know a gun never killed nobody
You can ask anyone
People get shot by people
People with guns
Put out the fire put out the fire put out the fire
You need a gun like a hole in the head
Put out the fire put out the fire put out the fire
Just tell me that old fashioned gun law is dead
Shoot shoot..
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words... (Tiny Bodies)
words have tiny bodies,
some young, some aged beyond thought.
words carry swords and plant tears,
words form tiny lamps in darkness.
words express the unexpressable,
ride bicycles on children's journeys.
words taunt silence with definition....
and some of the best are never spoken.
words heal wounds, and fill bowls,
weave webs while we sleep.
words often turn and betray us,
and often die for our sins.
words create universes,
and shed their clothes on well lit stages.
words translate both the wolf and the whale,
and bear the flag of mountains.
words bear children, but leave no tracks.
words hammer rusty nails.
words never ever wear shoes,
and dance with every other step.
words stroke the breast and touch the lips,
without apology or fear.
words give stars their destiny,
and name every grain of sand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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No Words (For Hune)
i could write volumes about:
the barking of dogs,
the stampeding marching song of ants.
the screeching grate of the snail crossing pavement,
the sound of the fire flickering on the candle wick.
the hymn of the rain before it hits the ground,
the jubilent sound of the rose petal opening...
the scream of the autumn leaf
just as it begins to fall.
the sharp intake of breath,
when the tree sees the saw.
the heavy breathing of silence,
that brings darkness to night....
real language, without pretension,
or forethought...
without the need to grasp as 'i or me'!
the infinite language of a silent god!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Greatest Love
the greatest love this world has known
is a love that can't be shown.
it is the love from our GOD above.
he created man and all that you see
gave us a heart and soul, and set us free.
unlike any other creatures of the earth
he gave us feelings and all its worth.
he put a universe above our heads
and the earth below our feet.
gave us fruits and plants that we may eat.
he gave us water so that we could live
and other animals so that they could give.
give us the nourishment that we need
so on this world we could feed.
this is the greatest love that he could give.
you could feel his powers, it filled the air
a sensation so great, it was beyond compare.
where ever he walked people followed
trying to fill their hearts, that were empty and hollow.
many walked like empty shells
while others walked with their
bodies, battered and broken
but with a love and faith in them
of which is still spoken.
his love for all mankind
will live throughout all time.
everything is possible if you BELIEVE
it is something that is daily seen.
poem by Louis Rams
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Nigerian Biafran War
The Biafrans cry separate
Nigerians cry we are one
The Nigerians and Biafrans
in a royal rumble
For non would submit to humble
as non would come to agreement
so they decided to fumble
and settle themselves on the battle field
The Nigerian soldiers fully prepared
Biafran soldiers thought they were ready
the opposing soldiers were excited
on the day of thier first outing
The soldiers filled with joy
the men filled with hatred
the women filled with fear
and the children with innocence
A bomb blast is heard
the soldiers quack their guns
the men getting ready to attack
the women in absolute confussion
The youths pick up weapons
the children sheding out blood
the soldiers held unto thier triggers
as men fell like woods
The rich flying abroad
the poor into the bush
women and children trampled
while some died at the instance
The children cries are heard
the shout of the women aswell
the grumbling of the men
and the mummuring of the youths
Nigerian soldiers chant their war songs
as they return with Biafrans defeated
though they still cry separate
the echoes of oneness is louder
The bodies of the dead were gathered
and the injured too
non could bear to stand and stare
at the worst of scenes
Women and children cried out thier hearts
the men were left with shocks
as every one reaised that war means death
and the reign of peace brings life
poem by Micheal Udenyi
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We Have Lived
you are at autumn,
i at winter...
do we look for turning leaves,
or the first hint of snow?
we are the fire,
burning in the forgotten night...
do we invite the darkness,
or pray silently for spring?
step after step,
bare feet in the dirt.
the only words spoken,
are the language of hearts!
do we win or lose?
i just dont know.
but we have lived....
we have lived.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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