In The Gravel!
the trees all cut,
lay across the path.
all signs of life have vanished.
an empty hamper
where clothes once lived,
not even the scent of living remains.
lifetimes fall like words
in a vacant room....
swept to the side by indifference.
nothing remains of the fire,
even the ashes are cold....
the air itself gone stagnant!
from a whirlwind to an echo,
a kiss to a door lock turned,
the sound of a stranger walking away.
and all that we are,
and ever have been,
footprints left in the gravel!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Ashes
(lonnie wilson/chris waters/charlotte wilson)
Ashes
Hes nothing but ashes
No feelings have lasted
No love remains
Ashes
Thats all that our past is
Hes nothing but ashes
From a cold old flame
I saw your face when
He waltzed in here
But those old embers
Havent burned for years
The light thats shining
In my eyes
Is for the one that
Im with tonight
Ashes
Hes nothing but ashes
No feelings have lasted
No love remains
Ashes
Thats all that our past is
Hes nothing but ashes
From a cold old flame
No I dont blame you
For having some doubts
But when he left me
That fire burned out
So dont be thinking
Theres still a spark
cause he could never
Tear us apart
Ashes
Hes nothing but ashes
No feelings have lasted
No love remains
Ashes
Thats all that our past is
Hes nothing but ashes
From a cold old flame
Hes nothing but ashes
From a cold old flame
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song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Kiss I Left
i love you.....
words seem hollow
after so much time...
time lived together,
two souls wrapped in one spirit...
two hearts that cannot beat
without the other...
train wrecks, stars collide,
and yet the light remains...
and the dust of worlds destroyed
forms the beginning again and again...
who are you without me?
who am i without you?
night cannot be without day....
this fire returns from ashes....
the simple brush of hands,
eyes meeting whisper
the secrets of cosmos......
wind softly blowing the shutter closed,
yet the window is always open!
the kiss i left on your eyelids
as you slept.... the smile
your dreaming left on my longing....
small indentions in the pillow....
the first fire in the ancient cave
that remains after time has gone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Daydreaming
The Deciduous maple trees
With their temporary broad leaves
Fell in great numbers during the
Early, darkened, chilly morning.
Their photosynthetic lifetimes
Once green are now shadows of life
As they lay lifeless on the ground.
As I slowly pedal along
The beaten path, a crispy sound
Emerges from beneath the wheels;
And a sweet odoriferous
Scent from their decaying-remains
Beckons forth from my aged mind
Pleasurable abstract musing.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Both Home And Grace...
are we running out of time?
the sands in the houglass
stained by blood, and want...
whose face on the milk carton?
whose footprints in the alley?
whose tongue turns the nut?
whose breath stagnant with hurt?
we write our stories in lifetimes,
lived, or burned...
the fire itself dim with age.
is love then destiny, a curse,
or a storm?
doth the night ever end?
and the unknown ship
sailing unknown waters,
carries the scent
of both home and grace!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost
The loss began out of sequence
Not quite inevitable
As the measure of a grief
At least in the procession
The pall bearers
The expenses
This loss
Outrode the cold cadaver
lying stiff like a stuffed doll
Half resembling a loved one
Casket ajar
Somewhere in the living room
By the armchair now empty of him
No this happened, long after he was gone
The loss happened
Out of sequence
When walking down a road with a familiar name
Took you by suprise
When walking backwards towards home
You return to find a dumb child
Jamming a key into a different lock
This was not your block
You lost the familiar scent of it
The room
The place
The time
The reason had left you
A blank
Uncertain
NAMES NO LONGER MADE SENSE
And you belonged to no one
No mirror could tell you who you were or are
No shopping mall assistant could escort you to safety
Only a waiting car
Left with the remains of you blank eyed
sad child wasted
With a few coins in yor pocket
It happened out of sequence
And suddenly
Arriving in a white landscape
The light almost erased you
Nothing could have prepared you for this
All maps signs roads names homes places faces
Strange
No use now
More alien this isolated slow death of you
Wishing
One last dance
One salvaged heart
From the wreckage
Of all losing him
This last slow circuit
Squeezing out the last ebb and flow of light
yvette smith april 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Bill And Rover
The old black labrador Rover his muzzle it is gray
And looking at him one would know he has known a better day
His master Bill too looking gray the years on him do show
I often see them in the park they both are walking slow
Old Rover not the dog he was when he was in his prime
His end for him not far away he's running out of time
His sense of scent remains quite keen though his sight is beginning to fail
Yet he remains a friendly dog even at strangers he wags his tail
His master Bill says Rover is thirteen for a dog in years that's getting on
His prime lost in the passing time his better days are long gone
All forms of life as we know well are only born to die
That is a simple fact of life and facts do never lie
Down the gravel path of the Townpark the old dog and the old man
Walk slowly in the evening sun time has stripped them of elan.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Okaerinasai
this is the stranger
dusty face and muddy
feet
caulked
he still holds the key
to the old room
his room
opens it
he was away for months
his dog is dead
inside the bathroom
the whole house
stinks
all lines are cut off
it is dark
he arrives at night
dogs are howling
the trees have no leaves
the winds are cold
the path is
grassy and wild
the squirrels left
when he arrives
nuts
the rats stand at
the door watching
his every move
there is a mirror
at the veranda
at the side of the
door
it is hazy
it could be me
in this
horrible
thought
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One, Two, One... For You
the dust in the empty pockets
of the poor man,
walking home from work.
the plowed field just planted,
at the feet of sun and rain.
the simple house built by hand,
lifetimes written into the walls.
the last touch, the last kiss,
the moment never forgotten....
hearts wrapped in hearts,
live and die as one...
one set of footprints,
one name on the stone.
one set of wings,
one fire, one clap of thunder.
two words spoken, two empty vases.
one heart, one hawk flying,
two hands times two,
one dream!
two sparrows part,
one nest, and one tree!
two sides, two faces...
one memory!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hot Burning Flames
She left me almost burned out
I couldn't feel a thin'
A walkin' talkin' statue
Afraid to love again
She did everything to kill a flame
But a little spark got through
If she'd a got her way I'd be gone today
If it hadn't been for you
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
I'm alive with love because of you
When you came to light the fire you knew just what to bring
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
--- Instrumental ---
She thought she had me down and out
But at the count of nine
A livin' lovin' angel showed up just in time
She thought that I would surely die
Sometimes I wanted to
She had no doubt the fire was out
But she didn't count on you
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
I'm alive with love because of you
When you came to light the fire you knew just what to bring
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
I'm alive with love because of you
When you came to light the fire you knew just what to bring
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burnin' flames
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burnin' flames...
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fogging Up The Windows
the sound of a small child crying
hungry in the night
of a young woman sleepless
waiting for daylight
the sound of church bells ringing
not too far away
the sound of an old man dying
remembering how to pray
the sound of two hearts breaking
a thousand miles apart
of the last tear a fallin'
unseen in the dark
the sound of lifetimes wasted
of a love that didnt last
the sound of memories forgotten
of a time already past
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
the sound of the nails driven
into His screaming hands
the sound of salvation
entrusted to a man
the sound of bodies falling
of buildings swept by flame
the sound of different voices
whose souls are the same
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Voice
`
leaves rustle in a dance
the wind, their live band
birds, their vocal ensemble
but your voice remains still
not a sound to be heard
leaves rustle on a tome
your words printed out and bound
inked clues guide memories
but your voice still remains -
faded familiar sound
leave, just leave without a word
your thoughts riding on the wind
echo back that distant call
bring to life this one last time
the hearts you left behind
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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I Am Nothing!
nothing....
i am nothing,
nothing but the breeze
walking through the trees.
nothing but the caw of the crow,
the echo of the mountains' silence.
nothing but the empty bowl
held by the hungry child.
nothing but the dark face,
the white hands,
spoken in different languages.
nothing but the blood,
of the family killed by the bombs.
nothing but the lonely terror
of the suicide just before dawn.
nothing but the footprints
the lonely traveller follows
on the way back home.....
nothing but the leaf
turned from green to red to brown.
nothing but the memories
of love calling back to you.
nothing but a prayer,
an offered hand, an unknown friend,
a tear, a smile....
the dance of the living,
a small fire on the darkest night!
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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Embrace!
body bruised,
burning in the fire
that consumes and names!
living by hunger,
fed my memory...
and the scent of something
from that faraway shore!
stories written in ashes,
the crackle and the smoke...
winter, and stillness.
but the light still burns,
the room stark and empty!
hand extended,
naked, unashamed!
calling forth the lover
dressed in flesh and touch!
breathe on me!
softly blow the ashes....
still fire beneath...
waiting for embrace!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dying Words of a Man
i hate the dying words of a man,
they come out in helpless whispers,
listless feathers in the wind, fluttering,
floating, trailing to the finale of a life
to empty the living of hope and choke
their hearts with cold cold gravel and stones
i hate the dying words of a man,
they spill from a physique weighed down
by the cold realities of life and now
a mere few audible words to storm
the living and the dying out of its reality
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Tis Breath, Then.... (Part Three)
tis breath, then...
that frees both image and form.
that taking hands touches.
that shaping lips kisses.
that barks, howls, groans, and chirps...
that is the lift beneath wings.
that is both scent and journey.
that is the language between us.
defining one inside the other...
tis breath, then....
(that being fire, becomes fire.
that being human, becomes human.
that leaving body, becomes spirit.
that being lonely, takes a body.
that naming god, does not know.
that does not know, but understands.
that being filled, opens and gives.
that giving, somehow remains.
that having left a mark,
leaves no footprints...)
tis breath, then...
breaking down walls imagined.
cracking egos' fragile shells.
breaking down tribe becoming family.
breaking down difference becoming sameness.
breaking the image of god, finding presence.
that walking the smoking ruins of civilization,
births flowers from ashes!
that screaming in childbirth,
puts eyes in the darkness.
tis breath, then...
yawning with creation's dawning,
as if it 'is'!
tis breath, then....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lost In Eternity!
long shadows cast,
the corner now empty.
the bare branch scrapes
against the window
of the house left vacant.
the desk left cluttered,
as if in waiting.
the candle half burned,
naked without fire.
the woodstove cold as ice.
the gravel drive now virgin,
the mailbox rusted shut.
the yard oozes like an open wound,
in the womb of stillness.
nothing moves, nothing at all!
another world?
maybe it never was!
the rope tied in a noose,
the noose around empty.
the hoot of an owl...
lost in eternity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Great Sutton
Great Sutton
Cypress lane, I lived there for years never saw a tree.
Gas fire in the living room, the bedrooms were glaziers,
If it hadn’t been for the pub nearby I would surely have
frozen to death; that’s why I used to fall asleep on
the sofa, in the living room, when coming home from
the pub. If my wife was in the mood she sat up waiting
for me, most of the time she wasn’t; said I was a drunk.
Sober people came knocking on my door, insisted on
telling their story, politely I let them talk, but I noticed
they smoked a lot and that wasn’t good for my throat.
Warm pub, cold bedroom, no contest, I got up and left.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Do You Remember?
I left my life with you, do you remember?
That hollow day of sharpened rain and even sharper words.
Each step I took away from you, each leaden pace, defeated me.
Your voice, once soft and lyrical, now cold and forged from steel.
I left my heart with you, do you remember?
The days of love we'd shared lay smashed and littered with accusations.
Those eyes in which I'd often bathed, now but a swollen tempest,
Your smile, which made the Sun shine bright, now turned to blackened stone.
I left my dreams with you, do you remember?
Sweet promises we'd made, of carefree days and endless love,
Now turned to words that liars speak, meaningless and empty.
Your touch, once warm and gentle, now sharp as razor blades.
I left my faith with you, do you remember?
The trust entwined with love and understanding,
Now mixing with the sodden earth to build a final resting place.
Your kiss, once sweet with promise, now poisoned with Goodbye.
I thought that you would seek me out one day, and bring my treasures back to me,
But No!
I've lived bereft of life
I've lived with silence in my breast
I've lived with black and dreamless sleep
I've lived a faithless, loveless life.
I left it all with you.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
poem by Owain Glyn
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The Stage Is Bare (A Michael Jackson Tribute)
The stage is bare
only a microphone stands alone.
A part of our life is gone;
no, more we hear the words and music
that once so tenderly graced our ears.
A gulf remains for the life not there,
now gone forever from our lives.
Only a memory of what had been
and what had filled so many empty souls.
The stage is bare
and all that remains is a ghost
of what had been.
A haunting memory of someone’s life
before they left the stage of life.
No more now the suffering of mortal pain,
they left with an always-remembered name.
Their star still shines
in all that remember a life that once was.
7 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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