Let Me Be.....
if your earth is brown and dying,
then let me be the rain.
if your fire is small,
and your body is cold,
let me be logs and flame.
if your soul walks alone,
and your sky is dark...
let me be the wind rapping at your window,
and the candle flickering in your room.
if your heart stands before a chasm,
let me be the bridge, and the lantern.
if your spirit is heavy with oppression,
let my back take the whip.
if the words you speak haunt you in emptiness,
let me be ears, and the cup that's filled.
if death confronts you with the cost of living,
let my living pay the cost....
and if you just need a companion....
i'm already there...
in the dog barking in the night,
the birds singing at dawn....
and the smell of the flower
still waiting to bloom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Just Before Storm (Walking With Rilke)
staring across the chasm of forever,
if my body be the bridge,
then yours,
the cup, the fire, and the lantern!
the wind wrote of love,
before there were humans!
scriptures written in trees,
mountains, and hollowed out caves.
your lips,
breath, and understanding...
your heart,
pure awe!
do we 'speak with the tongues
of men and angels'?
or stuttering fragile words,
repeat the wind?
mountains bow to breast and thigh,
sunset undressing those eyes...
the small place between
wing and body... pure heat!
the wrap of the rain on grasses chanting!
spirits with pens undulating,
the scent of god's perfume,
the moment just before storm!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If... (Death Knocks!)
if indeed death knocks,
i cannot answer the door.
there are logs to split,
and bricks to lay....
a fire to tend,
and flowers to plant.
broken wings to heal,
centipedes to liberate....
small things to do,
small words to speak...
for i am not yet done with living,
and living's not done with me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Soul On Fire
Theres a flame that leads our souls astray
No ones safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day its looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again were falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
(? )
But you will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soul On Fire
There's a flame that leads our souls astray
No one's safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day it's looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again we're falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
The venom of the cross we bear
The guilt will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Communion (Dance of the Lovers)
if you can hear me
before i speak, and
know what i'm saying
even before my heart knows...
if you can touch me
across the miles,
leaving no doubt
that it was you...
if you can smell me
in the wind... and your
lips quiver, your heart races...
if you can taste me
in the rain... and your body
burns with a holy fire...
if you can miss me
amid the lights and
the hustle and bustle
till your soul moans
with darkness....
i can hear you
before you speak...
i can touch you
across the miles...
i can smell you
in the wind...
i can taste you
in the rain...
i can miss you
amid the lights...
neither kings nor kingdoms,
beasts of the night,
nor fogs of illusion...
nor the death chimes
of time can keep
us apart....
i live in you,
you drink deeply in me...
we are one flame
that lights up the
entire night sky...
wave upon wave...
lapping at the shore!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Poet's Epitaph
i see the lights of a far distant shore.
i hear the moan of thundered skies.
i smell the perfume of rain not fallen.
i taste the lips of earth, and of trees.
i see the fire in cold artic winters.
i hear the words the wind desires.
i smell the scent of passion held back.
i taste the blood of coming death.
i see the dawn of the blackened cave.
i hear the weeping of mountains still.
i smell the coffin, and shovelled dirt.
i taste the spirit set free in flight!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Inbetween, We Live!
the human heart feeds...
we are born hungry, born searching,
born needing, born wanting....
left alone on an island...
we lift our beaks to the sky,
gulping for flesh, gulping for air,
gulping for fire....
still smelling of ocean,
and something dark we cant name,
we run into the open,
running, not knowing where.
i cannot live
without the taste of darkness,
the smell of flesh,
and the touch of that
which is hidden...
i shout into the ocean,
and hear only the roar...
i leap from the ledge,
forgetting my wings!
i need a small fire,
and the secrets that curtains tell windows.
my lips need the grain
of soul on soul.
my body burns,
i listen for the prayer of ashes,
ashes that tremble
on the hearth alone.
i need body and eyes,
most of all eyes...
the curve of the breast,
coming and going with the tides.
i need legs and dampness,
conversation without words...
i need to remember
that i am alive.
the quiet walks in the rain,
with god as our partner.
barking with the dogs,
stopping to touch a blade of grass.
the feel of nearness,
the breath of companion....
we are born and die alone,
inbetween, we live!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dissolute
Many years have I still to burn, detained
Like a candle flame on this body; but I enshine
A darkness within me, a presence which sleeps contained
In my flame of living, her soul enfolded in mine.
And through these years, while I burn on the fuel of life,
What matter the stuff I lick up in my living flame,
Seeing I keep in the fire-core, inviolate,
A night where she dreams my dreams for me, ever the same.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Heritage
Maurice white, lestley r. pierce & frankie blue
Rap:
The boys
Were just chillin with eart, wind & fire
This is my desire
Talking bout culture
Im a vulture
Just like the beat
Chillin with earth, wind & fire
Everybody take a look around
What do you see
When I look
Theres faces everywhere
Lookin back at me
Their eyes keep telling me stories
Dont understand
In my mind
Theres many, many questions
Bout who I am
Bridge:
Just be proud of the land
Where your blood comes from
No one can take away
What you have done
Hold your head up high
Cultures stand eye to eye
One people living under one sun
Chorus:
Be proud
Sing it out loud
Take your rightful place
Its you heritage
So stand tall
Dont be small
Show true face
Its your heritage
Everybody walks a little different
To keep the pace
Gotta have pride
Just to be a winner
In the human race
In school, the rules dont fly
Out on the street, tell me why
People of the nation cant feel the same beat
Bridge
Chorus
Bridge:
Were living in a colorful world
All shades of love
Each carrying a ray of hope
Sent down from above
Rap:
Yo marice: break it down for me allright
The boys chillin wit earth, wind and flames
They asked us to sing a few notes
So we came
Realized the meaning of the song
So we sung
With all our heart and soul
And hopefully we brung
A message to all
To not be small
To stand up tall
And to give it your all
Lets have a ball yall
Pump it up!
Chorus
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cats And Dogs!
whose hand on your heart,
whose back beneath the load?
whose time in the memories,
that color your world?
whose identity the touch?
whose image in the stone?
whose kiss on your lips?
whose stillness in your night?
i am the turn,
and the lantern without price.
i am the touch,
you thought was the wind.
i am the bed,
where your prayers go to sleep.
i am the intimate stranger,
throwing logs on your fire!
you wrap up pieces
of your heart in cardboard boxes.
close the curtains,
turn off the light,
waiting for death to arrive.
and i spend my time
just sweeping your floors,
with an eye to the window...
praying for cats and dogs!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Then, So Be It!
if my living be
just a plank
on the bridge to eternity...
just the match
that lights the lantern,
just the wind carrying
the dust of truth...
just the soft rain falling
in the darkness before the dawn,
just the echo of the sound
of your soul saying, 'hello'...
just the touch of a human hand,
when you need it the most,
just a passing smile,
and the glint of the eyes...
then, so be it!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Concept Of The Soul
The candle is shut and the flame is out.
The candle is left and the life has set.
Before shut, the candle must have been lit.
The unlit candle can never be shut.
The being is dead and the life is out.
The body remains lifeless and sparkles.
Does the death mean the exit of the soul?
The soul to exit, when did it enter?
Is it that the soul has entered at birth?
No, the embryo has life before the birth.
Is it that the soul has entered at zygote?
No, the sperm and the ovum have their life.
Hens lay eggs, which turn chicks; they all have life.
No stage is void for the souls to enter.
The souls are the extension of the chicks
And the chicks, the extension of the hens
The child is the offshoot of its parents,
Who in turn are of their parents and so on.
The body and the life have struck to form
A unit when the first life was born.
Death is no more than the death of a shoot.
The death of the shoot is not the death of the tree
Nor is the death of the tree the death of the seeds
Nowhere else is broken the chain of the life.
When one begets the other, the other
Is of matter and life put together.
There are no such things as soul and body
To fuse at birth and depart at death.
Germs multiply by fissions and budding
Plants diversify by seeds and cuttings.
Birds by eggs, mammals by kids, they all spread.
Germs to mankind, the life is an extension.
The soul is a single string that has run
Through all living bodies, alive or dead:
Through germs, reeds and plants, through flies, worms and prawns
Through fish, snakes and birds and through. Cows and man.
Candles and flame are not bodies and soul.
The candle is lit before it is shut.
The body is not lit with the soul
For it to be out at the time of death.
Then what is the aftermath of the death?
Isn’t that the life is soul that went out?
Yes, the life goes, the soul goes, not as a whole.
The extended part of the life/soul dies.
Should the life be the soul, then there must be
Only one soul to have come with the first life.
The whole living kingdom has evolved
From the origin of life by evolution.
The plants imbibe the inorganic salts
And grow and the animals eat the plants.
When plants and animals exhaust themselves
The worms and germs eat them and release salts.
That the soul enters the body is a myth.
That the soul exits the body is a myth.
That the liberated soul reenters
Or is redeemed of rebirth is a myth.
In every birth the soul will protrude
And on each death the protrusion is off..
It is not that there are as many souls
As there are living things born and dead.
The whole universal life is one soul
That travels through the different branches
Of the matter in growth and adoption,
And is off when the branches meet their death.
09.01.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh! Lisa With These Lovely Eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
So please tell my soul to sympathize,
We shall cry forever in overcast skies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes,
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Heartbroken heart spoken, not taken back
To change a mind so is lifes dream
Lisa with the dark brown eyed
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
That blends your butter scotch face insight
Smiles which brings sparkles to my mind
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Many pre thoughts of your strays hypnotize
French, African, English culture dies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
She dabbles her life in fiction trash
her soul with curious follies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Loneliness, has come far a sad. sad day
Emptiness in your mind and heart pay
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
You walk the world in beauty forgotten
They speak about you something forbidden
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
Your body your mind so whole same so
Your gave birth and I wish I could understand, understand
Lisa with the dark dark raven eyes
Lisa with the dark dark brown eyes
Curiosity is so special time flies, my sighs
Persuaded a fool to be wise, so wise how wise
Lisa with the dark dark brown eyes.
poem by Klayne Mario Burton
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A Single Candle/Death Herself
A single flame lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death
Her hands clasped anrond their souls
The souls of the dead
She feeds of their screams
The screams of the dead
Her legs lay bellow her
Bellow death
Her black gown over her body
The body of death
Her chest rises and falls with her breath
The breath of death
Her cloak drawn over her long flowing jet hair
The face of death
Her eyes unmoved unfeeling
Do you see it?
Do you see the soul of death?
Do you feel it?
Her skin as white as snow as it fades into darkness
The snow of tears
Her cloths as dark as night that swallows the light
The dark we all shall see
Her eyes close as she feels their souls flow
Flow from the dead
She leaves them there to lay in darkness
She steals from the dead
A single candle lights their faces filled with her
Filled with death
They fall into the darkness of her eyes, of her heart
The darkness of death
A single candle shall stay to light their way
Their way through the dark
A single candle holds their past
The pain and trials
A single candle lights her face
The face of death
A single candle holds her fears
The fears of death herself
A single candle
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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1: 38 Dawn...
inside the room
divided by the light brown drapes
between me and the window
beyond the steel gates
is the world... it is cold and dark
and there is no one
walking on the road...i peep
and let the cold wind
enter the orifice of
my nostrils...it is cold and dark
and there is no one in this house...
everyone is either asleep
or gone away for good,
their names are listed and
there are some
short biographies...this must
be a little scary
says the listening wall...
it is. Sickness confronts
the eyes of those who want to
write some short notes
of their brief stay
or visit as you want to call it...
Eye to eye, in the most silent
silence, the man in his usual
black robe,
through his hands
speak.
and the world trembles
we want to kneel and ask for more
but nothing
shall be given.... that is a
fact.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Old House
The candle flame flickers from a draft
on a dark and stormy night,
the floorboards creak with every step
as I move about the old house.
There is a chill in the air,
that seems to be everywhere,
and the clock’s tick sounds louder
as time passes hour to hour.
I hear the thunder rumble in the night
and see lightning illuminate the sky
and I stop and listen intently
to the yawns and groans that echo in my ears.
The old house’s settling graces
that are always heard in the quiet of the night.
My heart beats against my chest
as my imagination begins to fly.
I breath in the musty air within the room
where I am about to sleep.
Everywhere the shadows move
under the light of my flickering candle.
I know the old house is not haunted,
but my mind tells me other wise.
My imagination creates noises
where the dancing shadows fall.
I gaze about suspiciously
knowing that there is nothing there
as a branch outside taps my window
wanting to come in out of the storm.
The curtains move from a draft
as if something is sheltering behind them.
All of which make my mind
thinks of ghost stories I have been told.
In bed, I slip under the cover,
and then blow the candle out
as something gets on the bed
resting across my legs for the night.
My ears detect the slightest sound
in the blackness that surrounds me
and I am blind to everything
on this stormy moonless night.
The streaks of dawn break through the window
and the terrors of the night have fled.
I smile at my imagination
as I lay there with the cat upon the bed.
The old house is reputed to be haunted,
but take it from one who lives there
that the only ghosts are our imagination
and on dark and stormy nights it grows.
5 June 2010
poem by David Harris
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Friendly Fire
flame goes strong, when empty handed flesh view for
wrong; like spring waits the autumn and cease the winter
froze, as the birds nestle beneath the warm coffin of
pain, where every tear pour to the hand that weep into the
ground
a forwarding face of no turning back, breathlessly taken
the echo of timeless state of wish; persuaded only by the
solitude of soul, in the limbo of no where to rest
the bully of flame hit the eyeball of the soul, blacken by
the pang of death, where ever it twist the whole place is
gone, while the lighted candle blew near where you stand,
blind for nobody wants to hear the angelic song of the
purgatory
believe me; nay disturb my loneliness, for I try to knock
the door, but only the chatter room calls my name, for all
seems easy for me to run near my pillow that leads me to
eternity
please cool my body, though it rain yet! wet brings me to
warm my body, so dark that mark the darkest night within
me, oh! yhee I am home, I am home, release my pain carry
my whole self to the pedestal of the saint and light every
corner with candle and say amen
I am gone; bring me please my gun ……
“A poem dedicated to the Soldiers, who where
hit by a friendly fire.... accidentally shoot by fellow
Comrade “
poem by Antonio Liao
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Comfortable Light
Most comfortable Light,
Light of the small lamp burning up the night,
With dawn enleagued against the beaten dark;
Pure golden perfect spark;
Or sudden wind-bright flame,
That but the strong-handed wind can urge or tame;
Chill loveliest light the kneeling clouds between,
Silverly serene;
Comfort of happy light,
That mouse-like leaps amid brown leaves, cheating sight;
Clear naked stars, burning with swift intense
Earthward intelligence;--
Sensitive, single
Points in the dark inane that purely tingle
With eager fire, pouring night's circles through
Their living blue;
Dark light still waters hold;
Broad silver moonpath trodden into gold:
Candle-flame glittering through the traveller's night--
Most comfortable light....
And lovelier, the eye
Where light from darkness shines unfathomably,
Light secret, clear, shallow, profound, known, strange,
Constant alone in change:--
Not that wild light that turns
Hunted from dying eyes when the last fire burns;
O, not that bitter light of wounded things,
When bony anguish springs
Sudden, intolerable;
Nor light of mad eyes gleaming up from hell....
Come not again, wild light! Shine not again,
Hill-flare of pain!
But thou, most holy light....
Not the noon blaze that stings, too fiercely bright,
Not that unwinking stare of shameless day;
But thou, the gray,
Nun-like and silent, still,
Fine-breathed on many an eastern bare green hill;
Keen light of gray eyes, cool rain, and stern spears;
Sad light, but not to tears:--
--O, comfort thou of eyes
Watching expectant from chill northern skies,
Excellent joy for lids heavy with night--
Strange with delight!
poem by John Freeman
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To Find The Home!
i drink the cup
that is your flesh...
i revere your scars,
your bruises,
the stink of your heart.
the scent of your eyes,
the silence of your ears...
my tongue writes your body
on infinity's glass!
i listen for your voice
beneath the trees.
i feel your nearness
in the hoot of the owl.
i share your anguish
by the silent small fire....
the horse i ride,
bears your name.
i am the ghost of city streets,
the body left for the wolves
on the mountainside.
i am the air frozen with fear,
as the great bear stands
in magnificent fury.
you are the bridge,
the lantern, and the hound.
the purple struck sky
of sunset eternal.
the body that feels,
smells, and tastes like love...
the moan that stills the wind!
this distance but a paper veil,
a wisp of smoke,
the moment before and after.
the call of death,
the threshold of storm...
set the fire...
and walk away!
(sometimes you have to burn
the building down...
to find the home!)
poem by Eric Cockrell
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6th Nonsense
The room is dark, I die.
Like painting the wind, it's impossible.
If oranges were gray we might call them 'Grays'
That would be groovy.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
If there's rain in Spain would it make it to Maine?
I don't think so.
Everything's Zen?
I don't think so.
The room is dark I die.
The room is dark, I die.
I want to drift through lavender fields like honey on a cotton ball.
Dig it.
But the high-talking motorcross bandits won't let me.
The sorrow.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
But if I were in Punjab I never would have seen the quartet.
If only quartets had 7 people.
That's alright because bunsen burners don't cost much.
The room is dark, I die.
The room is dark, I die.
That's my favorite Bible verse.
I think it's in Lushiticus, or Nueteronomy.
The hail storms don't mean anything when you're a unicorn anyway.
The room is dark, I die.
poem by Sledge Hammer
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