Lonesome Farewell...
lonesome farewell...
wind blown dust,
cardboard boxes in the rain.
the doorknob broken,
the window nailed shut.
empty fields, briars and thorns.
a dead rabbit rotting
on the side of the road.
signs falling down,
tree limbs on the ground.
silence screams, waves of grief!
the smell of want, forgotten lips.
words cling like cobwebs
to the empty walls...
where are you now?
where are you now?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Fallen, Empty, And Broken
fallen soldier
fallen sky
fallen angel
from on high
fallen heartache
fallen soul
fallen man
losing control
empty bed
empty arms
empty dreams
empty heart
empty wallet
empty hands
cant take nothin'
from an empty man
broken promises
broken vows
broken spirit
wont allow
broken fences
broken lives
broken tomorrows
broken nights
fallen, empty, and broken
every road is the same
bent, bruised, and shaken
still numb from the pain
now you dont answer
when i call out your name
fallen, empty, and broken
walking in the rain...
fallen, empty, and broken...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Empty Boxes
woke up to Voltaire
and Tolstoy, black coffee,
and cigarettes....
heavy fog on a crooked road,
Christmas lights blinking,
and a dead stillness....
the moan of empty houses,
empty factories, empty streets,
and the whisper of children,
food stamps hung in their stockings!
an old stray cat waiting to be fed,
and the heaviness of the mongrels,
left to work the streets.
somewhere bells are ringing,
right here not the scent;
a cross painted on a brick wall,
empty boxes blown by the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Without You
Where were you?
When I sat down in deep silence
Looking at the rain through my window,
While tears were rolling down on my face:
Surrounded by empty spaces
Which madly echoed my grief…
I asked the rain about you,
But it was all in vain,
For my question turned into water
Gone with the wind…
I was then a lonely soul
Looking for your company,
Within a world of nothingness…
Outside, the sky kept crying,
While inside, embraced by walls,
My heart was falling apart
In great desperation…
The night arrived quietly
To share my torments,
But still, you were not by my side
When I needed so much…
Suddenly, I fell asleep,
When I woke up in the morning;
For my surprise,
The rain, the wind and the night
Were all gone…
Except the memory of you
Which turned into a dream,
That never came true…
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Empty Sky
I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed there you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
On the plains of jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spontaneous Electricity (The Wetness)
walking through the wetness,
rain falling softly.
the rhythm of the wipers,
the trees bow to the wind.
you and i, the sweat and the tears,
one hollow, the other echoes,
one fire, the other darkness kneeling,
identities merged, then torn apart...
ghostlike faces at the window,
children turn, and walk away.
the long silence deepens,
death waits just beyond and before.
mountains carved in forever skies,
crumble, ground to dust by time.
and no less we, dust to dust,
the great sweeper sweeps away our memory.
love was the answer, and sometimes not.
the cross and the thorns, the stolen moment.
now there's nothing left to talk about,
and nothing more to do or feel...
walking through the wetness,
i called the rain by your name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The lonesome walls
The lonesome walls
~
It shows me no mercy
No care or thought given
Just the empty walls about me
And the silence which fills them
All thoughts are a dream
A prelude to some fantasy
That may never come to pass
How alone I feel this night
My heart beats heavy
Although there is no care
I have seen from this world
Just the lonely, the empty nights
And passions burn to excite
Each fanciful dream
In the quiet and empty hour
There is no mercy shown
No care or thought given
Just the empty wall about me
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Broken Shutter
a spark of fire
from the devil's forge,
a meteorite cut
from an unknown planet.
the memory of God
drawn on cave walls...
a nuclear blast,
dust forms from formless!
the heretic's trial,
fire and defiance.
cold rain falling like needles
to the frozen ground.
darkness and light;
evolve and change....
the human heart opens,
wolves howl, babies cry.
the wind blows a broken shutter
against an empty house!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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With Before!
a poem...
a letter kept
in a favorite book,
too long on the shelf.
the memory of your lips,
whispering in a language
that only the wind knew!
now your silence betrays...
we are the grain
too deep imbedded!
the tree itself
cannot remember!
the door that wont close,
the broken pane in the window.
the pot now empty,
charred with before!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Smell Like!
you said:
old men smell like nuts,
and greying tree limbs...
wet ashes after the rain...
you smell like
the book on the shelf,
that goes unnoticed,
and needs to be read!
and we probably smell like
the broken glass, the limbs
on the car, the rain drenched seat...
and love stains aged
from under the wheel,
in the gravel drive
of an old abandoned house!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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The Forlorn Heart
Alone in the company of myself
How the walls seem ghostly quiet
Thoughts drift to a romance broken
The girl that never was or could not be
Stay my tongue lest I speak ill of love
The words of a broken heart are fierce
And sharp as any blade ever known
Cutting into the depths of the soul
The silence of the night haunting
And I alone mourn my own heart
What love, what girl I shall not name
For it pains to speak such words
And these walls, empty as they are
Have become my tomb, farewell love
Alone with a broken heart I yield
That which I was never to know
Were I a greater man than I
How would my own company stand
Would I know it alone at all
Would I know these ghostly walls
As I know too well my heart
My loves sad quiet demise
The forlorn heart exists
Where there is only myself and I
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Dead Poets
dead poets; old cars
junked in heaps
in front of
abandoned houses...
empty mailboxes
rusting to the
ground...
empty swings creaking
in the late evening breeze;
a bottle of wine,
half-empty,
moans in the shadows.
the fields have been picked,
nothing left, but sweat stained dirt....
even the embers have grown cold,
and the pot is empty.
the sounds and smells of living
linger by unmarked stones...
dead poets; old cars...
running on empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Forgotten Accommodation
We climbed the narrow attic stair,
And entered rooms established there.
Thick grey dust lay across the gloom,
Many years spent without a broom.
Cobwebs hung in every place,
New occupants had filled the space.
On a shelf sat an old birdcage,
Tenanted in another age.
Chills swept in from a broken pane,
Small window letting in the rain.
A rickety stained brocade chair,
Seat and back were now threadbare.
Curtains frayed along their edges,
Hanging crooked. Also ledges
Nailed up on the damp crumbling walls,
Odour of abandoned mothballs.
Wallpaper, once with roses pink,
Now gave off a horrendous stink.
Forgotten accommodation,
In this lonely bleak location.
Empty now of occupation,
Who slept here, what was their station.
Just how hard was their daily grind,
So much history we could find.
Something scuttled along the floor,
Down the steps to the corridor.
A resident we had no doubt,
Some little local layabout
Who we had unkindly disturbed,
Leaving so quickly quite perturbed.
We climbed back down the attic stair,
Away from this poor mouse’s lair,
Back to the present and fresh air,
Off down a pleasant thoroughfare.
Happy that we wouldn’t have to see,
What their life turned out to be.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Like everything else that is not here
like a birth in a red rose
sweet flower growing
like the rain falling down
to purify the heart
like anticipations
when the soul cries out
the bolts of words smashing
the silence broken ground
like tears leaking out
the cheeks of shame and pride
like touches untouched fevered
healing broken spines
like getting up walking
across the desert ground
like hailing the sun
when the moon's too bright
like praying words of love
sing no song to silence
across the waves of blue
like a wrath and sorrow
like a pain and smiles
spreading arms in needful
waiting for the signs
like the dresses wrapped
in wardrobes of the mind
never woven fibers
textiled patchworked clothing
like those wounds of blood
clotted in the sun
dried out eyes of sorrow
rising in a laugh
like all those things all people
scattered on the palm
and like everything else
that is not here
like love
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Farewell my friend
I could easily foretell
You had something to tell
As you dropped a stinking bombshell
Farewell, farewell my friend
With words I spell
It all out in a nutshell
Farewell, farewell my friend
What else can I say?
When you take off today for good
Farewell I say with a broken mood
Farewell there goes my wedding bell
Farewell there goes your innocent smell
Farewell there goes our fun in and out of hotels
Farewell I hope that life treats you well
Farewell in your ventures
Our spent time is my treasure
Your heart must wander to where it belongs
Friend, I only urge you to be strong
With love you can simply do no wrong
I say it with these words tipping off my tongue
Farewell, farewell my friend
I am a great believer
Farewell is not forever
I say not goodbye
I do not wish to sit and cry
Farewell, farewell my friend
What else can I say?
You weren’t meant to stay
I will do nothing to detain
You from flying on that plane
Farewell, farewell my friend
I say with pain
Farewell, farewell my friend
In sunshine or in rain
One day, one day
I know we’ll see again
Farewell, farewell my friend
I cannot stand and pretend
That a part me
With you, would still like to be!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Three Quarter Time
the smell of woodsmoke
lingers in the air;
darkness falls,
like silent thunder.
the earth tremors and turns,
you walk from room to room....
or perhaps only,
a curtain blown by passion,
a broken cup, cobwebs
on pulsing walls.
a cry of passion,
water bursts the pipes...
one of my shirts
that you wore to bed.
a single shot
on a November morn....
the deer falls in
three quarter time.
sheets that still
carry your scent...
the ground naked,
and hungry for rain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Too Many Lies
too many lies,
desecrate the ground.
the footprints of fallen angels,
covered by the dust of hate.
spoon fed history turned bitter,
the sound of children's voices lost.
even the old juke joints,
deserted and vacant.
handmade guitars,
strings made of human flesh.
the howl of an angry wind,
pierces cardboard shelters.
cars abandoned on the side of the road,
fresh turned earth, no hands to plant.
passion's legs wrapped around,
the bodies now hollow.
young girls fall like rain,
forgotten by time.
to be madly in love,
and pant with desire...
all echoes and rust!
when bibles become weapons,
and the cost is too high.
dead poets whisper,
neath the old hanging tree.
flags flown at half mast,
and the factories are closed.
and you just cant remember
your grandfather's face!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Walking With The Lover...
walking with the Lover...
i see empty fields plowed,
come alive with crops abundant.
empty factory buildings filled
with the ghosts of hard working lives.
empty houses lit up,
and the sounds of families.
empty hands given cups and bowls,
empty hearts held close!
empty words given meaning,
empty promises fulfilled.
walking with the Lover...
touching the plenty of empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My America
My America/ Heaven (Poems)
My America
The night was deep
but the window was clean,
one of the few on the street
The road to sunrise was empty
and the light above it was
obstructed.
Something filthy and broken
wrapped up on the arm of the light
over the road to sunrise.
Looked as though the wind
and blown a plastic bag
ripped, torn and stretched
around the light
over the road to sunrise.
I peered closer.
The night was deep, but the window was clean.
It was no plastic bag,
but faded Glory in the breeze.
poem by John Powers
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To My Silent Sufferer....
to make me love you more
i strain this evolving relationship with
actually unnecessary
separations, ... remember my trips alone in the big city?
how i dislike a big empty bed that makes me feel in in a highway
riding in a small car,
i bleed of course like a cactus,
but soon the noonday sun knows how to dry the juicy cut
and comfort me with a tiny scar
hidden by my thorns,
i heard nothing from you, you keep secrets to yourself,
and you have become so beautiful to myself,
how i wish that i can be back in the place of my youth where i will miss
no one, when i can dive in the river naked, and without any malice to
anyone who sees me
i have uttered so many words, and written this experience in a journal,
and you continue with that silence,
that silence in suffering wanting nothing in return for the love that
you have always given
like clouds making rain, like seas faithfully making waves
like words always there to the picking of the tongue
my silent sufferer, i love you more,
i suffer in the countless words that i am saying
in such way, that i begin to doubt everything,
this silence that i surrender, this loss that i have trusted to the
company of words,
at night, i wish upon a meteor that all my thorns be gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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