My Temple
do not speak of god,
of the father, or the mother...
nor the creator...
i do not dwell in temples,
creeds, or written scriptures.
i am formless, taking forms,
i am infinite, becoming particle.
i am clay and grass,
stone and wood...
i am flesh and semen,
and intimate eyes!
i am hungry, will you share?
i have no home or bed,
may i sleep with you?
i am lonely, will you speak with me?
i listen, will you listen too?
i am star and cosmos,
a simple dropp of rain.
i am the growl of thunder,
the sudden flash of lightning.
i am the bridge, will you walk me?
i am the lantern, waiting for the match.
i am the woman giving birth,
i am awe and wonder.
i am the language of silence,
the dirty hand extended.
i am truth, never settling...
i am the ache of the soul,
the tremble of the heart.
i am the sparrow's wings,
leaving the nest you cling to.
yet i am the straw that made the nest!
i am life unrestrained, i am death quite naked!
i am the sound you make,
when words will not do.
i am nameless, giving names,
i am thought set free.
i am compassion evolving,
my temple is you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Conversations With Hune
who names the flower a flower,
and the weed a weed?
and are not names
cardboard boxes
meant for the fire?
from the womb of darkness,
the sun reborn again and again...
each time with different faces,
different fingers, different hands...
or perhaps we see with different eyes!
do we speak the truth?
or doth the truth speak us?
perhaps 'we' are an illusion,
and there be only truth.
or perhaps truth is an illusion...
and we are only what we are...
what we are...
nameless particles of namelessness...
forms of the formless,
formless by nature.
words spoken by word,
or not spoken at all...
leaves fallen from the tree,
nests of straw left empty...
the sound one wing makes without the other,
the way air cries beaten by wings...
the sound the tree makes
when cut through by the saw...
the scream as it falls!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Speak With Kindness (Or Do Not Speak At All)
speak with kindness,
or do not speak at all.
speak not of judgement,
you are not the judge.
speak not of salvation,
let your living be your scriptures.
speak not of scriptures,
let your actions be your holy book.
speak not as apostle or teacher,
speak as a human being.
speak not of god,
then god will speak through you!
speak not as a man,
for you are woman too.
speak not with hateful malice,
for love does not work that way.
speak not as a prophet or seer,
speak as compassion made flesh.
speak not of morality,
speak of connection.
speak not of authority,
the tree and the leaf have just as much.
speak not of holiness,
for all that lives be holy.
speak with kindness...
or do not speak at all!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Speak A Bit Of That Moment
Speak a bit of that moment,
A moment that contains centuries,
A moment that halts time,
A moment when someone sees
A route leading beyond the cosmos.
Speak a bit of that moment
When water and clay mingle,
And in a moment of union,
Sprouts a bud of flower.
Speak a bit of that moment,
When eyes become a heart,
When heart becomes eyes,
A star of dream, a rain-bow
Dither on the lashes.
Speak a bit of that moment,
When the Sun places its fire
On the bank of a lake,
And water becomes gold,
Miracles begin to happen.
Speak a bit of that moment,
When Love begins to blather metaphysics
When chest becomes hollow,
And heart dwells in each particle.
Speak a bit of that moment,
When sunbeams begin to fade,
The sights become vague,
The Sun dives down into puddle,
And the forms begins to muddle,
The earth beckons,
The desire of long sleep places her fingers
On the lids of eyes,
Speak a bit of that moment,
Speak a bit of that moment.
Written By Qayyum Tahir
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Scriptures
i read the scriptures written in human faces,
in calloused hands, in bruises and scars.
in the spider's web, in the trail of the snail.
in the pot stained with use,
in the axe and the plow.
in the old woman's silence,
in the broken window.
in worn out boots, and the broken lock.
in the gravel drive,
in the eyes of the hungry....
in the fear of those oppressed by war.
in the dead squirrel's body,
in the nest left empty.
in the prisoner staring
through a window barred.
in the old man's chair,
a dog's turd and a hill of ants.
in the fallen leaf,
in the empty room.
in solitude and stillness,
in the prayer of lonliness.
in trash strewn in the alley,
in the grave unmarked.
in the truth of doubt,
in a puddle of rainwater.
in fresh cut grass,
in the cow fresh milked.
in the lover's touch,
in the dialogue of silence.
in the shovel, the hammer, and the flute.
in the grain of the old tree,
and the woman giving birth...
let us speak of nothing less!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Mother Sparrow Grieves Upon The Untimely Death Of Her Beloved Fledgling
today, there is no grand funeral
like that of the death of
a statesman
or that simple funeral fit for
a laborer in the world of
mankind,
the mother sparrow grieves over
the death of her fledgling
there is no burial
they do not know what are white flowers
their meaning
the torn wings are carried by the worker-ants
some useless feathers are left above a sand mound
soon there are skeletons of frail bones
baked throughout the year by the sun
soon only dusts
the mother sparrow as we knew it from science
does not keep a memory
they keep on their far journey
nest from nest to nest on those seasons
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Here She Comes
Here she comes
Breathing life in to my thoughts
There she goes
Leaves a portrait in my soul
Rolling in madness
She does everything to me
Wherever she goes you know the devil dances
And the gods lay down in defeat
Am I living
Crazy woman cant you see
That Im giving
Giving to you can you dig
Me
I wanna live
To learn the truth before my door
Dont you know
Im a simple man for all I know
This might be the hard way
But its easier for me
To take all the changes that are always amazin
But to never let em fence me in
Am I living
Crazy woman cant you see
That Im giving
Giving to you can you dig
Me
Me Im only searchin for the things I really need
I cant rely on anyone to sow and grow my seeds
I started out on empty promise I was living on my dreams
I was a runaway son and now Im up out of the water
And I can barely barely breathe
Rolling down the road
Rolling down the road
Rolling down the road
Rolling down the road
Rolling down the road
Listen listen
Hear the music play
Listen listen
Hear the music play yeah
Listen listen
Hear the music play
Listen listen
Hear the music play
Am I living
Crazy woman cant you see
That Im giving
Giving to you can you dig
Me
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence Is Golden
If I am silent
I am not real
If I speak up then
No one will hear
If I wear a mask there's
Somewhere to hide
Silence is golden
I have been broken
Safe in my own skin
So nobody wins
If I raise my voice
Will someone get hurt?
If I can feel it
But I can't get touched
If no truce was spoken
Then don't ask me why
Silence is golden
I have been broken
Safe in my own skin
So nobody wins
Won't someone listen
I have been broken
Safe in my own skin
So nobody wins
Did you hear me speak
Do you understand
Did you hear my voice
Did you take my hand
Did you understand me
Won't someone listen?
I have been broken
My body's a temple
But nothing is simple
Won't someone listen?
Something was stolen
Silence is golden
So nobody listen
Won't someone listen?
I have been broken
My body's a temple
But nothing is simple
Won't someone listen?
I have been broken
My body's a temple
But nothing is simple
Won't someone listen?
I have been broken
The silence is golden
I'm safe in my own skin
Won't someone listen?
I have been broken
My body's a temple
But nothing is simple
song performed by by Garbage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nest
Far and wide I may travel,
Explore places, experience people,
But when I need a place to rest,
I head back to my nest.
Now I am at the edge with wings spread,
ready to fly to a new high
But in my heart I know
No matter how many caps I wear
My nest will always be here.
Here are people I hold dear
who I wish to be near
Here I learnt and fought to make a career.
Here I grew strong with nothing to fear.
Here I learnt to fight and when necessary bear.
Here emotions are felt beyond words one can hear.
Here a smile's always ready to greet each silent tear.
This is where my soul resides.
I refuse to become a guest,
When I come back to my nest.
A new life and beginning, a loved one all await
luring me to the west,
Yet my feet stumble as I try leaving my nest.
The future calls, full of promises
of offering me the best
But I feel, I already have it all
right here in my nest.
Why to risk leaving
what if I fail the test?
A bird in hand is worth two in the bush
I cling to the comfort of the nest.
There's a new feeling though
of a need to build
something of my own
So that to someone someday
I too may say
If you need a place for love and care
a shelter from the world's stare
where dreams you may share
and lay your heart bare
To you I can offer
with pride in my chest
Come in, take shelter,
For this is your nest.
poem by Dipti Date Gokhale
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Coming Back....
would like to come back as a candle,
a bowl of soup held by hungry hands.
a simple wooden crutch for the crippled,
a bedpan for the aged.
a blanket for the homeless,
a small fire for the cold.
and the sound of a mother's voice,
quieting the child afraid.
a leaf, a turtle, perhaps a drink of water,
a tear that needs to be cried...
the straw that forms the sparrow's nest,
i could ask for nothing more!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Bird of Jesus
IT was pure indeed,
The air we breathed in, the light we saw,
I and my brother, when we played that day,
Or piped to one another; then there came
Two young lads of an age with one another,
And with us two, and these two played with us,
And went away.
Each had a bearing that was like a prince's,
Yet they were simple lads and had the kindness
Of our own folk lads simple and unknowing:
Then, afterwards, we went to visit them.
Theirs was a village that was not far off,
But out of reach towards elbow, not towards hand:
And what was there were houses
Houses and some trees
And it was like a place within a fold.
We found the lads,
And found them still as simple and unknowing,
And played with them: we played outside the stall
Where worked the father of the wiser lad
Not brothers were the boys, but cousins' children.
There was a pit:
We brought back clay and sat beside the stall,
And made birds out of clay; and then my brother
Took up his bird and flung it in the air:
His playmate did as he,
And clay fell down upon the face of clay.
And then I took
The shavings of the board the carpenter
Was working on, and flung them in the air,
And watched them streaming down.
There would be nought to tell
Had not the wiser of the lads took up
The clay he shaped: a little bird it was;
He tossed it from his hand up to his head;
The bird stayed in the air.
O what delight we had
To see it fly and pause, that little bird,
Sinking to earth sometimes, and sometimes rising
As though to fly into the very sun;
At last it spread out wings and flew, and flew,
Flew to the sun.
I do not think
That we played any more, or thought of playing,
For every drop of blood our bodies held
Was free and playing, free and playing then.
Four lads together on the bench we sat:
Nothing was in the open air around us,
And yet we thought something was there for us
A secret, charmed thing.
So we went homeward; by soft ways we went
That wound us back to our familiar place.
Some increase lay upon the things we saw:
I'll speak of grasses, but you'll never know
What grass was there; words wither it and make it
Like to the desert children's dream of grass;
Lambs in the grass, but I will not have shown you
What fleece of purity they had to show;
I'll speak of birds, but I will not have told you
How their song filled the heart; and when I speak
Of him, my brother, you will never guess
How we two were at one!
Even to our mother we had gained in grace!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Straw, Or Sky?
is a sparrow's nest
made of straw,
or made of sky?
do we come from the womb?
or return to it?
do we plow the earth?
or does it plow us?
where will we be at harvest?
do we spend all of our lives
trying to go back
to what we knew as a child?
are we then mouth,
nipple,
or the lonely phallus
of a forgotten god?
the empty hand,
or the sound of wings...
testify!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Listen To The Rain
(Rain)
Listen listen
Listen listen
Listen listen
Listen listen
Listen (listen) listen (listen)
Listen (listen) listen (listen)
Listen (listen) listen (listen)
Listen listen
Listen to each drop of rain (listen listen)
Aaah
Whispering secrets in rain (listen listen)
Aaah
Frantically searching for someone to hear
That story be more than it hides
Please don't let go
Can't we stay for a while?
It's just to hard to say goodbye
Listen to the rain
Aa...ah
Listen listen listen listen listen listen to the rain
Weeping
Oo...ooh oooh ooh oo...ooh
Oo...ooh oooh oh oh
Listen (listen) listen (listen)
Listen (listen) listen
I stand alone in the storm (listen listen)
Suddenly sweet words take hold
(Listen listen)
Hurry they stay for you haven't much time
Open your eyes to the love around you
You can feel youre alone
But I'm here still with you
You can do what you dream
Just remember to listen to the rain
oo...ooh oh oh oh oh
ooh ooh oh oh oooh
Listen
song performed by by Evanescence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Speak? Not I.
You turn your back and walk away
Refuse to speak or even take the calls
A lonely existence ensues
Your mind convincing you it's right
Your heart locked down in cellar tight
A silence that can deafen it's call is so loud
Yet pride won't have it any other way,
A right of passage for your generation
How dare parents stop your celebration
You will show them.
But filter out the background noise
That pride can lift as if a veil on truth
Listen with all your might, listen,
For just a split second you may catch
A sobbing sound that you can match,
Another heart in cellar bound.
And so the madness of silence continues.
Pride has won the day.
poem by Dave James
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Talking XX
And then a scholar said, "Speak of Talking."
And he answered, saying:
You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words many indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.
There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone.
The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape.
And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand.
And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.
In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.
When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue.
Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear;
For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered
When the color is forgotten and the vessel is no more.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Nameless Selves
it is only I,
nameless selves,
dissolving, evolving...
appearing, taking form,
only to disappear back
into formless fermentation.
leaving only the stink of living...
the green scent of plants unfolding,
the grey soot linger of poverty,
of countless stones laid,
and trod upon.
blood and sweat and shit and prayers,
the pine walls of eternal casket.
the soured milk of nipple bitter,
the stench of rope,
too close to the flame.
rich red clay worn by infidel boots,
whose fathers were unknown.
the forever clutching odor of death,
cabinets built and never filled.
grease ground into a cast iron skillet...
and they call this time!
dissolving, evolving,
seminal sheets on fallen angels' beds.
cosmos held in a human hand,
taking wing, flying like bats.
a thousand names?
not even god has a name.
only light born within darkness,
reveals identity, staking claim!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You, to whom I am myself
O You Who Are - the formless, nameless One,
more real than all forms and names can speak:
You for whom we seek to find a name
and yet who has no name, who needs no name;
You for whom we seek to shape a form
and yet who has no form, who needs no form;
Yet whom we name in every name we speak,
and whom we see in every form we seek:
is there some name bestowed for nameless name,
a form imagined for a formless form,
by which all hearts today that seek themselves
may shape their search as if for One unknown?
may kneel in front of their own golden throne?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Hearts,
who’s spoken of in heartfelt praise of glorious human brilliance,
endeavour, art, achievement and discovery;
the Lord who gave us hearts to know we love?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Self,
whom we all know when we relax, become
more our known self, in silence, rest, or company
that sparkles round a table built of happiness?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Consciousness
in whom we live and move, and be; yet never see
for you’re the seeing in ourself; to whom we wake
and know, and stand securely, watching all?
I ask You for the sound of some new yet eternal name;
that sound by which all quickly know themself
and talk once more from hearts forever free,
of what we are, and know, and love to be.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Cant Take My Soul
The weathers getting cold
But its ninety degrees outside
It feels like Im driving so slow
But this old ford is cruising ninety-five
I thought I could hear your cold words
After all, they were just words
I thought I could see your sad eyes
After all, eyes wont lie
I thought that I could just take this hatred in
Let it back out and see love again
But know Im giving up
But Im never giving in
So you can take my life
And you can keep this heart
But you never can take my soul
No never can take my soul
It feels so good like Im laughing
But theres these tears running down my face
I dry my eyes to see the sun rise
Only to find its set, its too late
So I sit there and listen to you scream
After all, I never would
But I cry before I go to sleep
After all, I knew I wasnt what I should be
I thought that I should just take this hatred in
Let it back out and see love again
But now Im giving up
But Im never giving in
So you can take my life
You can keep this heart
But you never can take my soul
No never can take my soul
I tried to say goodbye yesterday
But we ended up in bed instead
*(I dont understand this entire line)
But I couldnt, had to turn away, turn my head
Give me the strength to let you go
After all, I never could
*(I dont understand this entire line)
After all, I knew I wasnt what I should be
I thought that I should just take this hatred in
Let it back out and see love again
But know Im giving up
But Im never giving in
You can take my life, you can have this heart
*(dont understand this entire line)
You can have all my hands, my feet and my head
And all of those good things I did everywhere
But you never can take my soul
Youd think that you could posses
All of my looks, all of my prettiness
All of my feelings and my lovings too
But dont you know that you were the fool
But you never can take my soul
No never can take...
Cant take my soul.
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Teach Them How To Fish
you may give them fish
but for how long will you be giving them fish? for how long will you fish yourself?
teach them how to fish and they will also teach others how to fish.
that is wiser that way.
teach them poetry at first. let them read the easiest one to understand. let them
see the beauty of the simplest lines from you and from the poet that you love.
teach them how to write one from the fingers of their hand. love their work and tell them how beautiful are they. there is always beauty in every personalized line. i know.i am telling you. your lines speak what is in your heart and everything
inside our hearts are always innately beautiful
let them read their lines. let them speak the meaning that they are hiding in there. that which you have never seen yourself. let them defend beauty and grace and truth in their own work. beauty and truth and goodness have to be
defended by its creator too.
listen. open your mind. listen attentively.
teacher. listen to them. they are now making their own.
love each work.
teacher listen. now they are teaching you. now you are learning some more.
they have their own wings now.
teacher, see the sky. see them. oh how beautiful are they. they are all flying
and singing. do not wish them to come back to you. let them fly away.let them see the big wide world. let them find the other universes.
they are not yours. they belong to themselves. they are now free.
that is your happiness that even the gods cannot give you.
sit back. and write another poem for another batch. some more. some time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Father.....
Father, Listen,
Did life not turn out as you had planned?
The grass not greener, Your rivers dammed?
How was it, that you wound up here?
Moved by hate, Consumed by fear.
Father, Listen,
As I go grey, I wonder will I die this way?
A life of waste, To dwell on rage,
You won't find peace, at your old age!
Father, Listen,
I feared you as a child,
Your unkind temper, It made me wild,
I know my Mother is hard to please,
This sad existence, Now my disease.
Father, Listen,
For just once to me,
The apple, It does, Fall close to tree,
I dead the things that I have learnt,
My wells now dry, My bridges, Burnt.
Father, Listen,
Just come and see,
Just how much I am like thee,
I think I'll rest, Just for a while,
For just one more hour, In denial.
poem by H.J. Shreeve
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God, Are You There?
GOD, Are you there?
Do you still listen as I pray
If you still do, I need you Lord,
There is so much I need to say.
Do you still listen as I speak
And do you hear me when I cry
For I know, no one else listens to me
And Lord, I just need to know why.
Am I not created by you
As you have created everything else
But many times Lord, I'm all alone
Even though, I'm not by myself.
Do I not have pain like everyone else
Do I not also cry out for help,
I am a Man, a very lonely Man
One who keeps death, to Himself.
Lord, are you awake,
If not, I'll let you sleep
I'm sorry if I'm bothering you
And I'm sorry, If I cause you to weep.
Every man has His troubles
And every Woman has Her woe,
So I listen to them as I should
But though when I speak; they all go.
Lord, do you still love me,
I just need to hear it every now and then,
For no one speaks it or shows it from the heart,
And I need to strengthen my soul from sin.
Lord, I'll leave you now,
Thank you, for listening to me
Now I truly know, that I'm never alone
For you are here Lord, for me to believe.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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