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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Life Erupting...
i walk the hymn of life erupting,
the urine prayers, the sweat, the pus.
the gutteral cry of need evolving,
the phlegm of god, the bodies rotting.
the snow wiped faces
and the naked earth.
in constant rhythm with hunger's howl,
the candle flame, the silenced tongue.
the whisper shake, of shadows wanting,
nails, blocks, and colored glass.
the crippled dance,
and the distant drums.
who am i? i am you!
the second son of an unknown father.
born in an alley neath a starless sky,
my feet stink of human,
my eyes lit with desire...
talk to me when words are done!
the wet birthed babe,
the hot blood of giving.
the life caved in,
the searh for nipple.
the whiskey breath,
the cigarette memory,
the love torn chest,
the beak plucked heart.
the identity of the unknown soldier
who died in the ashes, unheard, unseen.
the hands that built with determined faith,
with common trust and common hope...
the weeping beneath the silence,
the silence beyond the grave....
talk to me when words are done!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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Mouth And Heart!
thoughts unbound,
evolving, taking form,
becoming formless....
permeated by rust and fire.
yes, flesh rusts!
hangs like a doorknob,
waiting for the key!
identity becomes sameness,
diverse, and yet joined....
you and i are mouth and heart,
searching for the plate!
footprints, and returning,
we tug at the latch,
or merely the wind!
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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Evolving, Constantly Changing (For Jan)
i look deep
into the depths
of my soul...
behind the doors
long closed,
darkness layered
in darkness...
before there were words!
i see stones, wind,
and great bent trees.
and their voices sound
like mine!
evolving,
constantly changing,
molded by light
and desire.
what have i become?
what will i become?
time,
an illusion,
drops of water
clinging to the leaf.
evolving,
the hand unseen,
the face deeply ingrained!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Earth, Our Home
dissolving...
we lay down our bodies
etched in stone,
the night sky lit up
by shells exploding,
and falling stars...
time spent,
final payment in
sweat and blood...
packages wrapped in flesh,
without a name or a bow...
struck against the flint,
spark to spark,
dissolving in each other's mouths,
leaving the taste of smoke.
your heart, my heart,
no distance, no seperation...
we crumble like fallen leaves
into the earth, our home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am..... (Feathered Wing)
i am the kiss of the feathered wing...
having no body i walk across oceans.
driven by ancestral blood i go deep in the mines,
listening for the voices of freedom.
i define hunger with faces and eyes,
i unload the gun, and tear down the idols.
i am the maker of mountains,
bare branches bringing forth leaves.
i am the winds of change,
the still small voice within.
i am the womb of the unborn child,
i am the casket, the forever dirt.
i am the groan of the lover left alone,
the shout of the old man's empty room.
i am the stink of poverty,
and the bitter taste of wealth.
i am money burning
on the altars of mankind.
i am the voice of the god
you no longer remember.
i am the touch that breaks down walls.
i am conversation without words,
i am black and white,
both male and female!
i am death unlike what you feared,
i am the bridge you're afraid to cross.
i am the pierced tongue,
and the language of birds.
i am the promised land
deep within you!
i am the wail of justice
during the height of the storm.
i am the storm, and the quiet that follows.
i am the end of human striving,
and the beginning of breath.
i am the price and the cost of condemnation.
i am the scriptures written in the grain of trees...
i am the hand that stills troubled waters.
i am nothing, came from nothing,
to nothing i return!
i am the sight that heals blindness,
the cure for the disease.
i am you...
evolving!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Consciousness
Mass and energy is one and the same.
On conversion, they interchange forms.
No gain or no loss is their total sum.
Consciousness runs through them over time.
Water is the essence and consciousness
That runs through ice, steam, mist, dues, fog and frost.
Life energy is the sole consciousness
That runs through plants, animals and humans.
The Universe is constantly evolving.
Living organisms are evolving from the earth
And dissolve into the earth over time.
The consciousness runs through uncut.
Adults give birth to new ones and will die.
The new ones grow to adults and give births.
The adult protrudes its mass and energy
While it itself dissolves into the earth.
Formless consciousness takes variant forms,
Which are, however, impermanent.
Body, senses and mind make human form.
Human form is made of fluent energy.
The energy is undying and unborn.
The life energy manifest in forms
Dies not when the form disintegrates
And only extends when new one develops.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Cup Of Communion
that which we long for most...
the cup of communion!
naked souls sharing thoughts
on the bridge to eternity.
with all baggage left behind,
nothing left but feet and desire.
underneath the banner of doubt,
we find long awaited faith.
compadres walking side by side,
if just for a forever moment.
evolving and dissolving
into the grain of another.
lost children sharing lostness,
find home in a holy instant.
and leaving particles
of dust and self,
are strengthened for the journey.
candle wax, and human blood!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Running Towards The Fire!
we run towards the fire,
falling stars, sucking up the darkness.
what we want, what we need,
what we believe, who we are!
standing on the stage,
waiting on the curtain to rise.
i put my hands in my pockets,
and stare down at my feet.
the lights turned down,
waiting on the roar...
i realize without thinking,
'i just dont care! '
take destiny's stone statues,
and close forever's book.
there are no faces in the darkness
imposed by the self.
take my name from the page,
leave only blood and sweat!
take my face from the mirror,
and replace it with those....
who hunger and suffer,
who stink with need.
who are dying and homeless,
without freedom, or land.
stop the bombing, stop the killing,
stop the drilling, stop the hate.
let my voice be but a nail
in the walls that give shelter.
let my living be a bridge,
my passion a fire...
that warms and cooks,
and lights the weary night.
let my identity be this,
and nothing more...
the cry of the orphaned child,
the nipple that brings him home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Man on a Mission
I'm a man on a mission - if you please
Dressed up like James Bond - boots on skis
Going hell for leather - rocket to the moon
Everything's a blur - I'll be there soon
She rang this morning - I must have been asleep
Dropped the phone - now it's broken in a heap
Wheels lifting off the ground - feel the air
Looking for my heading - not sure where
Climb above the clouds - taking a long time
Got to keep going - things looking fine
Blue in front of me - can see the sun
Letting it roll and dive - having lots of fun
Above this place is heaven - I could stay
Now I must leave - disappear in the grey
Lost in a dark world - strange shadows cast
Mind between worlds - changing descending fast
Clouds above green below- buffet of a breeze
Looking for home - flying close to the trees
poem by JeanJacques Evendon
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Buddha Nature (Evolving!)
every person,
..Buddha nature,
....evolving,
returning....
uncarved blocks,
waiting for the Woodcarver's
...deft hands,
cutting away imperfections,
weaknesses in the grain....
returning to cosmos,
...an ant working,
a mountain slowly
changing shape over time....
evolving,
..from ashe
....back to fire/
to the moment before
....it
.....was
.......lit!
to the moment before that!
the Woodcarver's hands so familiar...
...as if ours!
and the journey undertook
by no one else!
returning...
...evolving...
back to the uncarved block...
for there are no imperfections,
, , , grain lost in grain,
the stars reappear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Montsgur
I stand alone in this desolate space
In death they are truly alive
Massacred innocence, evil took place
The angels were burning inside
Centuries later I wonder why
What secret that they took to their grave
Still burning heretics under our skies
Religion's still burning inside
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
As we kill them all so god will know his own
The innocents died for the pope on his throne
Catholic greed and its paranoid zeal
Curse of the grail and the blood of the cross
Templar believers with blood on their hands
Joined in the choruse to kill on demand
Burned at the stake for their soul's liberty
To stand with the cathars to die and be free
The book of old testament crippled and black
Satan his weapon is lust
Living this evil damnation of flesh
Back to the torture of life
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
As we kill them all so god know his own
Laugh at the darkness and in god we trust
The eye of the triangle smiling with sin
No passover feast for the cursed within
Facing the sun as they went to their grave
Burn like a dog or you live like a slave
Death is the price for your soul's liberty
To stand with the cathars and to die and be free
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Death Come
We all must leave; we all must go;
Some day, some way and leave this shore;
The mighty and the weak must bow
To death that comes to every door!
Death won’t give time any to think
Or time to cleanse our earthly stink;
God-willing ones escape its brink,
Before it can forever link.
When death calls you by its cold voice,
How many can truly rejoice?
It takes you without any noise
And gives no one, the final choice.
Death lurks atop all earthly heads,
Whether new-born or old in beds;
And comes to plants and beasts’ bed-steads,
And spares no one across the meads.
All earthly things must die some day,
Ensouled man too- that’s what we say;
In any age, we all die, Aye!
On land, water or air, someway.
But we must be ready by then,
And lead lives better with our ken;
Yes, fill your souls with good deeds, men,
And reach your goal that is heaven.
All things of clay to clay must go,
When death will end our earthly show;
And that’s the way to God’s rainbow,
And when, that day comes, you ne’er know!
poem by John Celes
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Unabashed Want
i wipe a tiny cosmos
..from the corner
..........of your mouth,
and watch you sleeping...
'neath a blanket
....of
......crumbling
......... leaves
...and
.....fresh fallen
.......snow;
the scent of your rich dark earth,
...and the pulsing warmth
.....of you evolving
..at my fingertips...
nothing more than
..the owl that has your name,
and the hidden space
..between your fingers
curled in unabashed want....
the dream that kisses your eyelids,
...the first and last small fire
.....in an unnamed cave!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mission
I'm a man on a mission - if you please
Dressed up like James Bond - boots on skis
Going hell for leather - rocket to the moon
Everything's a blur - I'll be there soon
She rang this morning - I must have been asleep
Dropped the phone - now it's broken in a heap
Does she turn me on - yes she does
Does she turn me on - yes she does
Wheels lifting off the ground - feel the air
Looking for my heading - not sure where
Climb above the clouds - taking a long time
Got to keep going - things looking fine
Blue in front of me - can see the sun
Letting it roll and dive - having lots of fun
Does it turn me on - yes it does
Does it turn me on - yes it does
Above this place is heaven - I could stay
Now I must leave - disappear in the grey
Lost in a dark world - strange shadows cast
Mind between worlds - changing descending fast
Clouds above green below- buffet of a breeze
Looking for home - flying close to the trees
Does this turn me - yes it does
Does this turn me - yes it does
poem by JeanJacques Evendon
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These Poems
these poems be but the heart born hand,
the oak undressed, the pine that grieves.
the wings of bodies strewn by time,
the scent of flesh, and of blood.
the fire built for the faceless ones,
the sky heavy with storm.
the dreams of the child in red clay dirt,
the sound of the horn just outside sound!
the body wrapped in shadow's grasp.
the vibration deep inside stone.
the window latch broken by the wind,
the light beyond both death and prayer!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Truth... Demands An Audience
i keep watching
old people dying...
with unspoken living,
trembling on their lips.
truth...
demands an audience!
the silent screams
of mountains and rivers defiled.
even the trees whisper,
the sad hurt of poverty.
the wind cries of justice,
in the empty rooms of god.
do you tire of this flame?
wish i'd go away?
give it time,
even my footprints will disappear.
trees will fall,
mountains will crumble.
and the oil raped rivers
will stink of death.
hungry mouths will go unnoticed.
without faces or names.
cities full of empty buildings
will murmur in the night.
and nothing will return
to claim it's just reward.
the unmarked stone stays silent...
even the silence tastes bitter!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mourning
we who sit at the feet of angels
and drink alone, the bitter truth...
with no hand to hold against the night,
no kindred spirit, no flame of hunger.
we speak, there is no answer,
only the waiting that sweats & weeps.
the formless bound in a thousand faces
each yearning to be held, and named.
we who sit at the feet of angels...
and drink alone...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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