On The Trail Of Pessoa
i've walked this road for so long,
that i know what silence tastes like.
i hear only the simple sounds,
or the simplicity of sound...
i no longer confuse shadows,
and i sleep with dogs.
owning nothing,
there's nothing i would kill
to purchase!
there are no footprints
in front of me,
i follow no one.
intimate encounters with strangers,
for we are all strangers,
even to ourselves.
perhaps a word or two,
or not...
we share the cup, and the fire.
i have long conversations with trees,
read intimate stories
written in branches and leaves...
sing lovesongs to small pools of water,
pick up the broken shell of the hatchling
with awe....
my eyes bow in reverence
in the presence of women...
small children come to me,
tell me stories about dreams.
we build kingdoms of sticks,
discarded by birds....
stray cats sit on my lap,
i learn the language of paw.
i listen to the wind
humming in the spider's web.
and dead things rest
by the side of my chair...
waiting for dawn, just waiting!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Empty Paper Cups
i do not wish to be great,
to turn and bow on the final stage.
i have no desire to be the train,
just a common plank on the track.
i do not brandish light for the blind,
i walk among shadows without a noise.
my name could be key, wellhouse, or pump...
my voice the sound of a sparrow hatched.
i taste like old trees,
and rain falling from a rusted gutter.
i've had long conversations with dogs,
walked window ledges with cats.
i know the stories of old tires,
i've hung my hat on rusted nails.
i pray in the moonlight with spiders,
and sing praises to the ants.
i am the lick of the tongue,
the bent finger stroking your eyes.
i come rushing like the wind,
leaving stray leaves and empty paper cups!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tastes (Dreaming)
i went for years without dreaming,
or at least so i thought.
i wake up with tastes,
so simple that i'd forgotten.
the whisper of the rain,
weaves a web around my soul.
and there are voices in the shadows,
shadows that build small fires.
perhaps prayer is a form of memory,
a language we no longer understand.
and the body, a cage, or just a shell,
for a bird with broken wings!
then love, the body plowed,
the spirit bursts in bloom.
i taste like grapes,
too long fermented...
you taste like ashes,
and me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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95
sitting, waiting
sitting, as simple as sitting on a stair
you look around through dragonfly eyes
from higher places
like a cliff overlooking a village
closer to cotton clouds
patches of hissing
winds up here,
alone,
you sit, sitting is simple, it is not complicated
as waiting which is heavier sometimes with a person who is not
showing some shadows for the coming,
sit,
i sit,
i am sitting viewing a wide horizon, a vast expanse of a field,
some white herons heaving leaves blown from dead trees this summer,
they fly away
from you, they fly away from where you are seated, from your country,
you remain sitting,
sit, like a dog to his master telling him to sit,
sit,
it is simple as being yourself alone, not even waiting
things end in darkness
dust settles finally on the ground after a truck fully loaded with almost
everything leaves
the road heading far away from you,
you are not waiting for anything
you have no time
left for waiting, everything leaves and goes away, always everybody
utters the word goodbye
except these, the rain, the rain, there are many of them,
these hordes of rains
they are coming and you sit and do the last thing possible
listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Are Not Strangers
we are not strangers,
you and i!
we have walked through history together.
and the dust on our feet,
be it from Atlantis or Peru,
glimmers in the starlight when we make love.
i made the ink you penned with,
you cut the trees for my pages.
perhaps i was a turtle, or a wild stallion,
and you were a mermaid, or a moth.
or perhaps i was branches gathered,
and you were the very fire.
or i was a prisoner of war,
and you the officer in charge.
or i was the plague, and you the cure.
the black man they hanged,
as you hid and wept.
perhaps i was the cross Jesus carried,
and you were Magdelene watching from afar.
or perhaps i was the star that fell,
and turned the oceans into land.
and you were the first trees born,
in the kingdom that darkness birthed.
or maybe i'm just an old hobo,
and you the shelter of branches.
no, we are not strangers,
we have been intimate for ages!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Freedom
I dance in the shadows, away from my life
Circling my dreams, painting the atmosphere
Layers of realities smile their deception,
Come undone at my ancient presence
Memories slough away the cobwebs of ignorance
To hear my thoughts entwined with the rapture of a lone breeze
Drifting drunken, caressing petal-soft dreams and desires
Listening to the wind's stories; secrets on palm leaves
Silent again for a moment as I forget my center
Leaving behind all my sunrises
Waiting by the silver well
For a dropp of the Moon
Words sound their secret waterfalls
Falling eternal; water-language…
And water learns to talk, to soothe, to listen…
As I slake my thirst from forgotten moments
I walk in the mystique of early dawn
Wrapped in magic, kissed by enigma
My solo footfalls wake my every spirit
I'm back; on layers and layers of human zone…
poem by Bindu Vijayan
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Strangers Of The Heart
Through the mist on the harbor
Dancing lights on the water
Shadows move I see you smiling again
When I reach out to touch you
Like a ghost looking through me
Sending chills deep into me
Shattered dreams falling like
teardrops again
As you make me remember
Strangers of the heart
Always safe with words unspoken
Strangers of the heart
Don't take chances they'll get broken
No matter where you are
Hear me tonight I don't want to be
strangers at heart
Broken glass of my mirror
Makes my eyes see much clearer
You and I only a whisper away
Never telling each other
Strangers of the heart
Always safe with words unspoken
Strangers of the heart
Don't take chances they'll get broken
No matter where you are
Hear me tonight I don't want to be
strangers at heart
Strangers of the heart
Always safe with words unspoken
Strangers of the heart
Don't take chances they'll get broken
No matter where you are
Hear me tonight I don't want to be
strangers at heart
song performed by by Heart from Bad Animals
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ana Ng
Make a hole with a gun perpendicular
To the name of this town in a desk-top globe
Exit wound in a foreign nation
Showing the home of the one this was written for
My apartment looks upside down from there
Water spirals the wrong way out the sink
And her voice is a backwards record
Its like a whirlpool and it never ends
Ana ng and I are getting old
And we still havent walked in the glow of each others majestic presence
Listen ana hear my words
Theyre the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you
All alone at the 64 worlds fair
Eighty dolls yelling small girl after all
Who was at the dupont pavilion?
Why was the bench still warm? who had been there?
Or the time when the storm tangled up the wire
To the horn on the pole at the bus depot
And in the back of the edge of hearing
These are the words the voice was repeating:
Ana ng and I are getting old
And we still havent walked in the glow of each others majestic presence
Listen ana hear my words
Theyre the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you
When I was driving once I saw this painted on a bridge:
I dont want the world, I just want your half
They dont need me here, and I know youre there (dont need me)
Where the world goes by like the humid air (world goes by)
And it sticks like a broken record
Everything sticks like a broken record
Everything sticks until it goes away (it goes home)
And the truth is, we dont know anything (dont know)
Ana ng and I are getting old
And we still havent walked in the glow of each others majestic presence
Listen ana hear my words
Theyre the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you
Ana ng and I are getting old
And we still havent walked in the glow of each others majestic presence
Listen ana hear my words
Theyre the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you
Ana ng and I are getting old
And we still havent walked in the glow of each others majestic presence
Listen ana hear my words
Theyre the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Old Woman.... (Sunset)
that old woman who walks naked
in the garden at night...
stepping barefoot on fallen petals,
leaving her footprints in the dew damp earth.
who feeds all the cats in the neighborhood,
and pours a little bourbon in her coffee.
who uses the same cup and plate everyday,
and likes to read just before dawn.
who smokes unfiltered Pall Mall's,
and keeps all her pictures turned down.
whose phone is always off the hook,
whose lips are alway moving...
that old woman no one really knows,
and most just try to ignore.
but that old woman ran with the wind,
made love with intimate strangers.
smoked dope and marched in protest,
spent several nights in jail.
wrote poetry and read Jung,
lived in communes and on the road.
found god when she found herself,
and raised three children well.
made pottery and raised her own food,
and fed anyone that was hungry.
back in the day she brought the dawn,
and now her name is sunset!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sitting, Waiting
sitting, as simple as sitting on a stair
you look around through dragonfly eyes
from higher places
like a cliff overlooking a village
closer to cotton clouds
patches of hissing
winds up here,
alone,
you sit, sitting is simple, it is not complicated
as waiting which is heavier sometimes with a person who is not
showing some shadows for the coming,
sit,
i sit,
i am sitting viewing a wide horizon, a vast expanse of a field,
some white herons heaving leaves blown from dead trees this summer,
they fly away
from you, they fly away from where you are seated, from your country,
you remain sitting,
sit, like a dog to his master telling him to sit,
sit,
it is simple as being yourself alone, not even waiting
things end in darkness
dust settles finally on the ground after a truck fully loaded with almost
everything leaves
the road heading far away from you,
you are not waiting for anything
you have no time
left for waiting, everything leaves and goes away, always everybody
utters the word goodbye
except these, the rain, the rain, there are many of them,
these hordes of rains
they are coming and you sit and do the last thing possible
listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Language Of Silence
we cannot often hear...
the whisperings of the grasses,
the chant of trees swaying,
those intimate voices in the wind...
we have no names for these sounds,
these doings outside the cage.
does the body call from the grave?
do bird's wings exchange secrets with the sky?
is the moment just before, and just after,
the last breath... the only eternity we know?
why do we call god, god?
is the atheist closer to the presence?
we go to wars with righteous fever...
we kill as if a gift.... to whom?
we draw our morals with black crayons
on the sheets of our indiscretions..
wearing our holiness like halloween masks...
who are we fooling?
if you must call her god,
i'm sure she weeps...
the lover mourns who walks alone!
the wind has no name,
and that is enough!
the language of silence
smells like nails and tastes like rain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Place Of My Dreams
Nobody ever walked this path before
-before trees grew here nearly touching the sky,
I am alone safely inside a world of my own-
A world where only deer roam and birds fly about-
Cardinals, robins and sometimes
I believed I saw angels-
Angels singing in harmony with bird songs-
The wind would rustle the leaves upon the trees and
In the early summertime, cicadas would sing incessantly-
Incessantly and melodiously-
Only one day I heard a different sound-
The sounds of footsteps and children screaming,
Following closely behind me-
I would hide behind a tall oak tree and I would almost weep as
My solitude has been interrupted and
I am no longer safe as my private world had been invaded-
Nobody ever walked this path before until this day and
My dream has been transformed to a nightmare-
I am not safe in a world destroyed by the presence of strangers-
Cardinals, robins and cicadas are my friends and
Other people are my enemies whom I do not trust-
Following in my footsteps and trying to make eye contact,
To read the verses of the songs my mind composes?
I know I have seen angels and heard them singing, and
Birds chanting along with the gentle winds
Rustling the leaves upon the trees-
But now other people have discovered the path,
upon which I have walked alone,
And my secure space has become a public tenement-
I once believed nobody ever walked this path before,
This path to which I could escape reality and lose myself inside
The magnificent world of my delusions-now they have come to take me away and
To lock me inside this prison which I cannot escape?
I cannot hear the angels singing here and birds are seemingly far away-
Here I have lost myself inside my own world,
one so different and so frightening?
There are people here, so close to me, yet I feel so alone-
Although alone in a dangerous way- I am singing my own song,
Hoping that the angels can hear me and one day I shall be back in unison with nature,
Far away from intruders and singing in harmony with nightingales –
And once again, alone safely,
as I shall have abandoned the nightmare of reality,
Touching the sky in my dreams, dancing with angels as I listen to the cicadas chanting
Happily as they are lost inside the world of their fantasies, just as I wish to be…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Darkness Dream
i dreamed...
i was lost in the night,
making my way through the trees.
small branches lashed against my face,
i could feel stone beneath my feet.
and somewhere near, but far, the sound of water.
wrapped in the stillness of night,
that has its own sounds,
its own smells.
haunted by something i couldnt define,
almost the feeling of being stalked.
i finally made my way to a moonlit clearing.
a flock of small birds rose in front of me.
in the field were children,
different colors, different languages,
all different ages...
children, playing together.
i looked closer...
and noticed their eyes...
something wrong, something odd.
a steel hard voice spoke in my ear...
'these children have never seen daylight,
and never will...'
i awakened with a start.
one word on my lips...
CHOICES!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Strangers
Where are you going I dont mind
Ive killed my world and Ive killed my time
So where do I go what do I see
I see many people coming after me
So where are you going to I dont mind
If I live too long Im afraid Ill die
So I will follow you wherever you go
If your offered hand is still open to me
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
So youve been where Ive just come
From the land that brings losers on
So we will share this road we walk
And mind our mouths and beware our talk
till peace we find tell you what Ill do
All the things I own I will share with you
If I feel tomorrow like I feel today
Well take what we want and give the rest away
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
Holy man and holy priest
This love of life makes me weak at my knees
And when we get there make your play
cos soon I feel youre gonna carry us away
In a promised lie you made us believe
For many men there is so much grief
And my mind is proud but it aches with rage
And if I live too long Im afraid Ill die
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories
Through every window, we look out
what we see on the other side
holds many stories waiting to unfold.
Stories of great achievements
within someone’s life.
Stories of gathering love
found with in open arms.
Stories of perusing heartaches
where someone has gone away.
Stories a million fold
that surround every living thing.
Stories we are not aware of,
but happen before our eyes.
Stories to share with all
from those who can see them unfold.
The next time you look out a window
try and see what is really there,
the stories that are everywhere.
26 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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Ens Qua Ens
I sleep sometimes
with the television on
tuned
to an empty channel
I don't know why
but
it can be comforting somehow
somewhen
I take a shortcut
through the campus
regardless
that it's actually further
watch lovers walking
hand in hand
I accelerate past
the road is long
I read books
listen to music
learning answers
learning songs
I am tell-stories
because there are stories
waiting always
to be told
poem by Stefan nnn
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The Things I've Lost
in the things i've lost i found god....
not in the things themselves,
but in the empty spaces left behind!
in moments given and forgotten,
in laughter that never took a name.
in the sound of breathing that is peaceful sleep,
in the tiny light of a single flame.
in random snowflakes that need not redemption,
in callouses that become the hand.
in stories shared with small children,
in the sky seen through a prison window.
in the dog curled against my feet,
in a meal shared with strangers.
in the beautiful eyes of the dying child,
in the touch of the old woman's hand.
in the sound of wings saying farewell to autumn,
in the crunch of frost covered grass.
in the anger of my enemy,
when we both sat down to talk.
in the stories old boots could tell,
and the dreams that eyes reveal.
in the hand in mine and the feet beside,
in the 'thank you' whispered over the grave.
in the silent conversation of old friends,
in the rose that bloomed out of season.
in the sacredness that stinks,
of human endeavor and holy compassion!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Choose To Believe!
i chose to believe
in the taste of morning,
the smell of sunlight
unwrapping the day!
in the eyes of strangers,
the stories unspoken
written on faces
by trial and fire!
in the companionship
of dogs... who know
and sometimes divulge!
in the lamp and the ashtray
and your body wrapped in sleep!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Started A Revolution Today
i started a revolution today,
when i walked out the door.
ants lined up in full gear,
trees refused to shed their leaves.
smoke swallowed the chimney,
and cats laid down with squirrels.
and every ray of sunlight,
praised the coming night.
small children read to old people,
and bricks swayed to the beating heart.
tiny things became heroes,
and simple things became gods.
gentle words held road signs,
hobos shared their bowls of stew...
rain buried gifts in stillness,
for the awakened and those who long!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The Presence....
in the presence...
we cut and stack wood.
boil water for coffee,
wash dishes and fold clothes.
unwrap layers of new sunlight,
write letters and quietly think.
take long walks with dogs,
and speak to random strangers.
offer a hand, and say thank you,
listen for the sound of wings.
laugh at squirrels bickering,
watch as leaves begin to fall.
help old people load their cars,
share a smoke with a homeless man.
walk in awareness and deep peace,
ask what we can give...
in the presence!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Returned.... (Primitive)
my soul hath returned
to the beginnings of faith,
before written history,
before there were words.
when god walked naked in the darkness,
her long hair birthing leaves
on branches that wept.
the stones whispered praise,
the trees bowed in prayer!
the gutteral moan of the wind
haunts the walls of the cave.
i dream of fire,
both shaking and sweating with cold.
while god talks with the wolves,
the turtles, and the owls.
and sounds mimic night
making love with herself!
dawn calls from a faraway shore;
the waterfall hesitates,
as if in waiting!
unseen hands rub stick against stick,
till the spark of dreams ignites!
moan, groan, and the flap of wings...
and the only name be heartbeat!
i am stone, i am tree,
i am river, i am wind...
i am the sound of nothing,
and the face of the formless!
primitive, and naked,
i walk with god...
and nurse at the breasts of infinity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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