En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Praying For Emptiness!

walking barefoot down the streets
of the holy city...
listening to the sounds,
the whimper, the cry, and the roar...
praying for emptiness....

the clock beats in rhythm
with the sidewalks and the walls.
the smell of burnt flesh
hangs in the air....
'Jesus Saves' painted on a fence....

oil rigs and chemical sprays,
fields filled with unmarked graves.
windows broken, doors sway, rusted hinges,
cars abandoned, vacant buildings,
dead bodies, eyes lost stare!

the spirits of the children
sing haunting and low...
words pierce like nails,
the birds hear and weep....
a hand gun, a needle, half pack of smokes....

nobody saves the night from the dawn!
praying for emptiness...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Day After Greed

walking the greying streets,
between the broken down
and vacant buildings....
through the alleyways..

concrete graveyards...
the hint of smoke hangs
in the air.... the stain of soot,
the taste of death... lingers....

i closed my eyes and saw
the bodies... strewn in the street
like trash blown against a fence...
eyes wild, faces contorted, ...
death, and it's brothers and sisters...

storefronts dark and ominous,
gas pumps stand alone like angry
sores, oozing into the emptiness.
great black birds fly, casting shadows
that search for tiny particles of light....

stray dogs roam in packs,
hungry for flesh!
only the sound of the great
oil rigs pumping in the distance....
an old tattered flag blown
by a cold infidel wind!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Epilogue (Part Three)

shivering nails,
black and white coffins whisper.
bodies without heads,
strewn in the sand.
the taste of gunpowder
on my lips.
i bow, but cannot pray!

the sound of the oil rigs,
the coarse rhythm of greed.
take and destroy, take and fulfill!
the cry of sea life,
the gurgling choke,
soon to be the children
of flaccid men.

buildings like bodies,
stripped empty and bare.
the memories smell
of life that once was.
empty, and pulsing,
with the want of need,
no one hears the ghosts within.

hunger and homelessness,
heroin and Jesus.
the shelves are bare,
the mother's eyes are bleeding.
the nameless and unwanted,
cast aside in the storm,
while ghouls walk amid

the rubble of the lie.

sing for me, pray for me,
take my hand, take my hand...
even when i close my eyes,
i still hear, still feel,
the faces of the wind!
and god, if there be,
in each and every tear!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Muddy Footprints

blue lights in the parking lot,
faceless cars speed by
on rain swept streets....

ghosts march in pedantic rhythm,
in the land of 'no touch, no feel'....
the gas pumps beeping,

always beeping.... shadows
feed shadows... a stray dog
dead on the side of the road....

'can you spare a coupla dollars? '....
heads turn, and walk away....
a young couple walking the tracks....

going nowhere, hand in hand.
you can smell the vacant buildings,
can hear the glass break

on the boarded up windows.....
has anyone a hand, an eye to eye,
muddy footprints where

life should have been!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Always Walking, Never Alone!

always walking, never alone...
be it the wind,
whose voice has comforted me
for longer than i can remember.
be it darkness,
my lover, passion unfolding.
be it the lights in unknown houses,
signaling life to the traveller.
be it the whisper of stone,
and wood aging and holding.
be it the cry of emptiness,
vacant buildings, desolate streets.
be it the smells of food cooking,
of woodsmoke, of flesh on flesh.
be it the taste of rain,
the cold touch of falling snow.
be it the stillness of graves,
row upon row, life upon life.

my god walks with me,
naked in the night.
we listen for the whimper of babies,
the meow of stray cats.
for the sound of the shot,
and the body falling.
for the key turning the lock,
and the creaking of the swing.
for the perfume of the pines,
for the man picking up the trash.
for the heart moaning
low and gutteral in need.
for the sound of the man weeping,
having given up,
and the woman that holds him.
for the prayers of small children,
and the echoes of longing...

always walking, never alone!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Can Feel..... (The Change Coming)

i can feel the change coming,
the dark swell of the clouds.
the rumble that shakes the streets,
i can smell buildings on fire.
can hear the planes,
the sound the bombs make falling,
the pulsing hate of the oil rigs,
the shuffle of money behind closed doors.
the wail of prayers in desperate churches,
the street dealer selling a loaf of bread.
the metallic sound of shovels digging graves,
the ignorant drone of great leaders.
the sound of boots on pavement,
breath shuddering through broken windows.
the silent stare of the angry and hungry,
the thunderous clenching of fists.
the haunted sound of chains and cell doors,
and riot squad bullhorns.
the tongues of truth cut from bodies,
the last cigarette lit.
the pounding hearts of the common,
black and white joined.
coming in waves, determined as one.
and the cries of the children...
always the cries...
held in the hearts as a beacon,
the reason to live and die!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Holy Is The Ghost

Do I believe that you can be,
Saved?
It's not up to me,
To place that judgement made.

And,
Do I believe that you can be,
Saved?
It's not up to me,
To grade or rate your days!

I'm not one to sum up with a fuss...
Who has had it tough,
Without a suffering one covers.

I'm not one to sum up with a fuss...
Who has had it tough,
Without a suffering one covers.

Some days I slip away to pray.
Knowing the expense,
Of the dues I had to pay.
And,
Some days I slip away to pray.
Knowing the expense,
Of the dues I had to pay.

Do I believe that you can be,
Saved?
It's not up to me,
To place that judgement made.

Holy is the Ghost,
That paves the way!
Holy is the Ghost,
That saves!

Holy is the Ghost that paves the way.
Holy is the Ghost that saves.

In the morning,
That Ghost saves.
In the evening,
That Ghost saves.
From the dawn and through the night time too!

Holy is the Ghost that paves the way.
Holy is the Ghost that saves.

In the morning,
That Ghost saves.
In the evening,
That Ghost saves.
From the dawn and through the night time too!

Holy is the Ghost that paves the way.
Holy is the Ghost that saves.
Holy is the Ghost that paves the way.
Holy is the Ghost that saves.
Holy is the Ghost that paves the way.
Holy is the Ghost that saves.

From the dawn and through the night time too!
Holy is the Ghost that saves.
Holy is the Ghost that saves.
Holy is the Ghost that saves.
Holy is the Ghost that saves.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Scriptures I Hallow

the scriptures i hallow...
the newborn baby's cry,
the chant of fresh turned earth.
the grey echo of emptiness
in abandoned farmhouses.
the beat of darkness,
of the homeless streets.
the scent of freedom,
caught behind prison bars.
the cat's claw, the robin's egg,
hardened desire, and fertile wetness.
the needle broken, the spicket rusted,
the candle half burned down.
the hunger bowl filled,
the silence when all gunfire stops,
the sound of dirt on the casket!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Vacancy, For Rent

walking the streets
of a small southern town...
empty buildings, empty houses,
'vacancy, for rent'

no one moving much,
even the church parking lots
are empty.... seems like
Jesus and His disciples

packed up, and moved on...
probably looking for work!
only a sense of quiet despair,
the sound of old cars rusting,

and the howling of a dog.
just read the news:
an elderly couple, married
67 years, murder suicide...

he'd been sick, she had
alzheimer's.... afraid there'd
be no one to take care of her...
another unmarked grave,

forgotten people, abandoned
by their own government.....
another empty house that
used to be a home...

'vacancy, for rent.'
just walking the streets
of a small southern town...
church bells are ringing...

and the smell of death
hangs in the air!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Praying For Rain

the farmer poet
walking barefoot
in the dust,
looking upwards
towards heaven,
praying for rain.

the blue collar poet
walks between the rows
of machines gone silent
in the deserted building,
looking upwards,
praying for work.

the nurse poet
stares at the line
of people wanting help,
no insurance, no money
looking upwards,
praying for hope.

the politician poet
surrounded by the din
of deals being made
without conscience
or integrity,
looking upwards,
praying for dignity.

the mother poet,
pushed into a corner,
no food, no money,
cant pay the rent or
buy clothes.
looking down
into her children's eyes,
praying for God!

the human poet,
looking inwards,
praying for all
that lives

praying for rain!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Barefooted

walking barefooted
on broken glass....
playing a flute;

listening, listening,
for the sound of
the Lover's voice....

waiting, for the familiar
touch, for the smell
of the last rose opening

as the wings of autumn
approach.... listening,
for the sound of my own heart,

or the sound of planets evolving;
waiting for the gift of emptiness,
and the dance of flesh on flesh....

walking barefooted
on broken glass....
whispering to the stillness!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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He Saves

Be reassured:
'Ye are saved by grace
and not by works
lest any man should boast.'

Be reassured:
Do not even try
to purge yourself of sin;
if you could
Calvary would be for naught.
Come to Him as you are.
He will do the cleansing;
He purifies with His flesh,
blood and fire.

Be reassured:
'Though our sins are red
like scarlet
He will wash them
white as snow'.

Be reassured:
Jesus saves!
Jesus saves!
Jesus saves today!

poem by Buxton Shippy
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Tell Me Why

That tuesday night, turned 26 and I caught your smile
laid down my life, one kiss would take me through the night
I close my eyes, I feel your touch, I see you smile
it's on my mind, it's just a dream I know, but why?
why I just can't stop wondering you're on my mind
noone tells me why, tell me why
tell me why you filled that emptiness in me
tell me why, tell me why,
tell me why you filled that emptiness in me
just to tell you goodbye
a day down the line, reality's back on my mind
yesterday's behind, the charm of love has died but why
unsatisfied with what we get used to in this life
I laid it aside, looks so pale with open eyes
so I just keep on wondering about what's on my mind
noone tells me why, tell me why
why again you filled that emptiness in me
tell me why, tell me why,
why again you filled that emptiness in me
so I tell you goodbye
tell me why, tell me why,
tell me why you filled that emptiness in me
tell me why, tell me why,
tell me why you filled that emptiness in me
tell me why, tell me why,
why again you filled that emptiness in me
so I tell you goodbye

song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Howling

the pregnant lion, the burning bush,
the hammered flute, well gone dry.
without a prayer, the eagle falls
in blackened cinders to the earth.

the food stamp mom, her head down,
children stare with blank milky eyes.
there's another man down in the project,
news at five, news at five.

deserted smokestacks stare at an angry sky,
buildings filled with rats and ghosts.
abandoned cars, abandoned lives,
old gas pumps rusting in the wind....

and the wind blows and howls,
ripping shingles from empty houses, ...
breaking limbs from trees long dead;
drowning out the sound of children's voices....

slamming doors and breaking windows,
carryng the fated owl to the eaves.
blowing at my back like the fires of hell,
blowing in my face with the freedom of loss.

the pregnant lion, the burning bush,
the hammered flute, well gone dry.
without a prayer, the eagle falls
in blackened cinders to the earth....

and no one hears....no one feels...
the lone wolf howling....
the spirits of death howling...
the eyes of God, ... howling!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Black Thunder

black thunder/ broken pieces, tired eyes.
church bells silent ringing, crow feet scarred pillows.
small children walking, without tongues praying,
wagon wheels bogged down in sand.
black thunder/ second hand lives, worn out lies.
dead soldiers mournful singing, borrowed tomorrows.
blind mouths moving, talking without saying,
unlit rooms forged by fugitive hands.

black thunder/ pregnant women without faces.
waves lapping orphan feet, ships lost in the storm.
refugee stars lost in unmarked skies,
an old tree dying rotting on the ground.
black thunder/ families disappearing without traces.
trash blown deserted streets, old men waiting to be born.
molded crucifixes, covered with flies,
clouds chant scriptures without a sound.

(guns silent weeping,
angels prayerful sweeping.
dreams born dying, dreams unfolding,
looking without seeing, touching without holding.)

black thunder/ hungry barefoot ghosts whisper.
priests covered in blood, empty windows open.
tiny infinities wrapped in colored matchsticks,
nowhere standing lost by the road.
black thunder/ brothers burying virgin sisters.
dialogue without talking, homeless heroes smoking.
ants' prophecies well hidden, time worn bricks,
strangers huddled against the cold.

black thunder/ salvation starved borrowed clothes.
smoke charred walls, forever dripping to the floor.
flesh tokens paid, lifetimes yet unforgiven,
candles dressed in cemetery suits.
black thunder/ nobody cares, nobody knows.
horses stomping stalls, doors open to doors.
while the dead barter for the living,
with bayonets and religious boots....

black thunder!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Lost Sun (African song)

Police herd the helpless through Landrover doors.
Soldiers mount women like dogs on all fours.
Children bear parents, shot down in the road.
How can the Sun be so terribly cold?

Maize fields abandoned, eaten by flames.
Mud walls destroyed, villages without names.
Livestock run free, the kraal gates cannot hold.
Who left the shivering Sun to the cold?

Breakfast plates empty, stores with no supplies.
Noon, vacant desks, hunger in pupils' eyes.
This was the New Dawn, for breaking the mould.
How rose the Sun so unbearably cold?

Grass was preserved by communal rotation
Wildlife conserved by decrees of the nation.
Watered, watched over by Sun-Gods of old.
Now who saves the African Sun from the cold?

poem by Frank Bana
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Praying To A New God

(feldman / chandler / hues)
What got into you got into me too
What came over you is coming over me
Feel like Ive had enough of all the old stuff
I saw the writing on the wall on my t.v.
Its another second coming, like it or not, yeah,
Oh yeah
Its another second coming, like it or not
You better start praying to a new god
Start praying, praying to a new god
Start praying to a new, new god
Theyre saying the devils got a new job
Start praying to a new--
A lot of babel came down the cable
Everybody can be famous for a day
From shore to shore
A big department store
Is all thats left of the american way
Its another second coming, like it or not, yeah,
Oh yeah
Its another second coming, like it or not
You better start praying to a new god
Start praying, praying to a new god
Start praying to a new, new god
Start praying what are you afraid of
Start praying to a new--
Theres a big world
In the street outside
In their uniform of pride
And theyve all come
To see a star from the east
Is he man or beast?
Decide
Feel like Im crucified, still Im not satisfied
The second coming is coming anyway
I hear them pray for more on every dance floor
I hear the word go out across the milky way
Its another second coming, like it or not, yeah,
Oh yeah
Its another second coming, like it or not
You better start praying to a new god
Start praying, praying to a new god
Start praying to a new, new god
Success and moneys what hes made of
Start praying to a new--
Start praying, praying on the freeway
Start praying to a new, new god
Start praying, praying on the airwaves
Start praying to a new god
Start praying, praying at the back door
Start praying to a new, new god
Start praying, praying on the dance floor
Start praying to a new god

song performed by by Wang Chung
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jesus of My Childhood

I find myself praying to Jesus
When once again
I’m lost in an unsympathetic city
Feeling lovelorn and alone
Or utterly disgusted with myself
For some abandonment or abuse
Of a fragile and beautiful friend.

Certain days are drunk in the daylight,
Certain attitudes are vile and disgraceful,
Certain failures in matters of faithfulness
Destroy the soul.

I’m walking by a park where I played
When I had an innocent heart.
Drifting back to a happier time,
I’ve got tears in both my eyes
And I’m praying to the Jesus of my childhood

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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On The Road To Gethsemane

on the road to Gethsemane...
i pass burned out buildings,
farm lands scorched by the bombing.
i pass the skeleton bodies
of young children who starved.
i pass the unmarked graves,
of young boys sent to war.
i pass the flag of the liars,
and the tents of mourning.
i pass vacant factories,
and houses left empty.
i pass through cocaine streets,
where all flesh is for sale.
i pass the unemployed masses,
and their desperate eyes.
i pass the baby born unwanted,
and the prison's stink.
i pass empty churches,
and hollow ringing bells.
i pass families broken,
and peoples enslaved.
i pass the moral guns of prejudice,
rank with immorality!
i pass the crippled, the sick,
and those desperately alone...
these tears of blood
are human tears,
this cross we all bear!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am Not Afraid Of Emptiness

i may not have told you, but now i will tell it to you
three times,

girl, i am not afraid of emptiness
the one that walks upon you when you were once this huge
space like a Gothic church with doors like mountains and windows
like continents

the sound of emptiness reverberates like a tin cup
that falls on the iron rails of this room

it fills every nerve that coils upon itself and forms a hand gripping
for waterfalls

it closes the ears and rips every rational entries that your eyes
write in the pages of your journal

it encloses you like a mental jacket of that new patient
at ward 6,
it walls you in like you are a chair inside the congested kitchen

look, who likes the congestion of the spirits?
who likes the choking of the nicks of time?

who likes a light imprisoned in its own flames
burning itself upon itself like a candle consuming both of its ends?

who like the mezzanine filled with letters that you keep
containing love stories of suicide and escape?

look upon your face too crowded with your senses?
it is a forest with trees killing each other for an ounce of light

roots upon roots and leaves upon leaves this world is too crowded
with unraveling thoughts

i am not afraid of emptiness
i like my windows opening all the days of my life
i like doors without locks
stairs without rails, houses without walls and roofs

i live in open space and yes right here inside my heart
i thrive in its empty spaces without the nerves and the veins

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Land Gone Black

the sound of gunfire
rapes the virgin night...
another innocent goes down....

the soldiers of petroleum
buy a whore, a dime, a quarter.
dine on the flesh of children;

pray to the neon god.
waving the flags of mouths
that only speak with teeth.

nothing holy that cant be bought....
step on bodies without faces,
piss on the graves of babies....

winner take all, all is nothing!
and the wind of the beast
knocks at the blackened windows....

in the empty houses of the poor,
the worthless, the forgotten.
the sound of gunfire rips the stillness....

the gods of anger and self
fornicate in the stench,
keeping time to the rhythm

of oil rigs in a land gone black!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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