Rings Of The Tree
the wrinkled skin of the old woman,
carries 70 years of loving and passion,
giving, touching, listening, and caring,
flowers planted and children birthed,
all night love making and all day working,
thankless simple acts of living...
bow down, and worship!
the blind old man's bruised hands,
built houses, furniture, fires...
fought for the right, prayed for forgiveness,
stroked the body of passion....
grew food, poured drinks,
taught the boy to whittle,
turned the pages of countless books...
kneel in respect!
and dammit... take care of them!
love them!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Hands.... (That Dared To Speak!)
the hands....
that cleaned the old man
lying on urine stained sheets,
that planted the bulbs
in the old woman's flower bed.
that washed the dishes
for forty years....
the hands...
that built the old barn,
that plowed the fields,
that harvested the crops....
the hands...
that stroked desire's body,
that found each secret treasure,
that closed the window.
that held the baby,
that taught the child to write,
that buttoned his suit
on the day he was married.
the hands....
that buried the body,
that brushed leaves from the grave,
that packed away pictures.
the hands....
that picked up the pen,
that turned bloodstained pages,
that dared to speak!
the hands...
now old and withered,
painfully bruised,
often clasped in prayer,
that open to take the small child's hand;
that unlock the door,
and beckon to those in need...
the hands...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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And So Found Dawn
it was in doubt
that i found faith.
it was in forgiveness
that i found forgiveness.
it was in loss
that i found passion.
it was in suffering
that i found understanding.
it was in letting go
that i found freedom.
it was in the mirror
that i found prayer.
it was in darkness
that i found light.
it was in jail
that i found dignity.
it was in addiction
that i found determination.
it was in giving
that i found love.
it was in fighting
that i found reason.
it was in reason
that i found dissatifaction.
it was in questioning
that i found truth.
it was in truth
that i found the need for silence.
it was in silence
that i found kindness.
it was in working
that i found respect.
it was in respect
that i found acceptance.
it was in living
that i found god.
it was in god
that i found the need to touch.
it was in caring.
that i got dirty...
and so found dawn...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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And What Of Passion?
Can it be passion
That gives meaning to joy
Which results in emotions
Excelling in ardent employ?
Passion is wholly
Transforming, it transcends
Then creates sacred fires
In the heart that burn without end.
Chaotic and wild
At times it obsesses
But acts out deep fantasies
With a profound zeal - nothing less.
Rapturous passion
Exults in desiring
Each day's opportunity
To infuse spice into it's fire.
Passion means living
To fullness our loving,
Giving all to another
With unrestrained fervour as proof.
Primordial life
Inspires every heartbeat
With pure authenticity.
Pulsating energy defeats
Boredom - -
Passion is unbeatable.
Unconditionally Open
these hands,
that took yours
and walked away from all
we knew.
these hands,
that laid brick,
cut wood,
plowed gardens,
picked up trash
built fences for the dogs,
held the children
when they were small,
held your hands
at the hospital
stroked your body,
touching forbidden places
with gentleness and
passion
wrote the poetry
hidden in your eyes
these hands,
now old and calloused,
sometimes tremble,
sometimes hard as stone
these hands are open,
without fear or trepidation,
unconditionally open
waiting for yours.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Preying to my Goddess
Finding your body in this darkened room,
Covers bunched
Around you, your own private cocoon.
Fingers spayed, seeking
To feel your hair, your skin
Smoothly pressed against
Me now.
Let me prey to your flesh
In this darkened shrine, let me consecrate this passion,
My goddess.
This night, let me kneel over you,
You’re back to me
To feel your muscles tense and push back to me.
This night, let me kneel to your sanctuary,
To hear your moaned blessing
I will worship this passion for you.
poem by Akiva Roberts
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The Working Class
hard calloused old hands,
back bent with time and work.
feet beaten and worn,
old tired eyes that still twinkle.
i love the working class.
am more at home
with truckers, farmers,
and factory workers,
than politicians and priests.
the lives built brick by brick,
silent years of sacrifice.
hard lines of faith and worry,
and moments of gentle caring.
the hand extended,
the heart that's honest.
the love of passion,
and blowing off steam.
the cook pot, and the table,
set for whoever walks through the door.
neighbor standing behind neighbor,
the saturday night fire,
and the sunday prayer.
i love the working class...
the people that built your cities,
paved your roads,
that have grown your food,
and made your goods...
so what the hell are you doing to us?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The things I love with a passion
I rock and roll with passion
I talk out my soul with a passion
I eat good food with passion
I defeat bad mood with a passion
I sleep well with passion
I weep hell with a passion
I dream endlessly with passion
I gleam ceaselessly with a passion
I aim for money with passion
I do the same for honey with a passion
I listen carefully with passion
I glisten dutifully with a passion
I search for fame with passion
I research to blame with a passion
I walk everyday with passion
I talk and play with a passion
I embrace life with passion
I face nightlife with a passion
I laugh out with passion
I chaffe about with a passion
I cook with others with passion
I look at mothers with a passion
I touch gently with passion
I clutch tightly with a passion
I work hard with a passion
I rock mad with a passion
I gear up goals with passion
I stir up roles with a passion
I make friends with passion
I take weekends with a passion
I love kissing with passion
I love teasing with a passion
I make love with passion
I take from above with a passion
If push comes to shove
Label me old fashioned
For these are things I caption
In life with all my passion
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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She had loved
She had loved,
Loved with the passion of a thousand loves
All of her hurt and pain went into this love
A love that no one had ever known
The ache and hurt from all the others went into the act of loving
The abuse of all the others went into her passion
The pain of rejection from family and friends went into the love making
She could never feel the hurt again so she put it into the passion and heat they two had when they where together
And when she was alone she would cry for the pain
Pain for the fear that she might never love
Cry for all the abuse that was put onto her body
Some in part to find love
Some in part to feel something instead of being loved
She used her body as a vessel to get what she wanted
And never showed love when doing it
She gave herself to forget herself and all the pain and fear and anguish
She gave and gave and showed no emotion in doing so
She knew that no one would really know her
Or really loved her
They were all just lovers without the love and all of the passion
She used what she knew
And passion is what she knew best
She had passion in the way she walked and talked and all the things that she did
She never showed her true colors
Until she found that love
And poured it all into the love making that she gave and cried for a different reason
She now cried for the loved that she had found and wanted
She gave all of her and more then needed to give to one person
That love that she had never had and wanted so desperately she gave to this person and that person never really understood her
She thought that this would never end and never wanted it to
But when the love in the love making faded it was just empty
And from then on all of her became empty
She did not know how to show true love and slowly lost her passion
All of her passion for all of the things that made her lovable
So now she was never to find that love again
Now she was passionless and empty
Empty was she would remain to be
Hallow once again just a vessel for others to abuse
and confuse for what they thought was love
Love that she would and could never feel again
poem by Ruthy Fernandez
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Where Is My Passion
Where is my passion
Far too much pain
Where is my passion
Must I love in vain?
Where is my passion
I need must know
Where is my passion
I want so much to grow
Where is my passion
Lost in your lips
Where is my passion
I feel for your kiss
Where is my passion
Lost in your eyes
Where is my passion
Release me to fly
Where is my passion
There in your hands
Where is my passion
Touch me…expand
Where is my passion
Please…be a man
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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For The Love Of You
Well, well well well
Drifting on a memory
Ain't no place I'd rather be than with you, yes
Loving you, well well well
Day will make the way for night
All we need is candlelight
And a song, ooh, soft and long
Well well well, like to be
We're alone with a love unlike no other
Sad to see, a new horizon slowly coming into view
I want to be living for the love of you
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
Lovely as a ray of sun
That touches me when the morning comes
Feels good to me
Well, my loving me, loving me
Smoother then a gentle breeze
Blowing from my mind with ease
Soft as can be
When you're loving me, when you're loving me
I love to be
Riding the waves of love enchanted with your touch
It seems to me
We can sail together in and out of mystery
I want to be living for the love of you
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
I know that I'm living for the love of you, oh yes I do
All that I'm giving, giving is for the love of you
Paradise and heaven things can't feel as secure again
You're the key
This I see
Now and then I lose my way
Using words I try to say what I feel
Yeah, this is so real, so real
I might as well, sign my name on a card that could say it better
Time will tell
Cause it seems that I've done just about all that I can do, I can do
I want to be living for the love of you, oh yes I do
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
I wanna be living for the love of you, oh yes I do
All that I'm giving is for the love of you
Each and every day I'm living for the love of you
Said that I'm giving for the love of you
song performed by by Boyz II Men
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jesus Christ Touched My Heart
Jesus Christ touched my heart
each expressed sentiment rang true
when Jesus spoke each thought
asked ‘Who Will We Worship Now'?
each parable as I read I instantly knew
each parable questioned souls me and you
each parable declared truth acts we do
materialism greed preaches ego success
materialism preaches individual achievement
materialism lives in sanctuaries of gold
materialism loves windows of colored glass
materialism hates getting manicured hands dirty
materialism lives on prestige side of towns...
It has decades this soul bothered
that all the world's great religions
build huge temples to their God
or God's beautiful though shaped
by worship honouring host hands
many built in worship great houses
to their God or Gods who need
no houses to shelter chill starved
mortal suffering dirt dying bodies;
but so many temples built so few
homes for orphans the sick the poor
living flesh souls God does adore.
Where do you think noble God
in truth is to be most found?
In houses of worship countless
built by hands of his own clay?
Or in hospitals, orphanages,
soup kitchens, simple homes
of the poor; and the homeless
streets where beloved poor
so often fall asleep desperate?
Remember greed rich those first
with men are often last with God.
Jesus is most often recorded in
the company of the poor those not
approved by cream of society; not
among glittering robes of the elite
in their palaces. What example do
you think Jesus was giving? Two
of the reasons Rome hated religion
Christianity were, early Christians
refused to worship Rome's rulers as gods
and Christianity taught the slave was
equal to the master. Two lessons
world leaders so often still resent.
Even today we can still judge best
civilizations, a country by how,
they treat the least of their citizens.
Honour this scale who measures
up, who would God approve?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Walked Away... Walked To!
i walked away from...
the pursuit of things,
of houses, of cars.
from the need to be recognized,
the need for titles,
the need for success.
from organized religion,
from 'holier than thou' preaching...
from the need to be right,
from the need to win,
from the need to be in charge.
from passion without love,
and from love without passion.
from my own concepts,
and my selfish desires.
and i walked to...
life at the risk of losing,
caring at the cost of getting dirty.
the simple laughter and tears
of small children,
the companionship of dogs.
the raw beauty in the everyday moment.
the shared suffering of all that breathes.
the freedom that allows me
to be myself, and others who they are...
the sacredness of life itself,
and unconditional love.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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Making Love To A Black Woman
How do you make love, to a Black Woman?
How do you make love to a Black Woman,
Romantically and Patiently;
Take the time to make love to her mind.
Fulfill all of her midnight wishes.
Cover her entire body with soft wet kisses.
Tell her, so that she will know!
There's no place on her body
your tongue won't go.
And, when you love a Black Woman,
you love her real slow.
How do you make love, to a Black Woman?
How do you make love to a Black Woman,
Passionately and Sincerely;
Let her Sweetness become your Weakness.
Do not use just the Penis, But include your ear.
Listen to the sweet sound of her moans
and see what you hear.
Feel the warmth and care of her loving embrace.
Place your mouth on hers and savor the taste.
How do you make love, to a Black Woman?
How do you make love to a Black Woman,
Sensually and Honestly;
Say what you mean and mean what you say.
Tell her that you love her,
more and more with each passing day.
Let all of the fantasies that dance in her head.
Become her moonlight reality
when it's time to go to bed.
Kiss and lick all over her body
until you find all her right spots.
Touch and caress her soft skin
and make her real hot.
Mutual satisfaction is a lover's plan.
Love her, cause you are in love with her.
She's your Woman and your her Man.
How do you make love, to a Black Woman?
How do you make love to a Black Woman,
Lovingly and completely;
Love her until her 'Screams of Passion'
are all you that hear.
Suck on her neck and stick
your tongue in her ear.
Hold her soft round ass
in the palm of your hands.
Let her sexual wishes
become your loving commands.
Love your Black Woman with
your Mind, Body and Soul.
She's the most precious gift on this Earth.
She's worth her weight in gold.
How do you make love to a Black Woman?
There's only one true way to start.
To make love to a Black Woman,
just give her your Heart.
poem by Samuel Newton
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Love Is
Love is special,
Love is kind,
Love is joyful,
Anyday or anytime.
Love is you,
You loving me,
Love is everywhere,
Love is free.
Love is given,
Never robbed or stole,
Love is precious,
Cant be bought or sold.
Love is me,
Me loving you,
Love is the heart,
Love is always true.
Love is giving,
Love is sharing,
Love is living,
Love is caring.
Love isn't learnt,
Love wont be fought,
Love cannot be fighting,
Love cannot be bought.
Love is forever,
Love is never ending,
Love is never stopping,
Love is always beginning.
Love is you and I,
Us forever living as one,
Knowing that it cannot be stopped,
And though GODS grace; will continue on.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Ultimate Christmas
12/01/10 new
Children around the world waiting for Christmas day
So many letters to Santa, with so many things to say.
Asking for every toy ever known to man
And all his little elves giving a helping hand.
It is no longer dolls, wooden soldiers, and rubber balls
That they ask for today.
It is computers and computer games, Nintendo’s and wii”s
That on TVs. you could see virtual reality.
Cell phones and kindles to read your books.
The touch of a finger is all it took.
Even with all the technology today
Children are taught to kneel and pray.
Christmas isn’t just a day of gift giving
For without CHRIST life isn’t worth living.
So don’t take CHRIST out of CHRIST- MAS
Let him forever stay, for in our lives
He will lead the way.
SCROOGE who had the coldest heart in town
On this day CHRIST he found.
He learned the joys of love and giving
And his life was now worth living.
All his wealth he started to share
And his love was beyond compare.
Because of his help and love- TINY TIM survived
For without the operation he would surely have died.
TINY TIM grew up and became as successful as can be
And taught and raised his own family.
Leaving CHRIST in CHRIST-MAS was the key
That helped to pull him out of poverty.
So why do we need ghosts in our lives to appear?
It doesn’t cost anything for love to share.
poem by Louis Rams
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Revelation...
i am...
something more
than my regrets,
something less,
than my dreams.
more of a carpenter
than a sculptor,
more of a farmer
than a savior.
dented, bruised, dusty,
and often busted.
i know the darkness
as well as the light,
sometimes better!
peaceful, but not a pushover,
will fight when cornered.
know about your jails,
and the prison of self.
been a drunkard, been a healer,
a mad lover, an unholy priest.
i've plowed the earth,
plowed the body,
built fires in the rain.
i am...
forgiveness, redemption,
passion, and spirit.
i am what i am,
and that is enough!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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It Takes.... (To Be Human!)
it takes sweat,
callouses, bruises,
tears, passion and wetness...
it takes hugs, deep thinking,
the root of anger,
and the bridge of kindness...
dirty feet, dirty hands,
naked hearts,
the stink of bodies...
joining, touching, standing,
falling, getting back up...
cursing, praying, singing,
breathing, fucking, holding close...
smiling, giving, sharing, losing,
giving a damn....
listening, reading, searching,
questioning, believing....
daring, trusting, flying,
sitting in deep silence waiting...
forgiveness walking,
gut wrenching talking,
seeing the beauty living...
touching, tasting, smelling...
you and me...
to be human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Crime Of Passion
(b. gibb/r. gibb/m. gibb)
I must be crazy they dont know what weve done
You are my lover
Even though I know its wrong
I hear them talking
But whatever they do
I need to love you
And if I love you couldnt we make it
Got someone loving me
He wont say goodbye
Hes been so good to me
I dont wanna make him cry
I need you both to love me
Its up to you
You can help me
Youre the reason I cant decide
Breakin my bones and shakin my nerves
Till I just cant see tomorrow
Looking at him and looking at you
And I dont know who to follow
Ill never win in the state Im in
Its a crime of passion, Im bad to love you
Whenever Im with you, I lose control
Its a crime of passion for me and for you
Whatever I give you
Its just too late to save my soul
I need to love you
My desperation is the power to go on
Each night I prayed for love
Im at the mercy of
And if you dont hear me now
Then Ill be the only one
Dont wanna be, dont wanna be the only one
I saw him yesterday
The questions he asked
I think he knows about us
Did we move too fast
How can we hide it
When we know its a lie
Keep our love under the covers
The pressure is too high
Why do I get myself tied up
Why tangle with love you borrow
I should have been known as a one man woman
Should have been one love but oh no
Never be a cure for the human law
Its a crime of passion, Im bad to love you
Whenever Im with you, I lose control
Its a crime of passion for me and for you
Whatever I give you
Its just too late to save my soul
I need to love you
My desperation is the power to go on
Each night I prayed for love
Im at the mercy of
And if you dont hear me now
Then Ill be the only one
Dont wanna be, dont wanna be the only one
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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