Rust And Burnt Coffee
robin's nest,
woven tight,
from scraps
of living.
rainswept,
the earth,
a lover satisfied!
shadows of the wheel,
turn slow as the sun.
tiny deaths,
the spider's web,
glints in the light.
the last bark
of the mongrel dog,
cups and plates stacked
in the drainer to dry.
forever, the book falls
to the floor.
love tastes like rust,
rust and burnt coffee!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Diamonds and Rust
I'll be damned, here comes your ghost again
but that's not unusual
it's just that the moon is full
and you decided to come
And here I sit, hand on the telephone
hearing the voice I'd known
a couple of light years ago
headed straight for a fall
But we both know what memories can bring
they bring Diamonds and Rust
yes we both know what memories can bring
they bring Diamonds and Rust
Now I see you standing with brown leaves all around and snow in your hair
Now we're smiling out the window of the crummy hotel over washington square
and then comes that white clouds, mingles and hangs in the air
Speaking strictly for me
we both could've died then and there
Now you're telling me you're not nostalgic
then give me another word for it
you were so good with words
and at keeping things paid
cause I need some of that vagueness now, it's all come back too clearly
yes, I love you dearly
and if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid
But we both know what memories can bring
they bring Diamonds and Rust
yes we both know what memories can bring
they bring Diamonds and Rust
Diamonds, Diamonds and Rust
Diamonds, Diamonds and Rust
Diamonds, Diamonds and Rust
Diamonds, Diamonds and Rust
song performed by by Judas Priest, music by Judas Priest, lyrics by Joan Baez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rust
Rust
Brown.
Cracked,
Chipped.
Burnt,
Orange.
Nothing
Is
Rust,
But
Dust.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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The Anger Of Old Men...
who am i then?
is there nothing left?
the splintered leg
of the coffee table,
the doorknob broken,
the place on the edge of the yard
where the dog likes to piss?
do old men's bodies
crumble into the shadows
of all the things they've died for?
how many plates filled?
how many cups poured?
how many fires tended
against the night?
how many hands held?
how many dreams buried
beneath the tree that stands?
how many conversations
with pictures on the walls?
lonliness breathes,
with a stink familiar...
the tv drones like gnats
flung against the bulb...
the world's gone mad,
and everything i thought i knew,
is buried on the hill!
even the name on my shirt has faded,
coffee cups stacked in the sink.
the hands fumbling with buttons,
are both cold, and alone...
and the body on the bed,
is no body at all.
the vine grown into the gutters,
rain water falling on pavement cracked!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ah!
i am not your poet,
not even your rising poem.
i am but the simple sound, 'ah',
that comes between
your irregular heartbeats!
i am the sperm
that fell to the floor,
the dust wiped from the cover
of an unread book.
i am the rust on the plow,
the burp of the earth.
i am the nest made of straw.
i am the old clothes,
washed in the creek.
i am the pot simmering.
i am the child
forgotten by god,
i am the body
left for the crows.
i am the silence that overwhelms,
i am the healing without name.
i am the lover, the cross,
and the road not walked.
i am the embrace of death,
and the quiet companion.
i am the still beauty
of scars and bruises,
the kiss that lights the night.
i am the hope
that looks like you...
the simple sound,
'ah'!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sleeping Alone
sleeping alone...
tastes like burnt wood chips,
three days after the fire.
yesterday's cold cup of coffee,
spider webs, and bones.
metal shavings,
and empty boxes.
bullets on the shelf.
the broken edge of the cup,
blood on the tip of the tongue.
dust, and brown leaves,
the first winter freeze.
sleeping alone...
tastes like death!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rings Of Gold
Gene thomas
I remember when you said
With this ring I thee wed
Now youve gone betrayed my trust
Rings of gold have turned to rust
Tears cant wash away the sin
Love thats dead cant live again
Knowing theres no hope for us
Turns those rings of gold to rust
Plans we made just yesterday
Sands of time have chipped away
Now theyve crumbled into dust
Love before was clean and pure
Never more can I be sure
You will not betray my trust
Rings of gold have turned to rust
Rings of gold have turned to rust
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A.e.f.
There will be a rusty gun on the wall, sweetheart,
The rifle grooves curling with flakes of rust.
A spider will make a silver string nest in the
darkest, warmest corner of it.
The trigger and the range-finder, they too will be rusty.
And no hands will polish the gun, and it will hang on the wall.
Forefingers and thumbs will point casually toward it.
It will be spoken among half-forgotten, whished-to-be-forgotten things.
They will tell the spider: Go on, you're doing good work.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Shadows On The Wall
When the fantasy we live in
Lies in pieces on the ground
And there is no false illusion
That can turn your heart around
Nothing can change the way I feel
Nothing can take your love from me
If only I didnt worry
If only I could see
If only I could see
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows as they dance on the floor
Chasing dreams that were forever young
Now Im on my own
Chasing shadows on the wall
Shadows on the wall
On the sea of mediocrity
Drifting from a distant shore
No goodbyes no celebration
No-one there to close the door
Only the silence that I feel
Only the lonely road is real
If only I didnt loose you
If only we could be
If only we could be
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows as they dance on the floor
Chasing dreams that were forever young
Now Im on my own
Chasing shadows on the wall
Shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows as they start to fall
Chasing dreams that were forever young
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows on the wall
Chasing shadows as they dance on the floor
Chasing shadows on the wall
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Night Descends
The night descends,
The light mixing dark, together they blend,
Shadows pounce upon the light,
Forever turning daylight, into night.
Shadows toy and play,
They own the night... Now they shall seize the day,
They sit upon the earth, and watch light decay,
Illuminated light fragments,
like dust they float, Then fall away,
I shall sit with these shadows,
and enjoy corrupt fun,
watch the light fall, as the shadows have won.
My family of shadows, humble yet dark,
always living in turmoil, killing the light, fading the last spark.
The light is no more, we've won....
these wrongs can never be undone.
poem by Crimson Love
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Living's Just A Tough Way To Go
Living's just a tough way to go
Like riding a wild bronc
In an old West rodeo.
Somedays I'm the clown,
Somedays I'm the whole damn show.
Come what may,
Like old cowboys, we're all just drifting
Our few days away.
Fast or slow
Living's just a tough way to go.
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,
The way life rains down
You'd think we'd all turn to rust.
Fast or slow
Living's just a tough way to go.
My heads full of pockets
From the pounding hail,
While thirsty I stand in the desert
With one big hole in my only pail.
Fast or slow
Living's just a tough way to go.
Whether throwing saddles on cattle
Or shoveling snow in old Frisco,
Life's just one helluva tough way to go.
To survive we all do
What we have to do.
Just an old story,
It's really nothing new... but,
All God's children will somehow make it through,
For this life is always going to be
A tough way to go, for me,
And for you.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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When I Turn Off The Living Room Light
Who cares if youre jewish,
And your breath smells of garlic,
And your nose is a shiny red light.
To me you are gorgeous,
And everythings right,
When I turn off the living room light.
Your clothes are old-fashioned,
Your knuckles are bony,
Your hair looks a terrible sight.
But I dont have to see you,
The way that you are,
When I turn off the living room light.
When I turn off the living room light.
I dont have to see you,
The way that you are,
When I turn off the living room light.
Well its not that you are ugly,
And Im not being cruel,
It helps me to relax, dear,
It helps to keep me cool.
Now I am not intending,
To make you feel ashamed,
Whats wrong in me pretending?
cause you cant help being plain.
Your nose may be bulbous,
Your face may be spotty,
Your skin may be wrinkled and tight.
But I dont want to see you,
The way that you are,
So I turn off the living room light.
We dont feel so ugly,
We dont feel so draggy,
We dont feel so twisted up tight.
And we dont feel as ugly as we really are,
When we turn off the living room light.
When we turn off the living room light.
We dont feel as ugly as we really are,
When we turn off the living room light.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Smallest Of Things
when chapters become books,
and passion becomes love...
written in hours and minutes,
in days and weeks...
and weeks become months,
and months become years...
footsteps woven into one.
days of work for nights of small things...
food, fire, children, good books
and good wine...
quiet words spoken, falling like leaves,
the candle lit by touching
in the darkest hours...
do we forget, do we lose memory,
do thoughts become echoes.
bricks laid by sweat and toil
are lost in the wall...
need becomes distance,
and curtains fall.....
you stare at the body,
as if some stranger...
and a lifetime given
like tiny shards of light,
nails covered with rust,
the spider's web empty.
only the trees know,
mountains, and lost caves.
raindrops falling,
and moonlight never named.
the dog barking in the night,
you think for no reason...
ah! but love testifies,
in the smallest of things!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (The Story Of God)
i am the barn set ablaze,
the garden covered in dust.
i am the coal mine,
and the miners lost...
the spider's web that
caught their families.
i am the refugee,
no home, no destination.
the convict released,
with nowhere to go.
i am the erection, the file,
and the hammer...
set aside, covered with rust.
i am the mirror, the candle,
and the book of matches...
i am the way stone changes!
i am the prism,
put away in a dark closet.
i am the lover,
whose name you've forgotten.
i am the end
that never ends,
i am the fire
on the tip of your tongue.
i am the smell of your heart,
the whisperings of your feet.
i am the lines beneath your eyes,
that tell the story of god!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Idylls Of The King: Song From The Marriage Of Geraint
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud;
Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown;
With that wild wheel we go not up or down;
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.
Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands;
For man is man and master of his fate.
Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd;
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Where The Streets Have No Names
I want to run
I want to hide
I want to tear down the walls
That hold me inside
I want to reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
I want to feel sunlight on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace
I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
The city's aflood
And our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Trampled in dust
I'll show you a place
High on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
Our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind
Oh, and I see love
See our love turn to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind
Oh, when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falling Out
Im falling out of grace with the world
They say Ive lost my midas touch what turned to gold now turns to rust
Im falling out of line with all the stars
That flood my dreams with their guitars and magazines
Face down this carpet tastes like coffee grounds ground into my face now
And every angles covered with just another
Im falling out of style with the current way things are
The things that make conforming hard
Im falling out of control and you just cant stop me now
Ill fight as long as time allows
Face down this carpet tastes like coffee grounds ground into my face now
And every angles covered with just another band-aid
Im out here way beyond
A shadow of a doubt
And I know Im never falling out
Of favor with you
Im out here way beyond
A shadow of a doubt
And I know Im never falling out
Of favor with you
I wont think twice or even three times
About taking a gamble with you
Cause with my life you have been so kind
I take all my comfort from you
Face down this carpet tastes like coffee grounds ground into my face now
And every angles covered with just another band-aid
Im out here way beyond
A shadow of a doubt
And I know Im never falling out
Of favor with you
Im out here way beyond
A shadow of a doubt
And I know Im never falling out
Of favor with you
song performed by by Relient K
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Love You Shared Endures...
tis the knock on the door you've dreaded...
yet you know it all comes to this.
the weary lay down to sleep,
snow falls on rust colored leaves.
are you then left with old photographs,
the sound of a voice you dimly remember...
and memories that unfurl like chapters,
every time you turn off the light.
the tears you cried, for him, or for you?
he does not need your tears anymore.
he is not dead, but simply at peace...
the love he was he is,
the love you shared endures!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Propped Against The Wall
beneath the thunderous clap
of coming storm,
shadows scurry from limb to limb.
sunlight weeps through pregnant clouds,
and the spider builds his web.
with the feathered taste of sparrow's wings,
in the rhythm of marching ants.
logs cut and split, stacked against the house,
the spicket drips, and no one cares.
poverty tugs at the walls,
while voices tense with hunger's beat,
are lost in empty rooms.
children run between the cars,
with dirty faces, without shoes.
dogs bark from rib cages exposed,
as water boils on the stove.
the smell of time and elderly feet,
fans turn in paint peeled windows.
the old man tunes his guitar,
perched on the stoop like an owl.
with fingers gnarled he plays the blues,
his lips groan with pages burnt.
as love and whiskey intertwine,
and small children stare in awe.
the revolver waits beside the Bible,
and the picture yellowed with time.
while angels ride their demonic steeds,
with swords drawn and fiery eyes.
the court brought to order,
with the gavel's brassy thud.
as life stands before itself,
both executioner and savior.
small moments stolen by random kindnesses,
burn like candles in the darkened gloom.
and forever then is nothing more,
than fingers, chords, and pick.
when eternity tastes like whiskey's lips,
and curls in cigarette smoke.
who am i to suggest
this wisdom known by ants and snails.
that the voice of god is but the bark,
that the owl hears and understands.
and the clap of distant thunder,
perhaps not as far as it seems.
the anarchy of naked poverty,
in the tears that fall like rain.
and still the spicket drips in silent prayer,
the axe propped against the wall!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hymn Of The Big Wheel (disc 2)
The big wheel keeps on turning
On a simple line day by day
The earth spins on its axis
One man struggle while another relaxes
There's a hole in my soul like a cavity
Seems the world is out to gather just by gravity
The wheel keeps turning the sky's rearranging
Look my son the weather is changing
I'd like to feel that you could be free
Look up at the blue skies beneath a new tree
Sometime again
You'll turn green and the sea turns red
My son I said the power of reflections over my head
The big wheel keeps on turning
On a simple line day by day
The earth spins on its axis
One man struggle while another relaxes
We sang about the sun and danced among the trees
And we listened to the whisper of the city on the breeze
Will you cry in the most in a lead-free zone
Down within the shadows where the factories drone
On the surface of the wheel they build another town
And so the green come tumbling down
Yes close your eyes and hold me tight
And i'll show you sunset sometime again
The big wheel keeps on turning
On a simple line day by day
The earth spins on its axis
One man struggle while another relaxes
As a child solemn pray my hope hides in disguise
While satellites and cameras watch from the skies
An acid drop of rain recycled from the sea
It washed away my shadow burnt a hole in me
And all the king's men cannot put it back again
But the ghetto sun will nurture life
And mend my soul sometime again
The big wheel keeps on turning
On a simple line day by day
The earth spins on its axis
One man struggle while another relaxes
(x2
song performed by by Massive Attack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Simplest Of Things...
there is a rare beauty
in the simplest of things...
the door knob tarnished,
the book with the worn cover.
the hallelujah shout of the snail,
rain water standing in an old tire.
the lampshade covered with dust,
the iron sitting unattended.
the child's toy left on the floor,
the hand that always somehow fits.
the old woman's heavy breathing,
the coffee cup stained half empty.
the cry of young lovers from a distant window.
the dog's low growl at something unseen.
the tattered remnants of the robin's nest,
the broken eggshell clinging to grass.
the old hymn sung by the man working his garden...
the swing of the axe, the stacking of wood.
the spider clinging to the outhouse wall,
potatoes laid out in the cellar for winter.
the grave solitary three days after the funeral.
the cat cradled on the step while it rains.
the laughter of a love long in journey.
the cup of coffee shared with the transient stranger.
the prayer of the child, and the room gone dark....
words spoken from the heart with hands and feet.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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