Second Hand Life
second hand smoke,
Salvation Army shoes.
a crack in the mirror....
empty chamber in the gun.
flat tire on the car...
and the mailbox is empty....
wrong number again,
picking up socks off the floor.
molded crust on the bread,
a bag of coffee, and potatoes....
burnt out burner on the stove,
cobwebs on the ceiling.
too much, too little...
but never enough!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Take This Empty Cup
take this empty paper cup
i have in my hand
it is empty
and you will fill it
i ask of you
you think of the hot water
and coffee
so i may not sleep for days
you change your mind
you take the cup
and fill it with coldness
like chunks of ice
no i will not crack
on this sudden change
like the empty cup
in your hand
i am simply made of paper
throw me crumple me
i am prepared and i really
do not mind at all
i have always felt
the same love for you
even in the midst
of a frosty day
on thick fogs
on cold tin roofs
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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359
take this empty paper cup
i have in my hand
it is empty
and you will fill it
i ask of you
you think of the hot water
and coffee
so i may not sleep for days
you change your mind
you take the cup
and fill it with coldness
like chunks of ice
no i will not crack
on this sudden change
like the empty cup
in your hand
i am simply made of paper
throw me crumple me
i am prepared and i really
do not mind at all
i have always felt
the same love for you
even in the midst
of a frosty day
on thick fogs
on cold tin roofs
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shore Leave Ornithology
Slacks, coffee trend
I could have been in the us navy
Flapping grey, coffee smoke
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Where the hell were you?
Rough stencil, print music
Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard coffee
Saxophone mention barbers, n.y.
The cigarette was burning, the flat shoes
Stool
Bongo, coffee, don't mention that black man
The leather-coat was his
Where was she?
Could have been in the us navy
Flow beating air, table-top, shoulder slung
Shore leave, no sailors here
Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard
Liquor slacks twisting
The cigarette was burning
The flat shoes, the flat shoes, the flat shoes
Bird, bird, bird, bird
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Bird, bird, bird
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heat The Body Gave
rain falling...
cold salvation drops,
tis blackberry winter...
the earth groans, trembles,
and shakes.
birdsong and coffee,
a warm place on the sheets.
coat on the hook, shoes on the floor,
but the body is gone.
now its bad news, hate news,
gunfire and heavy fog.
night and day, black and white,
the footprints all look the same.
the tin roof whispers in rhyme
to the cobwebs and shadows.
the tree that fell last winter,
becomes a house, perhaps a home!
the angry taste of change
still lingers in the mouth.
the hammer worn, the nails heavy...
and the heat the body gave,
turns chill, and black with empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Were Gonna Move
(words & music by vera matson - elvis presley)
Well theres a leak in this old building
Yes, theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Were gonna move to a better home
We got no pane in this old window
We got no pane in this old window
We got no pane in this old window
Were gonna move to a better home
Well theres a hole in the roof where the rain pours in
A hole in the floor where it drops right out again
Well theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Were gonna move to a better home
Well theres a crack across the ceiling
Yes theres a crack across the ceiling
Well theres a crack across the ceiling
Were gonna find us a better home
Weve gotta stove without a chimney
Weve gotta stove without a chimney
What goods a stove without a chimney
Were gonna move to a better home
Pulling down window shades is no use at all
The kids and the neighbor can peep right through the wall
Well theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Well theres a leak in this old building
Were gonna move to a better, move to a better
Move to a better home
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Insecurities Of Aging...
the more you age
the more you keep things to yourself
old and new socks are mixed up in one wooden cabinet
somehow you are not using any
it is just the keeping for keeping sake
you are not thinking of any heir of any shoe
you begin to emphasize the importance of empty containers
how each must be filled
an empty cup must have coffee to its brim
an empty room must have someone to talk to
and empty road shall have at least one car making a dusty path
the empty stairs are too fearful to look at
how you hate an empty chair
it can make you sick if no one sits in there in another hour
the hours can be empty too
how can you stop the arms of the clock from taking away the sound
of ticking?
you are sensing a terminal
the train must be full so that you can never experience the
palpitations of being alone
you can hear it like the sounds of korean drums
the cascading waterfalls
the horns of taxis in city traffic
do not dare to stop the inevitable
i assure you... you can't. So? get yourself attuned
have an empty cup and learn to drink from it
you must feign the satisfaction of thirst, because
it can't be long.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Donna-get Off That Crack
Donna has a nine year old kid
In another months time shes expecting twins
She says she can quit anytime she likes
But I know shes on a mission tonight
Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat
Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back
Dont pay no bills dont pay the rent
But you dont forget where the money went
And who will you turn to when the moneys all gone
Youll wonder why, why you were born
Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat
Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back
Shes down on the dealing floor
She just wants to do one more
One more time and then shell quit
One more dance just one more hit
Remember frank he cut a dash
So much style so much class
Blown away for the coat on his back
The kid that did it sold his coat for crack
Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat
Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back
Shes down on the dealing floor
She just wants to do one more
One more time and then shell quit
One more dance just one more hit
Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat
Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back
(m.charlton)
Copyright 1989 elgin music
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mailbox!
frost on the hawk's wings,
small face against the glass;
or perhaps just a memory,
black coffee and cigarette smoke.
bare limbed trees walk beside me,
down the path to the road....
mailbox hanging open,
only cobwebs in the damp.
the porch light still on,
like a ghostly lighthouse,
calling back things you've forgotten,
that i go through every day!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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
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Otherwise Bare!
a bicycle with a flat tire,
propped against a brick wall.
the old hose with a hole,
thrown to the side.
the old man in front of the tv,
from morning to night.
a dog collar by the ashtray,
a coffee pot grown cold.
a flashlight that doesnt work,
a pair of shoes that never fit.
books packed in a box,
at a three dollar yard sale.
the suit bought at goodwill,
waiting on the funeral.
the last pack of cigarettes,
an empty pack of matches.
love sleeping on couches,
a screwdriver with a broken bit.
a heart that smells of mothballs...
a block of cheese and a knife on a plate,
on a table otherwise bare!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Naked Before My Eyes
feeling empty
i sense you
i get near you
feeling your hand
and you look at me
knowing something
that fills you too
i like you to be
my empty cup
to my hot water
i can be more
than hot water
i can be a spoon
stirring you and
you can be coffee too
and cream and
sugar and mint
i can be the mouth
that opens to drink
you as coffee and
surely we shall have
a good time together
tonight i like you
to be more than coffee
and cream and sugar
just be yourself naked
before my emptiness
and i can also be more
than a mouth to you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Doesnt Whisper
two hundred gallons of fuel oil,
standing between november
and early march...
a couple a'loads of scrap wood,
blankets worn and frazzled....
coffee pot stained and ready,
potatoes covered with lime.
a few old books, and a rocking chair
that sits empty most of the time.
some old photographs,
and a box of clothes,
gathering dust by the bed.
a candle half burnt down....
a box of matches, and
an old twelve gauge.
love doesnt whisper,
.......it screams!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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X5
there is a moment
for standing still and
just be here
listening, there is more
to what listening
gives, it is the emptying
of all gas,
it is the shhhhh
of this
existence, it the flat
tire and then
the filling up of all
that is flat and
empty, and then
it goes back
on page one which
has the theme of
moving and
bouncing and
flying and
be lost again to the
greatness of finally
finding the self that is
not actually inside
you....
the wind, the sea and
the width
and the length and
the unending and the
unedited...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mother, Waken
Mother awaken,
Look at these days, it’s time for change
Mother awaken,
Let us feel the shake of the earth and of every brush
Mother awaken,
And erupt form your chamber crack up the crust
End the droughts and save those who in you they trust
Seas are becoming barren the land so dry
We welcome your fire days and bow to the night
But can we wait wait wait for you dawn
I see the blend at work with no hand too guide
Mother awaken,
Look at these days, it’s time for change
Mother awaken,
Let us feel the shake of the earth and of every brush
Mother awaken,
And erupt form your chamber crack up the crust
Mothers awaken
Can you feel the shake shake shake
The earth is re-birthing and the lands are becoming new
Unlike the morning the dew is a flood,
Encumbered by love for her she draws an end
To disgusting destruction she made for us
Mother awaken,
Look at these days, it’s time for change
Mother awaken,
Let us feel the shake of the earth and of every brush
Mother awaken,
And erupt form your chamber crack up the crust
Mother Gaia’s show us they way
Close the old doors and rebuild a new day
The earth is growing not in anger but in love
The new days are dawning and although it’s rough
The golden age is nearly here
And I bless you mother I repent for my species given tears
Mother you’ve awoken
The sunlight splits right down my news
And the rapturous noise is a record of harmonic play
Rebuild this place and arise the ones you know will
Keep this place young vibrant and new
With my solemn words I lay myself down to you merciful
And my love is for you
poem by Daniel Richards
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Think Mirror Mirror Don’t You
Mirror Mirror Don’t You Think
Mirror mirror on the wall
Don’t you ever think?
When I wash in the bathroom sink
That I want to be alone but all I see
Is the mirror reflection of me
Copying my ever move
Staring at me just to prove
I’m alive at the most
Ah you’re so wrong for I’m a ghost
So for your wrong detection
I should show no reflection
So being the good ghost I am
I will let you off with a little crack
An if you do it again I will be back
With a hammer attack!
Mirror Mirror Don’t You Think
poem by Ken e Hall
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The Hollow Nature Of Being
WALL I:
inside an empty room lies an empty box
and in that box is a four walled inside room within-
on each of the four walls is a mirror reflecting
the deep desertion of the next
and distant within each wall is another
echoing & spiraling back into infinite repetition
with nothing or no one except the physical entities
bearing back upon each other.
WALL II:
an empty room in an empty house
the house itself has no physical attributes because it
was built in a barren field-
there are no animals, no trees,
no beings of any kind
roaming around the house whose image cannot be
imagined,
at best, know that this house in fact
“housed” the room in question,
as any house might any room.
WALL III:
such a barren field stretches to all four corners
carrying itself out beyond the periphery
curling back in on the other side,
and walking in any direction will bring one back to the
beginning-
the barren field that reveals the empty house that
encapsulates the empty room is the most integral point of
reference within the endless flat plain of grass.
WALL IV:
endless flat plains of grass flowing out in all directions covering
the circumference of the area around the empty house residing in
the middle of the plain wherein
the inside of the empty house holds the
empty room & in the
room,
the four mirrored walls reveal only the replication of the
others,
spiraling into infinite repetition-
there is no feeling
no sound
no communication of any kind
woven with the thread of human fiber.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Conversations With Hune (Part Three)
if the child becomes a parent,
and the parent becomes a child...
is growing older an illusion?
does salvation denote
being saved from oneself,
or from all else?
is prayer something we say,
something we feel,
or something we do?
or merely the act of breathing?
do whales laugh at our ignorance?
do dogs weep for our fears?
do birds intimately know freedom?
if so, why are we
the 'dominant species'?
or are we whales,
dogs and birds...
and just too blind
to know it?
is the truth then complex,
or just so simple that it seems...
who built the walls between us?
was it not us?
if we could put god in a thimble,
and then took it out to look...
would it not appear to be empty?
is empty then the cup turned down?
or are we looking at it from the wrong side?
could it be then that empty is the cup filled?
and that fullness is found in empty?
is love then a returning
to what we never left?
are we not then the wind,
collecting bodies!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Christmas Eve
dawn creeping
o'er the mountains,
and through bare limbed trees....
Christmas Eve...
amid the hustle and bustle,
colored lights and wrapping paper....
families and friends....
the streets still alive with those
who have nowhere else to be....
empty houses, empty trailers,
stray dogs and abandoned cars....
somewhere church bells are ringing.
a baby born in a bare apartment,
the rats scurry to meet him,
the pot on the stove empty.
no curtains on the windows,
bare bulbs, no shades.
no angels, no wise men,
an eviction notice on the door...
yet another baby Jesus,
will he make it, will he die?
will he bring light and salvation?
or will they find his small body
in a dumpster with the trash?
fate, or understanding,
holiness knocks on the door,
again, and again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Walking With The Lover...
walking with the Lover...
i see empty fields plowed,
come alive with crops abundant.
empty factory buildings filled
with the ghosts of hard working lives.
empty houses lit up,
and the sounds of families.
empty hands given cups and bowls,
empty hearts held close!
empty words given meaning,
empty promises fulfilled.
walking with the Lover...
touching the plenty of empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mirror Mirror
Mirror mirror
You tell lies
Who put crows feet
Round my eyes?
Mirror mirror
Hanging there
Who put that grey
In my hair?
Mirror mirror
Is that me
Is that really
Me I see?
Mirror Mirror
Stop your fun
That's not me
That is my mum
Mirror mirror
Don't stare back
For it's bad luck
If you should crack
Mirror mirror
On days like these
When what I see
Doesn't please
Mirror mirror
My mood this day
Will ask you turn
The other way!
poem by Stevie Taite
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