Somewhere Between....
somewhere between....
a small fire and a rainy night,
an open book, a candle in the window.
the words of Jesus, revolution without restraint...
an agnostic, and a dreamer.
a murderer and a healer,
a poet and a farmer.
a pair of worn out shoes,
and a stone statue of Buddha.
a mad lover crawling in windows,
and a monk staring at the stars.
the last wolf in the night,
and the first rays of dawn.
somewhere between...
hope and despair,
understanding and anger.
a child and a dying old man.
a prayer and an erection.
a train coming in the distance,
and a lighthouse in the harbor.
the bark of the gun,
and the prayer of shovels.
somewhere between....
loving you and suicide.
standing to fight and running.
spreading my wings, and digging a ditch.
your breast and your lips,
a tear and a poem....
somewhere between!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
The Fire Of Redemption
i am a dissident,
a fugitive, a renegade,
condemned by apathy as subversive.
i am an individual,
a burning bush,
a fire in the night.
i am a homeless star
in a sky gone black,
the mouth and face of hunger.
i am passion's anger,
and compassion's hands,
i am a man and not a body.
i am a spiritual heretic,
a relic from a time
when the spirit was the cause.
i am a bridge, a pair of shoes,
a jug that holds water.
i am the seeds, the sower,
the rain and the sun.
i am the common dance,
the holy sweat,
i am hard work and erection.
i am the prayer prayed
by the side of the road,
the father's firmness,
and the mother's breasts.
i am sickness and death,
the price of years,
i am simple resurrection.
i am the lover unchained,
the wind that breaks the door,
the rain that falls in the naked night.
i am the voice behind silence,
the shout of the snow.
i am birth and beginning,
i am the fire of redemption!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Looked Deep.....
i looked deep in my heart....
i saw a lover, a fool, a warrior,
a peacemaker, and a clown.
i saw an activist, an apathetic ghoul,
a healer, and a killer.
i saw Jesus, Buddha, Gandhi, and King...
i saw Hitler, Manson, Bush, and Cheney.
i saw JFK, i saw Oswald,
i saw the shooter in the distance.
i saw the monk immoliated,
and the napalm skies.
i saw equality and prejudice,
i saw compassion and indifference.
i saw the truth and the lie,
i saw god, and satan.
i saw greed and hunger,
and small children dying.
i saw the eyes of the stray dog,
and the gentle hand that cares.
i saw faith, and doubt,
i saw reason, and questions...
and most of all...
i saw responsibility!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Rainy Night!!!
Our journey started on a rainy night, a night that we did not know held for us.
A night of passion, night of love, a night of anger, a night of distraught,
a night of tears, a night of pain;
but the most important thing it was a night of understanding and silence.
A night that taught us what silence meant in the conversations we had.
We discovered words in that silence,
we knew each others heart and where it went and what it wanted.
It was a journey of hope on that rainy night;
hope that one day this rain will stop,
at the same time we did not want the rain to stop because it was a beautiful night that brought us together.
Everyone is celebrating this day of love, but I am sad,
What am i sad for?
I Should be the happiest man on this planet as i have understood the meaning of love.
So why should i not celebrate, let us celebrate this night together;
although we are far apart. And lemme tell you this,
that I Love You on that rainy night!!!
poem by Hitesh Chowdhury
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Words!
it has been said
that God spoke worlds
into being...
and that Jesus
was the word of God.
that we are created
in the image of God...
that we are the dreams
of God made flesh...
yet we open our mouths,
and nothing happens!
bats hang from the rafters
of our souls.
we speak, windows rattle,
and wars begat wars.
we write with invisible ink!
no cosmos, no stars,
only hunger and despair.
our words close the door,
and choose to be strangers.
we shout, and graves are dug,
we whisper, and no one hears!
could it be that true word
is written in silence,
spoken in awareness,
breaks concepts, tears down walls.
and we who live in fear,
running from the image of our selves,
cannot touch the source,
and have forgotten the breast.
speak worlds into being,
or speak this one into destruction?
spirit becomes flesh,
and blooms or decays.
choice?
awareness, and silence,
crucifixion, and fire.
Buddha spoke, Jesus listened,
Jesus spoke, Buddha listened...
perhaps we could learn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Walk Alone...
i am the last rebellion,
the fire you cannot control.
i am the faces of lost bodies,
names written in blood.
i am the call to battle,
armed by the heart.
i am the silence that knows,
the darkness that takes.
i am poverty's shadow,
and the language of need.
i am the anger of the beaten,
i am the field forsaken.
i am the tint of skin,
and the color of the eyes....
the song of the shovel and whip.
i am the bones of the old ones,
shaking with rage.
the tears of the grandmothers,
the dirty hands of small children.
i am the soldier imprisoned,
on the streets of despair.
i am the conscience of the murderer,
that haunts the night.
i am the bodies of lovers,
glistening with passion.
i am the child born,
neath a sky with no star.
i am the crucifix and prayer beads,
the hymn known only by trees.
i am the dog abandoned,
rain falling without remorse.
i am the monk self-immoliated,
the cry for freedom unheard.
i am human dignity,
and i walk alone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (Falcon)
i am...
the lament of oceans,
grieving lost children.
the latent sound of artillery,
mother and son huddled.
i am women oppressed,
sold into slavery.
i am the crack in the window,
through which freedom stares.
i am black skin white skin
drenched in blood,
i am sweat and toil,
fields swept by heat.
i am the american poet,
who learned his craft in sawmills...
built houses by hand,
and grew his own food.
i am pigs and chickens,
slaughtered in cells.
i am pride in prison,
and self education.
i am the grandfather weeping
over a picture of his grandson.
i am the price of justice,
names spent and forgotten.
i am the lover stalking,
the shadows of night empty.
i am the fire and the cross,
the curse and the cost.
i am mistakes and failures,
i am guts and desire.
i am balls and fury,
gentleness and understanding...
i am the prodigal son,
my mother is the wind.
i am the fighter
who stayed too long...
i am the pilgrim naked,
the owl in the night.
i am jesus and buddha
weeping over hitler's grave.
i am the victims of holocaust,
the victims of everyday choices.
i am the immoral saint,
and the renegade monk.
i am the lie of america,
yet the truth and the hope.
i am the murderer and the murdered,
and the child abused.
i am the promised land,
and the walls of jericho.
i am the reservation,
bad whiskey and poverty.
i am custer sent to
vietnam, iraq, and afghanistan.
i am the tears of crazy horse,
and the death of the earth...
i am sackcloth and ashes,
and the sin of blindness.
i am heat and desire,
i am hunger and want.
i am the heart beating,
defying all odds.
i am the falcon,
the wolf, and the turtle...
i am the kiss
that turns shadows to light!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cry Of The Lonely...
i have heard the cry of the lonely,
the tree bent with grief for the ocean.
the squirrel who dreams of wings,
the mountain melting with need to wander.
the child orphaned by war or poverty,
the monk on fire for a world that's blind...
the beaten body in the prison cell,
the door opened, no one there.
the naked body weeping on an empty bed,
the voice calling without echo.
the tongue that walks the rainy night...
the moon hidden by clouds cold and distant.
the lonesome sound of the faraway train,
the lover who walks the garden...
the empty streets, the hollowed houses,
where not even the scent of memory lingers.
the bruised hand stuck in the pocket,
the letter never addressed.
the flower that bloomed, and no one saw,
the bent nail on the back of the shed....
the candle snuffed.... the last words lost...
lips swollen, set, and driven...
am i the cry, or just the shell,
that brushes against your heart without name?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Digging A Ditch
I'm digging a ditch
Where madness lives
I'm digging a ditch
Where my silence lives
I'm diggin a ditch and when I am through
Digging this ditch I'll dig one for you
Digging a ditch
As black as cold
Digging a ditch
Where I can hide my soul
Digging a ditch
Where my secrets stay
[The Newer Version
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band from Busted Stuff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suicide Countdown.
suicide, suicide i wish i was dead.
suicide, suicide oh how much my wrists have bled.
suicide, suicide were almost there.
suicide, suicide no more skin, the blade will tear.
suicide, suicide we have one week.
suicide, suicide so filled with relief, i cannot speak.
seven days, suicide; until i die.
six days, suicide; no longer will i cry.
five days, suicide; ooh i cant wait.
four days, suicide; until i meet my fate.
three days, suicide; till my last word is said.
two days, suicide; twenty four hours till im dead.
one day, suicide; till night tears through dawn.
today, suicide; i am dead, i am gone.
{ some Tiddely Winks person, copied and pasted my poem on their profile. I WROTE THIS, IT ANGERS ME SAVAGELY TO THINK SOMEONE TOOK MY POEM.! !
poem by Marissa E '
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At Best
a poet, at best,
is merely the bridge
between the small child
inside each of us,
and the Mother's breast!
the simple striking
of the common match,
that lights the fire,
the broom that sweeps,
yet has no name or need...
the words of the prayer
we pray with every breath!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Prayer For Everyone
Every child deserves love
A safe place to run and play
Every man deserves a chance
To bring home a decent pay
Every race is equal
Beloved in God's eyes
When I see discrimination my soul cries
Say a prayer for the lonely
A prayer for the confused
Say a prayer if you'd only
For the secretly abused
Say a prayer for the newborn
With all the battles to be won
Say a prayer for the tired and worn
Say a prayer for everyone
Walk a mile with a stranger
Put yourself in his shoes
Lend a hand to an old one
Good will come to you
In our heads were happy
We go our merry way
In our hearts were all afraid of our dying day
Every child deserves love
A safe place to run and play
Every woman deserves a chance
To bring home a decent pay
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night Prayer!
very pleased with the pen today...
almost afraid to close my eyes....
visions of a world violently erupting,
and small things as real
as the tears on a child's face.
the night, my friend, my lover....
the dawn born from suffering!
i listen for the sound of the flute,
long for flesh and fire!
we breathe, just once,
this fleeting storm......
yet the sound of the waves promises,
another set of wings, shoes and will,
another mountain, another coming!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Poet Is....
the poet is a vase,
collecting tears like rainwater,
with a tiny hole in the bottom,
connecting to the ground.
the poet is a prism,
seperating colors from black and white,
then drawing black and white from colors,
dissolving and evolving.
the poet is an illusion,
that looks and smells like home,
redefining distance by closeness,
finding the familiar in a stranger.
the poet is an orphan,
a messenger, and a thief.
bringing you a lit candle,
and stealing your heart for a stand.
the poet is a carpenter,
building from scraps of wood.
using time rusted nails,
and an eye for dreams.
the poet is a healer,
and the moment you forgot,
on the way to remembering,
who you really are.
the poet is a bridge,
borrowed wings, and a cross.
a simple fire tended by no one,
and ears left behind by god.
the poet is a body,
grown tired in it's dying.
and the small winged creature without name,
waiting to follow the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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This Night Is Like
This night is like a story,
in which a woman is waiting for her lover.
This night is like a book,
in which reader is trying to understand the feelings of the writer.
This night is like a war,
which is waiting for its end to see peace.
This night is like a poet,
who is searching for words to complete his poem.
This night is waiting for dawn to complete it and,
I am waiting for right girl to complete me..................
poem by Rahul Sharma
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Maritime Poem
In the blue harbor of your eyes
Blow rains of melodious lights,
Dizzy suns and sails
Painting their voyage to endlessness.
In the blue harbor of your eyes
Is an open sea window,
And birds appear in the distance
Searching for islands still unborn.
In the blue harbor of your eyes
Snow falls in July.
Ships laden with turquoise
Spill over the sea and are not drowned.
In the blue harbor of your eyes
I run on the scattered rocks like a child
Breathing the fragrance of the sea
And return an exhausted bird.
In the blue harbor of your eyes
Stones sing in the night.
Who has hidden a thousand poems
In the closed book of your eyes?
If only, if only I were a sailor,
If only somebody'd give me a boat,
I would furl my sails each evening
In the blue harbor of your eyes.
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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Lover's Prayer
For love
For life and eternity
This is my prayer
I pray that our love
Is more than enough
To weather the storm
I pray that you're strong
The nights that I'm gone
And you're home alone
I pray you'll forgive
Whateva I did
That brought you the tears
I pray here right now
As I make this vow
We last through the years
Lover's prayer
When I get down on my knees at night
Lover's prayer
I pray God we gonna be alright
Lover's prayer
With my head down and my hands up high
How I hope he will answer my
Lover's prayer
I pray that the sun
Continues to shine
With all that you do
No matter the bad
No matter how low
you'll make it through
I pray that I'm there
Whateve you want whateva you need
I pray that your heart
Carries apart
song performed by by Joe from Better Days
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prayer
Prayer is
a cry in the wilderness
when the water jug is emptied.
It is scream in the dark
when fear seeks to put out
the last ray of light.
It is dance in the morning
when hope is found even
in the darkest hours.
Prayer is
oneness in fellowship
It is hope in despair
It is trembling in the awesomeness
before a holy and loving Presence,
and dwelling under God's wings.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Prayer Is the Soul's Sincere Desire
Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire,
Unuttered or expressed;
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.
Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.
Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath,
The Christian’s native air,
His watchword at the gates of death;
He enters heaven with prayer.
O Thou, by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray!
Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice,
Returning from his ways,
While angels in their songs rejoice
And cry, “Behold, he prays!”
The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, in deed, and mind,
While with the Father and the Son
Sweet fellowship they find.
No prayer is made by man alone
The Holy Spirit pleads,
And Jesus, on th’eternal throne,
For sinners intercedes.
O Thou by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way,
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray.
poem by James Montgomery
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Save A Prayer ('Til The Morning After)
You saw me standing by the wall,
Corner of a main street
And the lights are flashing on your window sill
All alone ain't much fun,
So you're looking for the thrill
And you know just what it takes and where to go
Don't save a prayer for me now,
Save it 'til the morning after
No, don't say a prayer for me now,
Save it 'til the morning after
Feel the breeze deep on the inside,
Look you down into the well
If you can, you'll see the world in all his fire
Take a chance
(Like all dreamers can't find another way)
You don't have to dream it all, just live a day
Don't say a prayer for me now,
Save it 'til the morning after
No, don't say a prayer for me now,
Save it 'til the morning after
Save it 'til the morning after,
Save it till the morning after
Pretty looking road,
try to hold the rising floods that fill my skin
Don't ask me why I'll keep my promise,
I'll melt the ice
And you wanted to dance so I asked you to dance
But fear is in your soul
Some people call it a one night stand
But we can call it paradise
Don't say a prayer for me now,
Save it 'til the morning after
No, don't say a prayer for me now,
Save it 'til the morning after
Save it 'til the morning after
Save it 'til the morning after
Save it 'til the morning after
Save it 'til the morning after
Save a prayer 'til the morning after
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inbetween, We Live!
the human heart feeds...
we are born hungry, born searching,
born needing, born wanting....
left alone on an island...
we lift our beaks to the sky,
gulping for flesh, gulping for air,
gulping for fire....
still smelling of ocean,
and something dark we cant name,
we run into the open,
running, not knowing where.
i cannot live
without the taste of darkness,
the smell of flesh,
and the touch of that
which is hidden...
i shout into the ocean,
and hear only the roar...
i leap from the ledge,
forgetting my wings!
i need a small fire,
and the secrets that curtains tell windows.
my lips need the grain
of soul on soul.
my body burns,
i listen for the prayer of ashes,
ashes that tremble
on the hearth alone.
i need body and eyes,
most of all eyes...
the curve of the breast,
coming and going with the tides.
i need legs and dampness,
conversation without words...
i need to remember
that i am alive.
the quiet walks in the rain,
with god as our partner.
barking with the dogs,
stopping to touch a blade of grass.
the feel of nearness,
the breath of companion....
we are born and die alone,
inbetween, we live!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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