The Dead Silence of the Heart
i dreamt of strawberry-rhubarb pie,
and fresh brewed black coffee...
long slow tender sensual sex,
lips hungry for mine.
the sound of rain in the night,
wrapping the earth in stillness.
walking in the frozen sunrise
with my old dog by my side.
climbing Hawksbill on a spring day,
looking down over the gorge in awe.
barefoot, planting a garden,
believing in the sun and the rain.
playing an old Gibson on the porch,
deep rich tones lost in the breeze.
the taste of good bourbon, and a smoke,
paying tribute to the sunset.
standing by the stone in a cementary,
talking without words, still heard.
writing poetry with a shovel,
and a borrowed pen...
flying with the hawk to eternity,
sprouting green leaves
on frozen branches... listening
for the sound of your voice...
in the dead silence of the heart.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Dead Silence Of The Heart
I dreamt of strawberry-rhubarb pie,
and fresh brewed black coffee...
long slow tender sensual sex,
lips hungry for mine.
The sound of rain in the night,
wrapping the earth in stillness.
walking in the frozen sunrise
with my old dog by my side.
Climbing Hawksbill on a spring day,
looking down over the gorge in awe.
barefoot, planting a garden,
believing in the sun and the rain.
Playing an old Gibson on the porch,
deep rich tones lost in the breeze.
the taste of good bourbon, and a smoke,
paying tribute to the sunset.
Standing by the stone in a cementary,
talking without words, still heard.
writing poetry with a shovel,
and a borrowed pen...
Flying with the hawk to eternity,
sprouting green leaves
on frozen branches... listening
for the sound of your voice...
In the dead silence of the heart.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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May Song
BIRDS in the green of my garden
Blackbirds and throstle and wren,
Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring's
And so to your singing again!
Birds in my blossoming orchard,
Chaffinch and goldfinch and lark,
Preen your bright wings, little happy live things;
The May trees grow white in the park!
Birds in the leafy wet woodlands,
Cuckoo and nightingale brown,
Sing to the sound of the rain on green ground--
The rain on green leaves dripping down!
Fresh with the rain of the May-time,
Rich with the promise of June,
Deep in her heart, where the little leaves part,
Love, like a bird, sings in tune!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Your Always Missing
Something Strong is living on
Even though you’re gone
When I cry my tears
They create rain for you
Because you’re gone
I’m sitting by the bed side
Where you once laid
Many days I cry my self to sleep
And the rain comes to play with me
All I want is just you near
Missing everything that I want to share with you
Every time I close my eyes
I close my eyes with you
And I see your face next to mine
And the rain is above my head tonight
Missing words of lullabies
Sweet tender voice is silent
Rain comes to play
With lightening always striking
And your always missing
Walking in the park
Clouds always gray
Time with you was gone to soon
And theirs only tears and rain
So what is left to say today
Tree’s never swaying
Plants never growing and dancing with you and me
The rain is always here
It’s never that comforting to me
Missing words of lullabies
Sweet tender voice is silent
Rain comes to play
With lightening always striking
And your always missing
I just want to see you again
Singing a song with me
Never again to dance in the rain not without you I won’t
No more playing for me
But the rain is playing with me
Missing words of lullabies
Sweet tender voice is silent
Rain comes to play
With lightening always striking
And your always missing
Never to hear the silent cries
Only angels seem to hear
I’m guessing your up their too
But is the rain playing with you
Missing words of lullabies
Sweet tender voice is silent
Rain comes to play
With lightening always striking
And your always missing today
Your always missing from me
And the rain is crying with me
Sound Of The Beating Heart!
we spend lifetimes searching
for the sound the leaf makes
turning from green to orange to red...
we spend our loving burning branches
in the shadow of the tree.
we spend our faith trying to capture,
and hold the wind for a moment...
never knowing that what we search for
is only our own being!
we are the leaf, the branches, the fire,
the tree, and the wind...
the sound, the loving, and the faith.
and yet we are nothing.
we are but a moment,
familiar taste and scent.
we are eternity,
the breath of an unknown god.
the sun has set,
stillness comes walking
across the mountains.
i listen for the voices
that have no face.
dead poets sit by a vagrant fire,
immigrants, refugees...
spinning old tales.
my friends smell like trees,
and leaves turned brown.
we cross bridges unseen,
with no destination.
and the only sound
that even god can hear...
the sound of the beating heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lantern
he lit his lantern and
walked out on the porch,
with his old dog
by his side....
he could see the wind
walking through the trees,
wrapped in the stillness
and comfort of darkness...
how long had it been?
25 cents a gallon gasoline,
Marlboros,25 cents a pack!
working all week for 55 dollars....
sawmills, factories, milking cows,
a hoe and a gallon jar of water.
hanging the gears on his old truck...
cold beer, making love all night....
civil unrest and high ideals,
bulletproof, with a taste for danger.
then the children came... working
more for less... till he became invisible....
and the world careened into madness,
enough was never enough....
and all his dreams fell to dust.....
the wings of the eagle rusted.
standing alone, with his dog,
peering into the night....
listening to whispering ghosts....
listening... for the voice of love....
for the sound of his
own heart beating!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Trees Are Down
and he cried with a loud voice: Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees - Revelation
They are cutting down the great plane-trees at the end of
the gardens.
For days there has been the grate of the saw, the swish of
the branches as they fall,
The crash of the trunks, the rustle of trodden leaves,
With the 'Whoops' and the 'Whoa', the loud common talk,
the loud common laughs of the men, above it all.
I remember one evening of a long past Spring
Turning in at a gate, getting out of a cart, and finding
a large dead rat in the mud of the drive.
I remember thinking: alive or dead, a rat was a
god-forsaken thing,
But at least, in May, that even a rat should be alive.
The week's work here is as good as done. There is just
one bough
On the roped bole, in the fine grey rain,
Green and high
And lonely against the sky.
(Down now! -)
And but for that,
If an old dead rat
Did once, for a moment, unmake the Spring, I might never
have thought of him again.
It is not for a moment the Spring is unmade to-day;
These were great trees, it was in them from root to stem:
When the men with the 'Whoops' and the 'Whoas' have carted
the whole of the whispering loveliness away
Half the Spring, for me, will have gone with them.
It is going now, and my heart has been struck with the
hearts of the planes;
Half my life it has beat with these, in the sun, in the rains,
In the March wind, the May breeze,
In the great gales that came over to them across the roofs from the great seas.
There was only a quiet rain when they were dying;
They must have heard the sparrows flying,
And the small creeping creatures in the earth where they were lying -
But I, all day, I heard an angel crying:
'Hurt not the trees.'
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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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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Somedays!
somedays i still feel
like i can fly!
like plowing the earth,
and planting the seeds...
painting my face and dancing
for rain...
like running half-naked
down through the woods
with a spear in hand...
searching for meat.
like building a fire,
and watching the meat
turn on the spit...
like playing music
in a dim-lit bar,
amid the smoke and
the sweat and the booze...
like climbing a mountain
to face the dawn,
the only man alive
in the whole damned world!
like making love all night long,
long and slow and tender,
touching and feeling,
giving and taking...
like praying in an empty church!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Early In November
Beneath the starry morning still and steady
Frost laid on the leaves
Frost laid on the dreams
And stayed till the sun beams
Its early in November
And there's no rain
Oh this terrible silence and frozen pain
Sleep clinging in the closets
Sleep creeping on the floors
Sleep climbing up the walls
And stays till the reality falls
It's early in November
And I can't remember
How long will i wait and slumber?
The sky begins to pale
The black reveals is blues so dull and stale
As the footsteps begun to jolt this abandoned trail
The heart bursts out into this silent wail
It's early in November
And there's no rain
Oh this terrible silence and frozen pain
poem by Falky Flakes
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Going Away
Walking to-day on the Common,
I heard a stranger say
To a friend who was standing near him,
'Do you know I am going away? '
I had never seen their faces,
May never see them again;
Yet the words the stranger uttered,
Stirred me with nameless pain.
For I knew some heart would miss him,
Would ache at his going away!
And the earth would seem all cheerless
For many and many a day.
No matter how light my spirits,
No matter how glad my heart,
If I hear those two words spoken,
The teardrops always start.
They are so sad and solemn,
So full of a lonely sound;
Like dead leaves rustling downward,
And dropping upon the ground,
Oh, I pity the naked branches,
When the skies are dull and gray,
And the last leaf whispers softly,
'Good-bye, I am going away.'
In the dreary, dripping autumn,
The wings of the flying birds,
As they soar away to the south land,
Seem always to say those words.
Wherever they may be spoken,
They fall with a sob and a sigh;
And heartaches follow the sentence,
'I am going away, Good-bye.'
O God, in Thy blessed kingdom,
No lips shall ever say,
No ears shall ever harken
To the words 'I am going away.'
For no soul ever wearies
Of the dear, bright angel land,
And no saint ever wanders
From the sunny golden land.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Where I Wait!
bandaging the wound
with hands that dont connect
to your heart,
am i real? just a ghost?
a wisp of smoke,
the faint taste of rain?
stop running!
the riverbed is dry.
and the sound of the crows,
all that can be heard.
the cup on the windowsill,
empty and untouched!
the small child races
barefoot through the garden,
the paper turned yellow,
the inkwell is dry...
cobwebs in the corner
where i wait!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Gasping For Light
1
i built a fire in the yard.
slowly walked back into the house.
gathering everything of value.
my books, my clothes, my boots,
old photographs, letters, pictures,
everything i've ever written.
every memory.
took them outside,
and fed them to the fire!
and walked off barefoot
into the night.
2
lover, dance with me!
we call unto each other
from distances, through barriers,
breaking down walls of seperation;
through tears and angry silence,
echoing through the night.
i kiss your eyes, your lips,
the arch of your neck.
your fingertips, your feet,
the inside of your thighs.
your wetness.
you open your eyes,
and the shadow disappears!
3
spirits dance in the moonlight!
a soft wind rustles
through the trees.
the howl of a dog,
car lights on a forgotten road;
a screen door closes softly.
old house wrapped in stillness.
only a faint sound.
the footsteps of God
walking in your heart!
4
i can smell your perfume,
or maybe the scent of rain coming.
i can taste you in the
cool damp earth,
in the blood of a small animal
killed by a passing car,
in the cry of the baby
waking up hungry,
in the web of the spider.
in the hollow of my soul.
5
two moths lost in the darkness,
gasping for light.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Soul On Fire
Theres a flame that leads our souls astray
No ones safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day its looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again were falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
(? )
But you will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soul On Fire
There's a flame that leads our souls astray
No one's safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day it's looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again we're falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
The venom of the cross we bear
The guilt will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Can Write Poetry All Day Long
I CAN WRITE POETRY ALL DAY LONG
I can write Poetry all day long
But what will it give me?
There is just so much others will listen to
If anything?
And what is the value of writing words to myself for myself
Even if I love them
And believe they are real poetry,
And know in my soul
That their music is real?
I can write Poetry all day long
Or think I am writing poetry
When I am not-
Am I writing poetry now?
I feel I am-
Within me there is the song and the sound
There is the music of poetry
But is it real
Or only my self- deception?
Can I write poetry all day long?
Can I write poetry at all?
I am writing poetry now
Or so I tell myself-
But as I write this
The music within
Is already fading
And I hear in myself
The silence of my own lonely sound.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Lying Naked
sunset to nightfall.
undressing slowly,
as years pass like shadows
that cant be grasped.
lying naked in the darkness.
the hypnotic hum of the fan,
the cool breeze lapping at my body.
listening for the sound
of footsteps from long ago.
but only the sound of a car passing,
and a neighbor's dog barking.
lying naked in the darkness
my spirit gets up and walks away,
my body calm as fallen leaves
nightfall to eternity.
a kiss, a dropp of blood.
you and i lived like thunder,
now it's time for the rain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Rain Fallin
(charlie black)
Rain fallin,fallin rain
Its a long and troubled night
A night when I wish I could sleep
But theres no sleep inside
Heart breaking, breaking heart
Its such a lonely sound
That cries for the need of someone
But theres no one around
Chorus:
Nobody here to hold
No one to warm the cold
That lies deep within my soul
All around, just the sound of the
Rain falling, fallin rain
Like gentle tears of pain
That comes with my only friend
Its the gently falling rain
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Then Is Love?
what then is love?
if it be not this...
the sound of your voice,
the stillness i breathe.
your scent, rainswept pines,
and wet plowed earth.
your skin the feathers
of dead crows seeking flight.
your hunger the thunder,
splitting clouds swollen with passion.
your eyes a bucket of rainwater,
shimmering in the moonlight.
your breasts the river,
your heart moss covered stone.
your soul the wind,
coming and gone without restraint.
your kiss the crackle
of branches in the fire...
your taste the shadow
that just stole the light.
your body the harbor,
this ship lost at sea.
your memory the anchor,
salt spray on my lips!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Rain and the Girl
i just met a girl
who does not carry an umbrella
because she loves
the rain
i do not dare ask her
if she is crying,
if she cries
i am afraid i do not have the right to ask her why
when she gets near me
i have not dared looking into her eyes
i tell myself
it is none of my business
she begins to speak
but i who love the sonorous sound of the rain
has no time to listen
the sound of rain
is more than enough for me
to know
the meaning of pain
this time
after all those long years of listening
i do not think much
the rain speaks
actually for itself
now, i am
writing it
and then the girl is gone...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Standing There In The Rain
Standing there in the rain
crying through the pain
Standing there in the rain
its so dark no one thought
Standing there in the rain
i watch how all disappears
Standing there in the rain
i dropped to my knees
Standing there in the rain
no strenght to believe again
Standing there in the rain
i wish i can breath again
Standing there in the rain
Im no longer there
Standing there in the rain
wish i knew what to do
Standing there in the rain
the dark is waiting for me
Standing there in the rain
im getting stronger
No longer screaming
no longer believing
Standing there in the rain
i see someone staring
Standing there in the rain
its when the war began....
poem by Priscilla Colon
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