The Poet
who is the poet then?
the master of words,
phrases, rhymes, and symbols...
or the one who wipes the ass
of the old man in the nursing home,
whose family does not come anymore.
or the young gay teacher
in the projects, walking the thin line
between the hatred of gangs, and hope.
or the small time farmer
who planted one last crop,
knowing that the bank was coming
to take it all away.
or the soldier in Iraq,
who stops to help a child up,
and sees his own children miles away;
cant speak, and cant breathe.
or the young man in prison
for something that he did;
just trying to survive, day to day,
and to find a new way.
or the young woman who was raped,
being humiliated on the witness stand,
and they call it justice!
or the man left standing
on the brink of losing it all...
the eyes of his family haunting him;
with nowhere to turn,
and no one to ask for help,
and a gun in his hand!
if poetry then is written
by the hand of God....
the hands are human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Her Voice
i believe there is a God
i can hear her voice
in the tears of the homeless
of the hungry, of orphaned children
of the young woman lying on the
kitchen floor bleeding
in the hollow ache of the young
man who just killed a family
with his M-16
in the stink of helpless
on the young boy raped
in the prison cell
in the vomiting anger
of the man who caught his wife
cheating, and shot her
in the prayers of the mother
whose son joined a gang,
and walked away from her dreams
in the cry of the baby
left in the alley
behind the church
that refused to help
his mother
in the pen on the desk
of the man at the bank
who just foreclosed
on another family
i can hear her voice
and feel her hurt!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All The Same!
i am the illegal immigrant,
picking your fruit.
while my children are hungry,
and my wife scrubs your floors.
the young black man in your prison,
the anger of the poor.
i am the books,
you forbid us to read.
i am the Vietnamese family,
whose children speak english.
the young Sioux poet,
whose words sound like tears.
i am the white man's reservation,
and the white man's god....
the sound of the gas pump,
the feet of soldiers marching to death.
i am the grandson of the miner,
who never came out.
the body of the union organizer,
buried beneath rubble.
i am the picket line,
the cold floor of the cell.
i am the old woman who died,
alone in her nursing home bed.
the sound of the church bells,
on midnight's empty streets.
i am the needle and the crack pipe,
the sound of the window breaking.
i am the whistle of the train,
so near and so far.
i am the child adopted,
by two women in love.
i am the mission, the soup line,
and the shelter....
the body in the alley,
and no one cares.
i am the song of America,
i am the wind of freedom.
i am the torch of justice,
the bridge that has no name.
i am the god of many colors,
and all the same!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Wanted To Know....
the starving child you saw on your tv screen,
the one that made you turn the channel.
the old homeless man who tried to bum a dollar
when you were pumping gas...
whose hands were shaking,
who smelled like trash,
who you made fun of when you left...
the one you gave 50 cents to,
just to get away from...
the young painted up girl you called a whore,
the guy strung out on pills
buying groceries with food stamps...
the veteran who came home
to find his family gone....
no job, no home, he blew his brains out!
the gay boy who slit his wrists,
tired of being bullied.
the old couple evicted broke and sick....
the bodies of women and children killed by the drones,
the young man in prison who just got gang raped.
the disabled woman you cursed when she made your change,
the old man buying dog food who doesnt have a dog...
well, you wanted to know what god looks like!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Promise Of A Lie
Go to war young soldier,
Your glory will be praised.
Go to war young soldier,
Your home will stay the same.
Fight for us young soldier,
worry naught about your love.
Fight for us young soldier,
She waits for your return.
Welcome home young soldier,
Heres the medal upon your chest.
Welcome home young soldier,
Your life is now a mess.
Go away young soldier,
We have no more use for you.
Go away young soldier,
Till we call again for you.
Young Soldier
Stay calm soldier
Do not panic
Stay calm soldier
And think of what you were taught
You're too young to die
My soldier
You're too young to leave
Run soldier
From the danger ahead
Run soldier
Don't be brave
You're too young to die
My soldier
You're too young to leave
Fight soldier
The enemy that fights you
Fight soldier
And make it though the day
You're too young to die
My soldier
You're too young to leave
Come home soldier
I miss you terribly
Come home soldier
To me and your family
You're too young to die
My soldier
Don't ever leave me
poem by Only Yours
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Amanda Jane
Amanda Jane
Just thirteen, with wide bright smile
Across the field, she'd ride a mile.
Encampment there, with tents galore
Too much excitement... she can't ignore.
Then she see's him standing there
Young leath lad, wavy brown hair
A soldier boy who stands so tall
He's answered now, his countries call.
Amanda Jane, Amanda Jane,
A fine young soldier you have seen,
With shoulders wide and eyes gray-blue
Some day He'll ask to marry you.
For nigh four years, men fought and died
Mothers wept and Widows cried
What's left of family, moved up North
These trends of war, no longer worth.
This fine young man of twenty one
No longer carries a soldiers gun,
But now must try to ply his trade
Three years a carpenter, some money made.
Amanda Jane, Amanda Jane,
A fine young soldier you have seen
With shoulders wide and eyes gray-blue
Someday this man will marry you.
Now a young woman of nineteen
Among the young men she would preen
So far He'd travel, for her hand
And to her soldier she'd remand.
Back from Indiana to Kentucky
A blushing bride, She'd feel so lucky,
A home He'd built there just for her
And in his arms, she'd surely purr.
Amanda Jane, Amanda Jane
A fine young soldier you have seen
With shoulders wide and eyes gray-blue
This time He's finally married you.
Three boys, God blessed, this family with
A simple life, they now would live.
Builder of ships, this man became
A new frontier, Rivers to tame.
With paddle-wheelers on decline
He had to move on down the line
To deliver now a ship so tall,
Released from life....A fatal fall.
Amanda Jane, Amanda Jane,
A fine young soldier you had seen
With shoulders wide and eyes gray-blue
This day, My Love, I bury you......
................I bury You! ! !
Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
Ms. Caroline
© 2006 Ms. Caroline (All rights reserved)
poem by Carolyn Ford Witt
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Angry Young Woman
Angry young woman on sunrise strip,
Walking away to the new world.
She left her man, she left her children,
cause she knows she has only one life to live.
Angry young woman with her background on her forehead,
Three children and two abortions.
Played a little piano ten years ago.
And some typing from the college where she met her husband.
Angry young woman in the dark of the night,
Hears her children crying for dinner,
Hears her man shouting for his shirt
And thinks of the first sundays they spent in the park.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
(angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket)
(angry young woman, angry young woman)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angry Young Woman
Angry young woman on sunrise strip,
Walking away to the new world.
She left her man, she left her children,
cause she knows she has only one life to live.
Angry young woman with her background on her forehead,
Three children and two abortions.
Played a little piano ten years ago.
And some typing from the college where she met her husband.
Angry young woman in the dark of the night,
Hears her children crying for dinner,
Hears her man shouting for his shirt
And thinks of the first sundays they spent in the park.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
(angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket)
(angry young woman, angry young woman)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young Man
Written by james young
Lead vocals by james young
People say with age there comes experience
But as soon as you are born you start to die
Older men are chosen to speak wisely
But call the child to the sacrificial rite
Who can we get to win the fight?
Young man!
Who can we get to make love all night?
Young man!
Who do we send away to die?
Young man!
I heard a lonely woman cry for a
Young man!
The fire bombs in distant lands are burning
Jarring every synapse in your soul
Life and death are a meaningless profession
Tomorrow brings a horror yet untold
Who can we get to win the fight?
Young man!
Who can we get to make love all night?
Young man!
Who do we send away to die?
Young man!
I heard a lonely woman cry for a
Young man!
Young man!
Young man!
Come home my son
We'll give you a rest
Welcome my son
We'll give you the best
Time's stowaway
The young man
Short are the days
Of the young man
Young man!
Young man!
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep In The Motherlode
Get out of the way fat man. you got something to do
Go fill up your hands till theyre shining up at you.
You gotta get out while theres gold in the air
Its falling like water, coming down from the hills.
Go west young man
Earn a dollar a day just like your family said.
Youre rolling your days right on into the night
The head of the lines going way out of sight.
Go west young man like your family said
All along the wagons
All along the dusty trail.
Seventeen years not over a day
Like children in the wild.
Your mothers milk still wet on your face
And no one to pray for your safe journey home.
Out beyond the desert
Across the mountains by the fall.
Servants who leave their masters house
Are walking all the way.
The golden fields that beckoned you
Are darkened by the years.
Go west young man
If you knew then what you know today
Youd be back where you started a happier man
And leave all the glory to those who have remained.
So go west young man
Go west young man, like your family said.
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shilo
Written by: neil diamond
Young child with dreams
Dream, evry dream on your own
When children play
Seems like you end up alone
Papa says hed love to be with you
If he had the time
So you turn to the only friend you can find
There in your mind
Shilo, when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shile, you always came
And wed play
Young girl with fire
Something said she understood
I wanted to fly
She made me feel like I could
Held out my hand, and I let her take me
Blind as a child
All I saw was the way that she made me smile
She made me smile
Shilo, when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shile, you always came
And youd stay
Had a dream, and it filled me with wonder
She had other plans
Got to go, and I know youll understand
I understand
Shilo, when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shilo, you always came
Come today
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prophets Of Profit
in the shadows
beneath the trees,
the men with the long
knives wait;
call them unholy, call them
prophets, men of vision,
men of change...
soldiers of the grey kingdom,
where nothing is revealed.
every starving child,
every bomb dropped
on indiscriminate huts...
every girl baby aborted,
every young boy sent to prison
for his education...
every young girl bought
for an hour, used like a rag,
and tossed aside....
for miles and miles of oceans
poisoned by oil....
for the homeless man
beaten to death by the deputy....
the migrant family terrorized,
the young gay boy found hanging....
the men with the long knives wait...
choosing who will live and die,
who is useful, and who is not...
the judges chosen by
the oil drenched hand....
the prophets of profit!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Liberty... (Dont Betray Me Now!)
Liberty...
dont betray me now.
i have paid your price,
in bodies burning,
and mouths that tremble.
in toil and struggle,
in sweat and faith.
take not thy hand from my heart,
for you have spoken to me with eyes.
eyes that see the beauty
of the common, and simple.
eyes that drink equality,
seeing hands joined in darkened rooms.
eyes that pray common prayers.
who am i to have a face?
who are these faces,
giving dignity to names?
history written in warm blood,
on the farmhouse walls,
on the factory floors,
in the carpenter's apron!
i am the voice of what should have been...
what could have been!
i am family handed down to family,
i am equity and justice.
i am the black hand taking down
the all white sign...
i am the horses of Crazy Horse,
Sitting Bull, and Cochise.
i am the mill worker's only son,
going to college.
i am the daughter of the minister,
marching for women's rights.
i am the young man in prison,
teaching himself to read!
i am the sound
of machines shut down,
of fields left unplowed,
of courtrooms empty.
i am the bodies of the young men,
killed in your napalm wars...
i am the mother and father,
burying their only son.
i am the rage of the poor,
with calloused hands torn.
i am the housing projects,
the trailer parks,
and the prisons full.
i am the cities gone mad,
with despair and grief.
i am the spirit of rebellion,
and the body of revolution!
i am the scientist, the doctor,
the preacher, and the drunkard.
i am the free thinker,
daring to question.
i am the man alone,
who dares to stand and defy.
i am the voices of the grandfathers,
and grandmothers,
crying out from their graves.
i am the migrant worker,
the bedpan emptier,
the garbage man,
and the small town sheriff...
the stink of injustice,
and the vote not counted.
Liberty, o Liberty,
turn not your face...
for i am the breath and the blood,
that moves your body!
i am the prayer too long unprayed...
one hand in a fist,
and the other left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Were You (When The World Stopped Turning)
Where were you when the world stopped turnin' on that September day
Were you in the yard with your wife and children
Or workin' on some stage in L.A.
Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke
Risin' against that blue sky
Did you shout out in anger in fear for your neighbor
Or did you just sit down and cry
Did you weep for the children, they lost their dear loved ones
Or pray for the ones who don't know
Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble
And sob for the ones left below
Did you burst out with pride for the red, white and blue
For the heroes who died just doin' what they do
Did you look up to Heaven for some kind of answer
And look at yourself and what really matters
I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love
Where were you when the world stopped turnin' on that September day
Teachin' a class full of innocent children
Or drivin' down some cold interstate
Did you feel guilty cause you're a survivor
In a crowded room did you feel alone
Did you call up your mother and tell her you loved her
Did you dust off that bible at home
Did you open your eyes and hoped it never happened
Close your eyes and not go to sleep
Did you notice the sunset the first time in ages
Speak to some stranger on the street
Did you lay down at night and think of tomorrow
Go out and buy you a gun
Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watchin'
And turn on "I Love Lucy" reruns
Did you go to a church and hold hands with some strangers
Or stand in line and give your own blood
Did you just stay home and cling tight to your family
Thank God you had somebody to love
I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love
I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell you
The difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us
And the greatest is love
The greatest is love
And the greatest is love
Where were you when the world stopped turnin' on that September day
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Young Soldier;
My young soldier,
Brave as can be.
My young soldier,
Don't stop fighting.
My young soldier,
You have so much strength.
My young soldier,
Please don't die on me.
My young soldier,
I love you so very much.
My young soldier,
I miss you so dearly.
My young soldier,
Come home to me.
poem by Heather Sandvoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tale Of The Trucker's Life
The young bride sits alone in her house,
waiting for her farm hand husband to return to her lonely bosom.
Enters the husband, tired, and cranky.
He goes to the stereo, hooks up his headphones,
and falls asleep listening to country, and western music.
The bride long since gone to bed alone.
The young mother, and her toddler son
in front of the TV watching movies while the
husband/father works third shift at Wal-Mart 25 miles away.
The mother takes her son to his baseball games,
explains why daddy can't come,
because he decided to be a truck driver.
She is mother, father, and sole teacher to there young son.
She wipes away his tears when he is hurt,
Comforts him when he is sick,
and makes excuses for the absent father
who never has acted like he loved their child.
Who wipes away the tears that the
mother/wife sheds every time she sees
how much their son misses his daddy.
Their little boy puts his arm around his
mother's shoulders and with a hug,
he says, 'mom it will be all right.'
Does the trucker miss his family?
Does he feel the same pain, and sorrow?
He must not care, for he stays gone sometimes four,
sometimes six weeks in a row,
only coming home long enough to make love.
Never does he interact with his son, not really.
The wife, and son now lay in the cold, hard ground,
never to rise again. Now it is too late
for the old trucker to tell them how he really felt.
He sits alone in an old rocking chair,
staring at old, faded photos of his wife,
and son, but he is not in any of the pictures.
He stands in front of the pearly gates of Heaven,
he sees his wife, and son just on the other side,
But they don't recognize him.
So goes the tale of the trucker's life.
poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Difference
i stared out the window
at the bare frozen limbs
of my favorite old tree...
i closed my eyes...
saw leaves bud forth
and turn green...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i stared at the young girl
reading at a corner table
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old grandmother
washing dishes with her grandbabies
playing in the floor at her feet...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw the young man
carrying his son on his shoulders
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old man standing
by his son's casket
draped by a flag...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw an old man
standing on the corner begging
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy
playing ball in the street
laughing and dodging cars
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a crack head shivering
by an electric heater in a bare apartment
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young a/g student
helping some kid with his math
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a desperate girl
walking the streets
looking for a john
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young girl's room
stuffed animals on the bed
pictures of her and her daddy on the wall
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a young man
wild-eyed with fear
in a prison cell
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy gone hunting
with his grandpa on thanksgiving morn
with his dog by his side
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i pulled back the veil of time...
knowing, there is no difference!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Day
I dont know when the time might come,
I dont even know where I might be
But this I do say, until that one day
That then; I will be free.
I think of that day with every step I take,
As I wish for it, with every breath I breathe
As I hope my day will come, before my life is done,
Then finally I'll know, you will belong to me.
Though I might be standing alone one day
Or I might be writing, with pen and pad in hand,
But my time will be here, maybe a day or even a year
And then I will know, that indeed for us I am a man.
I think of that day with every step that I take
And I wish with every breath that I breathe,
Am I being judged, or against me is there a grudge,
Doesn't anyone want me and my soul to be free.
I don't know where that I might be standing,
And I don't know exactly where I might be,
I don't know if it will be far or near, a day or a year,
But I do hope, that my time is coming for me.
I look and speak to my family and friends
I tell them too, that one day it will be my day,
But they push me aside, as their time has arrived,
And I don't need the same time for which they had prayed.
I look at my world, there is no one else like me,
I stand alone I don't even know who I am,
They say I should be proud, like a new born child,
But in what they say, there belief they never took their stand.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Even Know Their Names!
his spirit left his body,
and walked through the hells.
a firm voice spoke:
'keep your eyes open,
look, and see! '
he saw dark skinned children,
their bodies frail and thin,
their features carved with hunger.
he saw women and children,
running from the bombs,
young men gunned down,
in the streets.
he saw the homeless family,
sleeping in a beaten old car,
hoping no one would come
to make them move.
he saw the young addict shaking,
the young woman helpless,
her baby crying in the bare apartment.
he saw the young man sent to prison,
trying to hide his fear,
a fear so strong they
could smell it on him!
he saw the woman who'd been beaten,
the man jobless and angry.
he saw millions of Native Americans,
slaughtered, and left for the crows.
he saw the old couple hungry,
in their apartment with no lights,
and no heat in the dead of winter...
'i cant take it any more,
what has this got to do with me?
i dont even know their names! '
'their names are anybody, and everybody...
they are why you must return.
they are your children, your
brothers and sisters, your father
and your mother...
they are your responsibility!
you must return to finish the work! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heroes
there's been a lot of talk
about heroes this week
let me tell you about heroes
the single mom making minimum wage
trying to go to school, and keep
her babies clothed and fed
the school teacher who, upon
losing funding, takes his or
her own money and buys supplies
the young businessman who stops
what he's doing, and goes and
serves in the soup line
the common joes who sit
in protest of the oil pipeline
ready to be arrested if needed
the young girls in Taliban controlled
countries who dare to go to school
the Mexican family slipping
across the border by cover
of night, risking it all
for a chance, for a chance
the human rights activists who
speak out knowing they'll be
imprisoned, beaten, or worse
the neighbor who stops what
he's doing and comes over to help
when no one else will
the drug addict who walks away
from it, and starts over
step by step
the common citizen, of this country
or any country, that stands up
and says enough is enough
right is right, and wrong is wrong
these, and many more like them
are my heroes!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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