En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Sounds Of Living And Dying

listening to the sounds,
earth turning seasons,
waves pounding against

distant shores... fishing boats
setting out to sea....oil rigs
pulsing in demonic rhythm...

big trucks barreling down
faceless interstates... tractors
getting ready to rip the earth....

babies being born, lovers
groaning with passion...
gunfire, bombs exploding!

the silent whispers of the homeless...
gravediggers digging graves.
carpenters pounding nails...

elephants trumpeting, lions roaring,
the hawk's wings beating against
the sky.... and the old woman

dying... the empty room echoes
the prayers of a forgotten life.....
the sounds of living and dying,

anguish and ecstasy... amen!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sounds Of The Earth (Part Two)

i hear the sounds of young lovers,
moaning, groaning, and whimpering.
the rush of wind,
that startles the curtains.
the slap of wet bodies,
the sigh of the candle.
low words cooed,
without need for definition.

i feel the tears of the sinner,
hear them hit the floor.
the prayers, and confessions,
the guilt, and the need.
the heavy breathing of redemption,
and the silence that heals...
yes, even the silence
has its own sound!

i hear the bones of the nameless,
rising from their hidden graves.
to dance in the holiness,
of identity regained!
i hear the crackle of the fire,
as life becomes vapor.
i hear the stranger at the door,
and know well his voice!

i feel these sounds,
swelling up within me.
erupting from my conscience,
till song becomes song.

and i hear the heartbeats,
of newborn babies and small children.
of the old woman dying
in a forgotten room.
the heartbeats of wolves,
of birds, and silent cattle.
the heartbeats of things
lost to memory and time....
and each sound alike,
alike in their difference...
sounding like mine,
like yours...
and like god's!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lock And Key

They are bound together
By the fibers of my tears
Can't you see the pain etched in it?
Don't you hear
The sorrowful clank
Of metal against metal…..
It sounds like the clashing of swords
By two gallant knights
Braving another day of battle….
Or maybe it sounds like a prisoners chain
As he walks past his empty cell
And onto the gallows,
Dying for his beliefs….
Then again, it might sound like the pounding of bronze
To make a sword
That Is destined to take somebodies life…..
But maybe it just sounds like a lock turning a key

poem by Faith Franklin
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Pounding

pounding, pounding nails,
pounding heartbeats, pounding feet.
pounding voices, pounding anger,
pounding need, pounding greed.

hungry, hungry eyes,
hungry souls, hungry holes.
hungry children, hungry countries,
hungry hands, hungry man.

throbbing, throbbing blood,
throbbing dreams, throbbing schemes.
throbbing ideas, throbbing hatred,
throbbing inside, throbbing cant hide.

touching, touching hearts,
touching true, touching you.
touching forbidden, touching daring,
touching color, touching wonder.

pounding, pounding nails...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Can Feel..... (The Change Coming)

i can feel the change coming,
the dark swell of the clouds.
the rumble that shakes the streets,
i can smell buildings on fire.
can hear the planes,
the sound the bombs make falling,
the pulsing hate of the oil rigs,
the shuffle of money behind closed doors.
the wail of prayers in desperate churches,
the street dealer selling a loaf of bread.
the metallic sound of shovels digging graves,
the ignorant drone of great leaders.
the sound of boots on pavement,
breath shuddering through broken windows.
the silent stare of the angry and hungry,
the thunderous clenching of fists.
the haunted sound of chains and cell doors,
and riot squad bullhorns.
the tongues of truth cut from bodies,
the last cigarette lit.
the pounding hearts of the common,
black and white joined.
coming in waves, determined as one.
and the cries of the children...
always the cries...
held in the hearts as a beacon,
the reason to live and die!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Land Gone Black

the sound of gunfire
rapes the virgin night...
another innocent goes down....

the soldiers of petroleum
buy a whore, a dime, a quarter.
dine on the flesh of children;

pray to the neon god.
waving the flags of mouths
that only speak with teeth.

nothing holy that cant be bought....
step on bodies without faces,
piss on the graves of babies....

winner take all, all is nothing!
and the wind of the beast
knocks at the blackened windows....

in the empty houses of the poor,
the worthless, the forgotten.
the sound of gunfire rips the stillness....

the gods of anger and self
fornicate in the stench,
keeping time to the rhythm

of oil rigs in a land gone black!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Listening

listening... for the sound
your hand makes when it touches mine...
for the words your eyes whisper
when you laugh...
for the song your heart sings,
and the prayer your sleeping body
becomes, pressed against mine.
for the sound of the cicadas
chanting in drunken rhythm...
for the boiling of beans
in my grandmother's kitchen.
for the crush of the bat
driving the ball deep into the gap.
for the gurgle of creekwater
running o'er a melon wedged tight.
for the sharp crack of the gun
and the bullets whistling overhead.
for the cry of the hungry baby
and the slap against his mother's face.
for the clank of the leg irons
across a cold concrete floor.
and the wail of the widow.
for the song of the workers
bent neath the sun in the field.
for the speech of the visionary
who already smells like death.
for the pounding of the oil rigs
raping the earth without feeling.
for the lies of the politician
stealing the souls of the people.
for the sound of hate's fists
pounding the gay boy to death.
for the scream of raging empty
when they bring a mother's boy home.
for the sound of the door,
closing for the last time.
for the memory of an old hymn,
calling from beyond the river.
listening... for the moan of lovers,
bodies slapping in the night.
for the wild beating of a heart
dissolving nameless into mine...
for the echo of something more
than a drink and a feeling...
that needs to breathe, to run, to fly,
and to dance
listening

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Amazon Queen

Pounding hellishly the rain has no business destroying me,
My journey is never to end.
Pounding continuously is the water of a scientific kind,
The one we call acid-rain.
Pounding relentlessly are the drops that collect and form floods,
We are too worried of them.
Pounding on us is the liquid I call a storming rain-fall,
In the Amazon rain-forest, where the long river is also.
Pounding on us is the humidity derived from the weather
That never ceases in its changes and profits only.
Pounding heavily and beating the branches is the windy-rain
That lives among the Jungle, that lifts the river
And makes it briefly breath.
Pounding the earth are the Amazonians and their Queen,
Biggest warriors of the undergrowth and canopies,
Huger in conflict than the mercenaries of a war itself.
Pounding on us is the Queen of the Amazon,
The River-Mighty,
The Bleeding-Woman,
A Woman that is Queen and aims to expell us.
We stop and stare to find our heads being shot at from all sides,
Front, Back, Left and Right Flank. We have no chance, and they are
Pounding us with arrows of a different kind -
Poisoned Arrows!
One has hit my ribs and cracked one perfectly,
The other has landed in my neck!
Alas Amazon Queen, your nature is hidden now.
I lay under the trees with the pounding of the rain, in peace.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Beat Goes On

Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Wait till you have reached the age
Blah blah
History has turned the page
Blah blah
We still want to hear a brand new thing
Uh huh
We still need a song to sing
Uh huh
And the beat goes on (6x)
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Love is a thirsting, lasting on my mind
From tomorrow until the end of time
And the beat goes on (4x)
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
And the beat goes on
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
We still move to a rhythm just like this
We still dream of sharing our first kiss
And the beat goes on (4x)
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Well our kids are turning faster everyday (everyday)
We still want to dance the night away
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on...
(to fade)

song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beat the plowshare

Pound the drum

Of war to come

Rhythm on steel

Red from the forge

Forms the sword

To carry to war

The sledge makes beat

On thinning edge

As it pounds

pounds

pounds

pounds

It sounds the drum

Of war to come

Soon it will be echoed

By marching men

cries of battle

Sounds of war

The sword will lead

Before the flag

Followed by the sound

Of drums

Pounding

Pounding

To war

Today, I beat my plowshare

And I listen to the drum

poem by James Timothy Jarrett
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In An Anonymous Week

If I am not beautiful, nobody really has interests
Or love; and I am quite shallow,
The pittance of an unreturned dove:
You know, you know- all of our graves or quite
Shallow, too- like animal graves,
Like animals shoes; and this is what I have been doing,
Digging up shallow tubs of earth, throwing dirt
Over my shoulders like a dirty curse, and doing it
Without appeasing anyone in the eye;
If I should have to die, If I should have to die, let it
Be little animal tears for me, and distant cars,
And distant echoes of somnolent feet; you know,
I am not pretty, and the way the earth moves, I shall
Be dead in an anonymous week.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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October Sundown

October sundown
spillt o'er rainswept
mountains undressed,

lit by the Painter's brush;
momentarily...
sucks the oxygen

from the air,
leaving me gasping
for words....

........2........

the hands on the great clock
bent under the weight,
waves pounding hard against
the breakers.

the fire flickers, almost dies,
bursts into flame.
the ghost of longing
walks out of the grave!

........3........

the earth tremors,
tall buildings fall!
the wail of the dying
fills the air...

the stench of blood and
burning flesh chokes the mind...
dark wings thunder
on the distant horizon.

the bells of emptiness
ring like razors....
still beating hearts
held in children's hands!

........4........

October sundown....
....and the night
.............is coming!

leaving me....
...gasping for words!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Passion’s Fusion

With hearts beating as one
lovers melt into one another’s arms
as passion and lust begin to rage,
heated by loves ecstasy.
Rising heights are fuelled
by hands caressing silken bodies
and temptation ensues
into a seduction jewel.
Sounds of contorted breathing
engulf them there
as they float with love’s wings
entangled within each other
as passion’s fusion begins.

18 September 2008

poem by David Harris
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Ask For More

Id rather dance in the air than lye on the ground
Id rather open my ears than shut out the sound
Travel to the ends of the Earth and tell you what I found
I'd rather kneel down and pray than scream at the sun.
Prefer to know, than to hide from my skeletons.
I don't want to sit down and cry while watching others run.
If I missed the bus more than once, I'm not the only one.
Don't wanna wait around for things to come to me.
'Cause when my hands are tied, they struggle to be free.
And if they steal my eyes, I'll find a new way to see.
The world is forever turning, there's a thought that never stops burning
If I'm pounding at your door, it's because I'm here to ask for more.
The world is forever turning, there's a thought that never stops burning.
If I'm pounding at your door, it's because I'm here to ask for more.
Prefer a thousand hello's to just one goodbye.
Prefer the pain of the truth to a pretty lie.
Listen to the words in my head, although they may not rhyme.
Listen to the voice in my heart, some days it's so sublime.
Don't wanna wait around for things to come to me.
'Cause when my hands are tied, they struggle to be free.
And if they steal my eyes, I'll find a new way to see.
The world is forever turning, there's a thought that never stops burning
If I'm pounding at your door, it's because I'm here to ask for more.
The world is forever turning, there's a thought thats always burning.
If I'm pounding at your door, it's because I'm here to ask for more.
The world is forever turning, there's a thought that never stops burning
If I'm pounding at your door, it's because I'm here to ask for more.
The world is forever turning, there's a thought thats always burning.
If I'm pounding at your door, it's because I'm here to ask for more

song performed by by Shakira
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sounds Of The Earth

i feel the sounds of the earth,
cant say how or why!
the hurtling swagger of rivers,
the deep bass stillness of mountains.
the whispered longing of the trees,
dancing naked in moonlight.
the hymn of the grasses,
calling forth life.
the groan of the earth,
just turned by the plow!

i hear the reggae beat of the cities,
the hum of movement and work.
the chords of factories and mills,
the horns blown by the shops.
even the hollow beat
of business, of buy and sell.
and the low gutteral moan,
of the homeless, jobless, and lost.

feet without names,
marching without direction.
the cries of young children
afraid and hungry in the night.
the bang of the idol chasers,
the wranglers, and the pimps...
some working the market,
some working the parish.

i hear the sounds of the demons,
that cry war in the night.
that bang the bloody drums
of patriotism and fear.
i hear the sounds of the guns,
the thunder of the bombs.
the last prayers of young men,
dying alone in their fear.
i hear the shuffle of the money,
the boots beneath the table.
i hear the sound of the shovels,
digging grave after grave.
i hear the pen on the page,
as history is written,
in a book that not even
hell could contain!

i hear the churning of stomachs,
the grating of bones.
the tremble beneath
paper thin flesh.
i hear bare feet on the road,
the poor seeking refuge.
i hear the women weeping
as child after child dies.
and i hear the clank of glasses,
food shoveled on plates.
the shallow laughter,
the hypnotic hum of excess.
the condemning guilt,
food thrown in the trash.
the restless panting of the dogs,
just outside the door.

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cries

the sound of gunfire
and the pound of bombing
rhyming...

the cries of dying children,
the cries of a dying earth,
the cry of humanity seaching

for itself!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dying Words of a Man

i hate the dying words of a man,
they come out in helpless whispers,
listless feathers in the wind, fluttering,
floating, trailing to the finale of a life
to empty the living of hope and choke
their hearts with cold cold gravel and stones

i hate the dying words of a man,
they spill from a physique weighed down
by the cold realities of life and now
a mere few audible words to storm
the living and the dying out of its reality

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In the Dying Moments

Ten of thousands assemble ahead
Shouting for their rights on beds
In the dying moments she emerges
Rounding and pounding their lips
In the dying moments she cries

Will her greenage be restored?
So hetrage she carries over head
In her dying moments she smiles
while tears are oozing on her wound
In her dying moments their rights are broken
And her future remains prominent
And so blink she comes with her arms

poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Apocalypse, And Good Bourbon

apocalypse, and good bourbon.
the beat of the news feels like
shovels digging graves by themselves...
deaths without purpose, lives
without purpose....
the cash register rings,
someone else is evicted,
another factory shut down!

the stench of oppression
is almost unbearable....
fresh manured fields of lies,
pull the strings of the puppet,
make him dance....

(you cant see them,
cant touch them,
they're insulated, shut off
from the sounds of hunger
and naked hearts beating!)

and down the street an old man
dies alone in a rundown house.
the shades are pulled, no one
notices... his old dog
guards the body, waiting....

while two young lovers make love
in the back of an old car...
two young gay men hand in hand
walking and talking....
two babies are born,
and two more die....

apocalypse, and good bourbon.

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Praying For Emptiness!

walking barefoot down the streets
of the holy city...
listening to the sounds,
the whimper, the cry, and the roar...
praying for emptiness....

the clock beats in rhythm
with the sidewalks and the walls.
the smell of burnt flesh
hangs in the air....
'Jesus Saves' painted on a fence....

oil rigs and chemical sprays,
fields filled with unmarked graves.
windows broken, doors sway, rusted hinges,
cars abandoned, vacant buildings,
dead bodies, eyes lost stare!

the spirits of the children
sing haunting and low...
words pierce like nails,
the birds hear and weep....
a hand gun, a needle, half pack of smokes....

nobody saves the night from the dawn!
praying for emptiness...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Time How Short

Time, with an unwearied hand,
Pushes round the seasons past,
And in life's frail glass, the sand
Sinks apace, not long to last:
Many, well as you or I,
Who last year assembled thus;
In their silent graves now lie,
Graves will open soon for us!

Daily sin, and care, and strife,
While the Lord prolongs our breath,
Make it but a dying life,
Or a kind of living death:
Wretched they, and most forlorn,
Who no better portion know;
Better ne'er to have been born,
Than to have our all below.

When constrained to go alone,
Leaving all you love behind;
Ent'ring on a world unknown,
What will then support your mind?
When the Lord his summons sends,
Earthly comforts lose their pow'r;
Honours, riches, kindred, friends,
Cannot cheer a dying hour.

Happy souls who fear the Lord
Time is not too swift for you;
When your Saviour gives the word,
Glad you'll bid the world adieu:
Then he'll wipe away your tears,
Near himself appoint your place;
Swifter fly, ye rolling years,
Lord, we long to see thy face.

poem by John Newton
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