The Statement We Make!
the statement we make,
be not written on paper...
it is written,
in the tired eyes of the workers,
underpaid, and struggling.
in the hunger of the unemployed,
in the rage of the homeless.
in the walking of the broken,
in the families of dead soldiers.
in the anger of the young,
with no place to turn.
in the seething of the prisons,
and the tomb infested colleges.
in the smoke filled air,
and the rivers full of waste.
in the haunted mines,
behind the wheel of the big trucks.
in the pot standing empty,
in the fury of the poets.
black and white,
male and female,
old and young,
Christian, Muslim, and atheist...
straight and gay,
all standing equal,
feet set with respect.
an army of one becoming many...
demanding freedom!
the statement we make,
with our bodies and souls,
with our very lives...
written in human blood!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
For I Am Human....
i am not democrat or republican,
i am not christian or muslim.
i am not gay or straight.
i am not black or white.
i am not old or young.
i am not male or female.
i am not a believer or a doubter.
i am not happy or sad.
i am not rich or poor.
i am not dead or alive.
i am not good or evil.
i am not sick, or healed...
i am not ignorant or wise.
i am not... i am!
i am all these things,
for i am human,
both divine and common!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Supremacist
I’m a supremacist
But not like black
Or white, female
or male.
I am a black,
White, female
And male
Supremacist.
I am also a Jewish,
Christian and Muslim
Supremacist.
Furthermore I am a heterosexual,
Homosexual and bisexual
Supremacist.
And let me not forget I am a Disabled,
Able body, young and old
Supremacist.
A Supremacist is a person who believes in
or promotes the supremacy of a particular
group.
I believe in and support the human race so
I am a supremacist of all.
Class Warfare,2011
class warfare?
you've hidden this one
well for years!
black and white,
red and brown,
northern, southern,
immigrants, prisoners....
male and female,
Baptist or Muslim,
old and young....
all human!
all hearts beating!
all have red blood.
there are only two
classes of people!
the 10 per cent
that own everything,
that own us...
and the 90 per cent
of us that are in bondage.
guess what! we've opened
our eyes! we're gonna
quit fighting each other!
now we're gonna turn our
anger on you!
every human being,
every single one,
should have equal rights
to work and eat and take
care of his/her family.
there shouldnt be hungry
children in the 21st century!
we shouldnt have to settle
for handouts and homeless shelters.
there is no reason to invade
other countries, to bomb them
and 'liberate' them at gunpoint!
war is a lie, and we're not
buying it anymore.
it is time for the human family
to be a family.... we wont accept less!
share the wealth, share responsibility!
NOW!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Notes On Respect
when i meet you, and stand up
to look you in the eyes and shake your hand...
i dont see a white man, a black man, Hispanic,
Asian, or Native American...
i dont see male or female,
learned or unlearned, rich or poor...
i dont see Baptist or atheist, Muslim or Buddhist,
Catholic, straight or gay...
i see a human being.
i choose to respect you.
and expect the same from you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Do They Come Clean?
at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?
homeless people, young girls
sold on the block,
hungry children, AIDS victims,
gotta watch your stocks.
black and white, brown and red,
gunfire and poverty;
kids afraid to go to school,
aint no profit in honesty.
SUV's, invaded countries,
oil doesnt buy liberty.
the takers take, the hurting weep,
at the cost of dignity.
politicians lie, preachers sell
narrow minded philosophies.
prisons full, bodies in the street,
the faces of reality.
smoke fills the air, oil fills the seas,
trade the future for the fix.
unemployed standing in line,
faceless numbers, brick upon brick.
close your door, shut your windows,
turn up the sound....
of anger, despair, and loss....
cries for help as they drown...
tell me....
at the end of the day,
when we wash our hands,
do they come clean?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cynicism, and Hope
as i grow older
my cynicism grows...
i've grown tired of paper kingdoms
& dreams that end
with the taste of blood in my mouth.
i do not believe that
God lives in synagogues & churches,
or in the exhortations of evangelists,
or in the rituals of priests...
or in hell-fire & damnation,
the sword of judgement, the end of time,
or in holy graves...
i see God in the eyes...
the eyes of small children,
of homeless men beneath the bridge...
in the eyes of young lovers
madly lost in each other...
in the eyes of the old woman dying
in the empty house where she raised her children...
in the eyes of the activist arrested
& confined to a cold cell for believing
in human rights...
in the eyes of the addict
whose life is lost in the hole of the memory
that the needle fills...
in the eyes of dead soldiers
forever staring into the rage of war...
in the eyes of those struggling to survive
drowning in the despair of cold reality...
in the eyes that stare at me in the night,
& wont let me sleep without feeling...
in the eyes of the dog lying faithfully at my feet,
with no need to be anywhere else...
who is this God? of form & formless,
of light and shadow, dissolving, redefining...
who's not always male, but often female!
not owned, and not owning....
like the waves that carve the shore,
& leave it nameless...
(hungry for the footprints
of human desire!)
not aloof, but immersed,
almost drunk with sadness & joy...
not bound by dwelling or canyon,
but as free as the wind
that cant be spoken!
do i believe? yes! madly! ecstatically!
in life, & stillness, & even death!
in the song that takes no prisoners,
leaving dew in the parched grass...
& in the Lover who opens & closes the door
of eternity in the human heart...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If You Need Scriptures....
if you need scriptures,
read the scriptures written
on the walls of your soul!
read the scriptures written
in trees, in rocks, in rivers.
read the scriptures written
in the broken alley.
in the homeless man's eyes,
in the addict's desperation,
in the shuffle of jobless feet.
in the cry of the newborn baby,
in the lovers moan of fulfillment,
the scriptures written
in the sweet darkness of night,
in the jail cell,
in the picket line,
in the monk who sets himself
on fire for freedom and justice,
in all the colors of equality...
in the hungry child's hand reaching out...
read them, know them, be them!
life testifies to the living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Too Young To Die
Written by jay kay and toby smith
Everybody, dont want no war, cos were all too young to die
Many people, all around the world now, seen their brothers fry?
Whats the motive?
In your madness youve made my people cry
So politicians, this time keep your distance
Cos were too young to die
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die.
Whats the answer? to our problems.
I think weve gone to high,
Little children never said a word now, but still they have to die
It wont be long, dancing like we do now,
To put this sad world right
So you dont worry, suffer no more,
Cos were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die.
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die.
All gone when they drop the bomb.
Can politicians reassure? cos here I am pressuming that nobody here wants a war.
Theres so many people praying just to find out if theyre staying.
But lately, stately governments and disillusioned leader,
So full of empty promises but rarely do they feed us,
Put our backs against the wall, or dont we count at all.
Can you decide, are you mesmerised.
Do you know which side youre standing?
Cos when it falls gonna take us all.
Gotta know what were demanding, I never lie, cant hear you cry,
Coming from on high,
Were too young to die!
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking For The Promised Land
we march together....
the homeless, jobless,
the sick and the hungry.
the victims of poverty,
racism, discrimination, and abuse.
black skin, white skin, brown skin all...
people of all nationalities and languages,
male and female, straight and gay.
people of all religions, doubters and atheists.
those who've been imprisoned,
or who've been used up and spit out
by the system.
young and old, with families and alone,
angry, honest, forgiving, demanding...
the chosen people, looking for the promised land
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Anger!
early morning anger,
raw, jagged edges,
cant-feed-my-family,
cant-pay-the-rent....
anger!
pounding my fists
against a stone wall,
anger!
working, scuffing, trying
to just get by...
anger!
just like so many others,
all of us, struggling
just to keep going...
anger!
standing up, marching,
sitting down, making a statement,
anger!
turning this anger
into positive action...
the key!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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This Poem Should Have Been Written Long Ago By Someone Else
This poem should have been written long ago by someone else
They should have said what needs to be said
Clearly and yet beautifully
They should have known what to do with their words and their intimations -
But instead I old I tired old I I with the I I I always I’ing
Have to write it again-
This poem should have been written by someone else
The way I was when I was young
But even then probably it should have been written by someone else
Younger happier stronger wiser more courageous able to give and inspire others to love life more and make it more good and more beautiful
A real poet a great poet should have written this poem
And then it would be one
Even I would try not to forget.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Howl (The Returning)
black eyed, hungry teeth,
souls drawn tight through a needle.
displaced, desolate,
lives packed on borrowed trucks.
padlocked doors, Wall Street roars,
dead soldiers coming home.
street corners, somebody's daughter,
selling shadows wrapped in dreams.
religious freaks, hangman's noose,
dark glasses see only white!
Christians and Muslims, russian roulette,
hollow threats and doomsday lies.
starving children, doors locked,
faces turned away.!
oil rigs pumping, dry humping,
the earth screams, 'it's rape'!
protesters marching, riot squads,
take away your rights.
prisons full, hard degrees,
anger has a price!
lovers meet, passion burns,
scars left by point of change.
wild eyed addicts, guns in hand,
taking what they need.
the righteous wake, it's too late,
their enemies their brothers.
mountains crumble, trees fall,
rivers full of sludge.
war cries, patriot lies,
grease the grimy wheel.
suffocate, dedicate,
dead bodies to the ground.
faceless rise, tired of lies,
too damned hungry to care.
common folk, dressed in black,
lift unspoken prayers!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broken Heart
Nothing to tell, lots to feel
Past leaving piercing pain
Standing here heart-broken
Fear to sleep, dreams are dreaded
Dear to none walking all alone
Standing here heart broken
Fragrance stinks flavor stirs
Music causing migraines
Standing here heart broken
Anger roars hunger snores
Acts of madness musing all
Standing here heart broken
poem by Somanathan Iyer
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In The Stone
Maurice white, david foster & allee willis
I found that love, provides
The key-unlocks, the heart and souls, of you and me-
Love will love, to sing your song,
Love is written in the stone
Every man, I meet is walking time-
Free to wander, past his conscious mind,
Love will come, and take you home-
Love is written, in the stone
Do you believe, my friend, in what you claim, people of the world,
All doubt the same-bringing questions
Of their own-truth is written,
In the stone
In the stone, youll find the meaning
Why youre not standing tall
In the stone
The light is shining, forever touching all-
Life experience a passing day
Time will witness, what the ole
Folks say-getting stronger every day
-strenght is written in the stone-
Deep inside, our hearts for us
To keep-lies a spark of light that
Never sleeps
The greatest, youve ever known-
Yea is written-
In the stone
In the stone, youll find the meaning
Why youre not standing tall
In the stone
The light is shining, forever touching all-
Never, never my darling, never youll
Be alone-forever, ever my darling
True love is written in the stone-
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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War Never Solves Anything
Of battles won and noble soldiers you hear the old balladeer sing
But war only brings death and suffering and war never solves anything
And the mental scars of war keep festering long after the battle does end
You badly injure or kill someone's loved one that person will not be your friend.
For God and the flag of their Nation too many in battle have died
And the Government honour war heroes in their false show of patriotic pride
But the fact is their young lives were wasted and the fact with us sadly remain
That old battles are never over and for old grieviances human blood spilt again.
War weaponry and explosives big business in a World where human life is taken cheap
By some a human life seen as of no more value than that of a cow's or a sheep
From history we have not learned the war supposed to end all wars long gone
Yet every day more violence and terror and war and war mongering lives on.
Of battles won and acts of war bravery so many songs written and sung
And war instigated by old men must always be fought by the young
But the song for the young dead war hero to the hero's mum to it has a bitter ring
And war is a waste of human life for war never solves anything.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poem Can Be Written Anywhere, Anytime
A poem can be written anywhere, anytime-
A poem can be written too early in the morning
While waiting in Talpiot for ‘Rami Levi Supermarket’ to open-
It can be written in one’s head in a frozen Army barracks in Beit El
Or in a small room on Rav Berlin St on an old Smith- Corona
In the first happy years of one’s marriage-
It can be written for years from Haganah St. in French Hill
In the family years and the lonely ones
It can be written walking by the sea in Tel Aviv
With small children in hand-
It can be written on the same shore years later when one’s life has been broken
By Love’s desertion-
It can be written in old age on Rehov Shahal in Givat Mordechai
As one takes joy from the birth of one’s first grandchild-
A poem can be written anywhere anytime-
I have been writing my poems in Israel
For more than half a lifetime-
May those too
Who come after me
Read and Write Poetry here.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Remember You
Well theres a colour picture
In my mind.
Of all the places
That Ive left behind.
The broken windows
Where the wind blows through
Empty shells of houses
That have turned to ruin.
Oh - we were so young.
We didnt realise
Just what wed done.
Oh - we were too young.
And I remember you.
You were the back yard boy.
Hiding in the wreckage
Of broken dreams.
Standing by the railway line.
Standing.
Oh - we were so young.
We didnt realise
Just what wed done.
Oh - we were too young.
And all the sweetness
Has been taken out of this place.
So many memories
Are knocked down or replaced.
And I cant stand to see
The shifting time
Taking me further -
Leaving you behind.
(chorus repeats...)
song performed by by Eurythmics
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Written in Black Ink
Upon
The tear-stained
Paper
She writes
Writes,
Her story
Her experiences
Her life
Written in
Black ink
Upon
The tear-stained
Paper
She writes
Writes,
Her sorrows
People she lost
People who are gone
Written in
Black ink
She writes for
Days and
Days
Until
At last
Her masterpiece
Is finished
Her eyes Begin to
Close and
Oblivion Takes hold
And when she
Awakens
Her story will be written
Written in black ink
poem by Autumn Winds
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On The Road To Gethsemane
on the road to Gethsemane...
i pass burned out buildings,
farm lands scorched by the bombing.
i pass the skeleton bodies
of young children who starved.
i pass the unmarked graves,
of young boys sent to war.
i pass the flag of the liars,
and the tents of mourning.
i pass vacant factories,
and houses left empty.
i pass through cocaine streets,
where all flesh is for sale.
i pass the unemployed masses,
and their desperate eyes.
i pass the baby born unwanted,
and the prison's stink.
i pass empty churches,
and hollow ringing bells.
i pass families broken,
and peoples enslaved.
i pass the moral guns of prejudice,
rank with immorality!
i pass the crippled, the sick,
and those desperately alone...
these tears of blood
are human tears,
this cross we all bear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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