This Temple!
the walls of this temple,
so soft and plush,
made from the skin stripped
from the bodies
of the dead and conquered.
gold plated offering plates
made of the tiny hands
of the ones we let starve.
prayers hang, like the broken necks
of those we executed for color.
scriptures lost, like the children,
to a place no one reads...
the organ pumps, oil rigs regurgitating,
the Wall Street priests perform
like circus monkeys in hell....
the god of the dollar waits for no one,
the register rings, redemption,
food crumbs falling from the faces
of blackened souls without identity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Blackened...
blackened steel...
blackened faces,
blackened hearts,
blackened roads...
blackened eyes,
blackened dreams,
blackened prayers,
blackened gods...
blackened memories,
blackened fingers,
blackened windows,
blackened rooms...
blackened thoughts,
blackened nails,
blackened shovels,
blackened tomb!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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What Color? (Hope)
what color
was the dust
from which the stars
were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?
what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....
the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?
what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?
what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?
what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?
what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?
nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?
and what color is hope?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Gather.....
i go to the place
where dead people pray...
i walk the stark streets,
struck dumb by poverty's tongue.
i follow voices into alleys
clothed in broken glass.
i lick the scars off buildings
where rats gather to dance.
ghosts never chant, 'i am black, i am white'...
they moan and simmer with calloused hands.
there are no heroes, no martys, no priests...
only the small boy in the doorstep,
with a broken kite.
who are we, who are we?
the sweat stained pelvis thrusts.
while armies gather to feed the crows.
and gods shatter into pulse and need,
orphans walk the womb lost without sight.
the heroin needle, the nuclear strike,
at the crossroads of hell,
just past the end of time.
we gather neath oil rigs
and lift unholy hands...
eating the flesh of our children,
in the name of god!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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American Slaves
blatent mediocrity, constant uniformity,
tongues pierced with an anvil.
eyes fogged from realization,
minds trained for situations,
paper hearts, electric candles.
cry of desperation, self becomes a nation,
stepping over bodies without heads.
the newscaster plots his story,
selling condoms in purgatory,
fanning the flames o'er the dead.
ghosts in hell, souls without conscience.
take another pill for deliverence.
children buried in unmarked graves.
oil rigs pumping, American slaves.
flag waving, constant craving,
neon lights blink on and off.
sex heals, addictive thrills,
money dressed in naked bills,
drool on the chin, barking cough.
color fears, political cures,
families lost to the raging sea.
morals traded, hard and jaded,
the sick are shunned, the poor are hated,
only the few can afford to be free.
ghosts in hell, souls without conscience.
take another pill for deliverence.
children buried in unmarked graves.
oil rigs pumping, American slaves.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dead Prayers
hearts trek
feet travel to the road
leading to unknown tombs
forgotten by the winding clocks
never remembered by the heart
and troubled souls
reach the unpainted walls
of a moss decorated crypt
and the dead souls
shouts dead prayers
only the dead can understand
what are halloween prayers anyway?
for uncaring bones
became stout by the earth
addicted by the rain of forgetfullness
and drugged by dreams gone wild
of wisdom lost
in a maze of unknown heavens
in a hell never found..
yet it is Halloween
so hearts still murmur
souls still recite
dead prayers for all
dead souls
encaged on dead tombs
poem by Villiamor Calventas
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Dead And Broken
Too many things I've never spoken
I'm not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
That'll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
How many different faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
I'm dying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
Sorry to see that you're underestimated lately
I'd rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gods Of War!
you have made your gods
in your own image.
and so you follow war
to the brink of your own
extinction!
yet the mouths of the souls
that you starve and slaughter,
speak the names of the god
that you've forgotten!
she answers with faces,
faces you choose not to see!
you dig the graves of your children,
to feed the beast within!
you arm yourselves with moral justice,
dress the lie in prideful prejudice.
but the howl in the night
is not the wind!
it is the cry of the blood
on your hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Way To Success
how many bodies
lie beneath your skyscraper world?
how many broken hands
and broken feet,
every time your stocks go up?
how many faces lost
with every gallon of gas you pump?
how many children are buried
in the vaults of your banks?
how many cries of hunger?
and how many tears?
how many of the silent dead
do you pass on the way to success?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Day After Greed
walking the greying streets,
between the broken down
and vacant buildings....
through the alleyways..
concrete graveyards...
the hint of smoke hangs
in the air.... the stain of soot,
the taste of death... lingers....
i closed my eyes and saw
the bodies... strewn in the street
like trash blown against a fence...
eyes wild, faces contorted, ...
death, and it's brothers and sisters...
storefronts dark and ominous,
gas pumps stand alone like angry
sores, oozing into the emptiness.
great black birds fly, casting shadows
that search for tiny particles of light....
stray dogs roam in packs,
hungry for flesh!
only the sound of the great
oil rigs pumping in the distance....
an old tattered flag blown
by a cold infidel wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Food For Thought
Milk and honey
Your lips are milk and honey oh oh
Overflowing
You get my juices going
Sweet and tasty
Your love is sweet and tasty oh oh
Skin so creamy
Your bodys soft and dreamy
Food for thought
You give me food for thought
Filling me up with your love
I cant control my hands
Champagne kisses
You give me champagne kisses oh oh
Cool my passion
Slow down my fast reaction
Hot and spicy
Your love is hot and spicy oh oh
Somethings burning
Down in your life Im turning
Food for thought
You give me food for thought
Filling me up with your love
I cant control my hands
Food for thought
You give me food for thought
Oh dont let me down
Ill starve without your love
Starve without your love
Starve without your love
Starve without your love
Starve without your love
Starve without your love
Somethings cooking
I know that somethings cooking oh oh
In your kitchen
I feel my hunger rising
So feed my senses
Come on and feed my senses oh oh
Im not starving
I need a second helping
Food for thought
You give me food for thought
Filling me up with your love
I cant control my hands
Food for thought
You give me food for thought
Oh dont let me down
Ill starve without your love
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bible Stories: Daniel, Bel and the Dragon
When King Astyages died,
Cyrus of Persia became king;
Daniel was his honored companion.
The Babylonians’ idol was Bel;
Each day, they offered twelve bushels of flour,
Forty sheep and fifty gallons of wine;
The king too worshipped Bel;
But Daniel worshipped his own God!
When the King asked Daniel,
‘Why don’t you worship Bel? ’
Daniel answered he didn’t revere
Any man-made idols,
But worshipped the One, living God,
Who’d created heaven and the earth.
The king asked him, “Isn’t Bel’s a living God?
He eats and drinks each day”
But Daniel told him not to be deceived;
The idol was just inner clay,
And outer brass that never ate nor drank.
The angered King ushered the priests,
And ordered them to prove
That Bel ate /drank each day;
If so, Daniel would die for blasphemy;
If not, all of them would be killed;
The priests agreed to prove the same;
There were seventy priests, their wives and children.
The king entered the temple;
The priests asked him to place the food
And wine himself, and shut the door,
And seal it by his signet ring;
The priests didn’t care as below the statue,
They had a secret route through which they went
In and out, devouring the offerings.
When the food had been placed,
Then Daniel sifted ashes all
O’er the temple-floor;
With the help of servants,
in the king’s presence and left;
The door was sealed by the king’s ring.
At night, the priests and others secretly
went in and ate everything;
Next day, the king with Daniel came
And opened the sealed temple door,
But found that the food had vanished!
The king shouted aloud to Bel,
“You’re great and undeceiving God.”
But Daniel laughed and showed the king
The footsteps on the temple’s floor;
The king agreed that it was that of
men, women and children.
The enraged king then seized the priests
They showed the secret route;
They were all put to death;
The king gave Daniel the temple of Bel;
Daniel destroyed both Bel and the temple.
The Babylonians revered a dragon;
The king asked Daniel, “Isn’t this a living God? ”
But Daniel said that he worshipped
Only his one, living God;
If permitted by the king,
He would slay the dragon
by sword or club.
So, Daniel fed the dragon
Cakes containing pitch, fat and hair;
The dragon consumed it all
and burst open dead!
The angered Babylonians
Spread word that the king had turned a Jew;
They demanded that Daniel
Be put into a lion’s den;
Compelled, the king did as they urged.
Daniel was inside the den
For six days with seven lions;
The lions were not fed anything;
They were denied the daily food
Of two human bodies and two sheep.
The prophet Habakkuk was in Judea;
While taking food to the reapers,
God sent an angel to him
And ordered him take dinner to Daniel;
Habakkuk told he had never seen Babylon,
The angel took him by his crown of head
And put him aloft the lion’s den with the food;
The prophet shouted to Daniel
To come and eat the food given by God;
Daniel thanked the Lord for his remembrance.
On seventh day, the king went to the den,
He thought that Daniel would be dead;
To his utter surprise, he was alive;
He took him out and praised
The one living God of Daniel.
He threw into the lion’s den;
All those who plotted against Daniel;
Immediately, they were all killed
And devoured by the hungry lions.
(4-11-2007)
poem by John Celes
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Book of face
My words are carried to scentences around the world, in a book, screened with faces - In my dreams, i scream to wake, my blood was raked - My prayers are real, why am i fake - The rainbow destroys what is left to my fate, my faith, lies in the gun - Forfeit to my hate, the bullets - By the speed of sorrow, lead shatters, which are bones broken, waisted marrow - The night, the creep, my darkness weaps - My brains on the wall, is what my reaper reaps - A mind to the wall, death made her call - My voice rings the bell, beneath the gates of hell - Do not be a tool to the fool, kindness is cool
poem by Unic Cjonr
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A Sparrow's Thoughts.... (Number Five)
god doesnt live in 'holy books',
in doctrines, in denominations,
in churches, in certain countries,
in the color of skin, in the form
of government....
she lives in the faces of the children
that you bombed, in the frail bodies
of the families you left to starve,
in the raging silence of the young
man who hangs himself because he's
been discriminated against...
if we say it's not our concern,
that we are not personally responsible,
then we are liars!
and not worthy to speak of god!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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White Wedding
It’s a lovely church
And a lovely day to be inside one
As it’s raining and there’s a wedding.
The organ plays the soundtrack.
I inspect the guests.
The search for people I know
Interrupted by hats with their own postcode.
And noise made by bored children.
The wedding party arrive
And the bride is bonny
And the groom, calm.
The hymns are sung, joyfully.
Vows are made, rings exchanged.
The register is signed and witnessed.
A fine baritone entertains.
So what if there is
An elephant trumpeting in the aisle.
Since honesty is the only impediment,
Let them have their day.
poem by Fiona Lochhead
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O My Soul...
where have you gone,
o my soul...
where have you gone?
are you lost in the tears
of a thousand faces
blackened by hunger?
in the cries of the dying?
of the homeless?
in the defiant feet
of those standing in line?
the unemployment line?
the soup line?
the line just outside
the prison walls?
in the lover left desperate,
who takes his own life?
in the students beaten,
who stood up for freedom?
in the young man hated,
for the color of his skin?
in the young woman sold
on the lonesome street corner?
in the windowless offices
where lives and deaths are decided?
in the hole behind the gun,
eyes hard as steel?
in the bare apartment,
where the children are cold and hungry?
on the corner, 'neath the bridge,
in the back of the car?
where have you gone,
o my soul...
where have you gone?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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
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Introspection
Living against the food amnesia
gold bricks call for austerity
in passage of the hunger.
Canons hanging in their necks
it was the silence of death.
Whispers were floating in night.
The bodies will free us from
gold cure, tasting the forbidden salt
of stale lead of spices.
We will forget the color of lips
when you cry. Time falls
like a dead sparrow on faithless head.
When you hold a hollyhock
I look at the crescent moon
who was taking a shower after disrobing.
poem by Satish Verma
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Dead & Broken
Too many things Ive never spoken
Im not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
Thatll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
How many faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
Im dying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Sorry to see that youre underestimated lately
Id rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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finding God
the souls of my ancestors are angry
they were telling me inside my nightmares
the souls of my friends are worried
the mouths of my living acquaintances are angry
the priests and mother superiors
the church layman are impatient
with my quest that why at the age of 49
i still confess
that i have not found the way to God
i confess my doubt
but i am not at all the infidel that must be burned at the stakes of disbelief
i have seen all of you
entering that wide and gold-plated doors
all ready-made by the Church of Rome
i have seen all of you march boldly on that wide and steady road
of Dogmas
all prepared by those in Authority
like an instant coffee
inside my heart i still look for that narrow road
via the check-points of suffering
i have seen the bleeding blood of martyrs
decapitated heads, thorns on their heads, crosses with dead bodies
still hanging,
i have seen the tortures and the beheading
of the saints
i have seen the angels without wings crying for justice
that way, i am heading,
and this way, i am having a hard time understanding you
My Lord.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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