To Find The Home!
i drink the cup
that is your flesh...
i revere your scars,
your bruises,
the stink of your heart.
the scent of your eyes,
the silence of your ears...
my tongue writes your body
on infinity's glass!
i listen for your voice
beneath the trees.
i feel your nearness
in the hoot of the owl.
i share your anguish
by the silent small fire....
the horse i ride,
bears your name.
i am the ghost of city streets,
the body left for the wolves
on the mountainside.
i am the air frozen with fear,
as the great bear stands
in magnificent fury.
you are the bridge,
the lantern, and the hound.
the purple struck sky
of sunset eternal.
the body that feels,
smells, and tastes like love...
the moan that stills the wind!
this distance but a paper veil,
a wisp of smoke,
the moment before and after.
the call of death,
the threshold of storm...
set the fire...
and walk away!
(sometimes you have to burn
the building down...
to find the home!)
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Just Before Storm (Walking With Rilke)
staring across the chasm of forever,
if my body be the bridge,
then yours,
the cup, the fire, and the lantern!
the wind wrote of love,
before there were humans!
scriptures written in trees,
mountains, and hollowed out caves.
your lips,
breath, and understanding...
your heart,
pure awe!
do we 'speak with the tongues
of men and angels'?
or stuttering fragile words,
repeat the wind?
mountains bow to breast and thigh,
sunset undressing those eyes...
the small place between
wing and body... pure heat!
the wrap of the rain on grasses chanting!
spirits with pens undulating,
the scent of god's perfume,
the moment just before storm!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If.... (A Man)
if i shed a tear,
and wrapped it in brown paper...
and left it on your pillow,
would you hear the ocean?
if i laid my body down,
and became the wind....
that blew out your candle,
would you hear my heart?
if i chose to die,
for one moment of living...
and gave it to you without regret,
would you fly for a moment?
and if i loved you,
enough to turn deserts into rivers...
enough to turn brown leaves to green,
would you listen, would you listen?
and if i touched you,
with hands of fire and storm...
and my tongue undressed your eyes,
would you see me... a man!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Body To Body
Body, body, bo-bo-bo-body, body
Body to body
Body to body
Body to body
Nobody does it like you do
Body to body
I love the way you make me feel
When you do what youre doing to me, oh
Touching me the way you do, you know, know youve got to feel it too
When you bodys next to mine, youve got me hypnotized
Body to body
Body to body
You know I like the way you do what you do when you do it to me, oh
Body to body
Nobody does it like you do
Body to body
You know I like what you do when you do what you do to me, no
Oh, what you do
Flowing through this magic night
I love to feel you hold me tight
You are the one thats right for me
You got me feeling tingaly
Share the night with stars above
I think Ive found this thing called love
Fever running through your eyes
You are my heavenly device
Body to body
Body to body
Body to body nobody does it like you do
Body to body
You know I like what you do when you do what you do to me, no
Oh, what you do
You opened up the world to me
You changed my life so tenderly
I know you are the only one
Youre brighter than the burning sun
Dont know where youre going to
I dont care as long as Im with you
That certain sparkle in your eyes
Has got me feeling oh so high
Body to body
Body to body
Body to body
Body to body
I like what you do when you do all those things to me
Body to body....
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stone Riddles (Carnivore)
carnivore...
the heart
consumes itself!
revenge...
suicide of
the soul.
bridge...
my body,
your body.
edge...
hard line
we walk!
smoke...
burning leaves,
body time.
need...
i feel
to touch!
picture...
i just
cant taste!
coming...
body waves,
lapping shore.
poetry...
fingers undoing
forbidden buttons.
anguish...
words burning,
your doorstep.
shout...
my heart,
yours deaf!
break...
distance down
by truth.
lover...
shells broken,
eggs running.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do Not Threaten Me With Fire My Love
do not threaten me with the fire of your body my love
for i am a man born of fire and shall die of fire
i eat fire, i bathe in fire, i swim in the deepest part of fire
i like to burn in the fire that you start
from your flicker, from the flints of your gaze
i like to see this hearth, this warmth, this conflagration
you with me burning like hell
do not threaten me with the fire of your thighs
for i eat fire, my body is fire, it is alive with its heat
my sweat are the smokes of fire
my end is the char that stays beside your legs
and tomorrow morning when i finally die
when i am put off by your power
you shall find me as burnt residues
beneath your feet
i am the offering of love to life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Ash
do not threaten me with the fire of your body my love
for i am a man borne of fire and shall die of fire
i eat fire, i bathe in fire, i swim in the deepest part of fire
i like to burn in the fire that you start
from your flicker, from the flints of your gaze
i like to see this hearth, this warmth, this conflagration
you with me burning like hell
do not threaten me with the fire of your thighs
for i eat fire, my body is fire, it is alive with its heat
my sweat fumes are the smokes of fire
my end is the char that stays beside your legs
and tomorrow morning when i finally die
when i am put off by your power
you shall find me as burnt residues
beneath your feet
i am ash
the offering of love to life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Is....
the poet is a vase,
collecting tears like rainwater,
with a tiny hole in the bottom,
connecting to the ground.
the poet is a prism,
seperating colors from black and white,
then drawing black and white from colors,
dissolving and evolving.
the poet is an illusion,
that looks and smells like home,
redefining distance by closeness,
finding the familiar in a stranger.
the poet is an orphan,
a messenger, and a thief.
bringing you a lit candle,
and stealing your heart for a stand.
the poet is a carpenter,
building from scraps of wood.
using time rusted nails,
and an eye for dreams.
the poet is a healer,
and the moment you forgot,
on the way to remembering,
who you really are.
the poet is a bridge,
borrowed wings, and a cross.
a simple fire tended by no one,
and ears left behind by god.
the poet is a body,
grown tired in it's dying.
and the small winged creature without name,
waiting to follow the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have No Body....
i have no body...
i am starlight and dust.
i roam fields and pastures,
and pound city streets.
i haunt the owl,
chase shadows into hiding.
i am the howl,
the wolf cannot speak!
i walk through locked doors,
and blow through open windows.
i am the moan,
that startles your sleep.
i burn in the lighthouse,
and walk stormy seas.
i dance barefoot on pine needles,
leave no tracks in the frost!
i have no body...
i am breath hot and hoarse.
the unseen hand,
that travels your body.
the break of the veil,
that causes you to sit up and cough.
the trembling in your hands,
as you light a smoke!
i am not alive,
yet i am not dead.
i carry no chains,
and leave no memory.
would you name me a dream,
or a secret desire?
i am the mark,
on the inside of your thigh!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lover, And The Loved
if the wind could cry
with human tears,
and sing with a human voice...
if rain was the medicine
that healed the wounds,
the balm that freed the scars.
and if fire be the soul,
and wings be the spirit,
would you come with me?
if my body was the meat,
and your heart was the knife,
would we feed a lonely world?
if my tongue was the brush,
and your eyes were the picture,
whose hand would guide the way?
if this day was eternity,
and i was the bridge,
would you walk across the chasm?
and if i died for you,
would you live for me?
as the lover, and the loved!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sent By Sparrows...
if i undress your eyes very gently,
will i find the last vestiges of fire?
did the great wings of hunger
scar the skies of your soulless darkness?
is the screech of the owl
hidden in your tight numbed lips?
does the snail trail of my body,
still cling to your need in the moonlight?
must my fingers fumble with the latch,
and my footprints haunt your sleeplessness?
or am i just the tree that fell
in the fury of the storm?
am i the leaf floating on the still pond?
the things i buried in the small wooden box,
that night beneath the willow.
perhaps among them were you and i....
will the spiders resurrect us?
if i am dead then let it be,
for what's given is what remains.
and the small imprint on your pillow
that smells faintly of me,
is just a bad dream sent by sparrows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Slow Ride
She takes her time when its time to get ready.
Always has her way.
Always leaves me waiting by the phone.
She told me more than once to take it slow,
And I said ok.
But lately Ive been sleeping all alone.
Im not breaking up inside,
Im much to proud to moan.
Baby please come home.
I feel a little lucky so I try to play it cool.
I think she laughs inside.
With the words that burn like fire in my mouth.
Try to be a man like I got the master plan, night out on the town.
Drink and dance and we can turn it out.
Whoa, maybe its how your body moves I just dont know,
Maybe its just the way you move so slow.
(phone dialing)
[hello? ]
[hi its me]
[i thought I told you not to call me here]
[i know I just really needed to talk to you]
[get a clue babe, theres nothing to talk about.]
(click!)
Ask me why I play myself play myself for a fool.
Swear I would do most anything.
Walk a mile to see her smile.
Walk a mile just to rock for a while.
Babe Im thinking with my ding-a-ling.
Whoa, Ive been doing some thinking,
Now I just dont know.
Maybe just the way you move so slow.
Maybe cuz you move so slow.
Maybe cuz you move so slow.
But sitting on the verge of tears does not become my 22 years.
You took my shame, and you took my pride,
And now you gonna take me for a slow ride.
But uh, uh. waiting, waiting on the phone.
Got the words that burn like fire in my mouth.
Come on down reggae style,
Wind up your body like a bass line wild,
Drink and dance and we can turn it out.
Whooooaaaa, Im not going crazy but I just dont know,
Maybe cuz you move so slow. (x3)
Like love,
Move nice and low.
Slowride! (x3)
song performed by by Sublime
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Me Be.....
if your earth is brown and dying,
then let me be the rain.
if your fire is small,
and your body is cold,
let me be logs and flame.
if your soul walks alone,
and your sky is dark...
let me be the wind rapping at your window,
and the candle flickering in your room.
if your heart stands before a chasm,
let me be the bridge, and the lantern.
if your spirit is heavy with oppression,
let my back take the whip.
if the words you speak haunt you in emptiness,
let me be ears, and the cup that's filled.
if death confronts you with the cost of living,
let my living pay the cost....
and if you just need a companion....
i'm already there...
in the dog barking in the night,
the birds singing at dawn....
and the smell of the flower
still waiting to bloom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Back To The Flesh
it is still the warmth of the flesh of the arms and legs
and somewhere between
that make us feel more alive
we are not saints
not angels, we are humans still rooted to the ground
less our imaginary wings
and halos and white feathers
if at all we are meant to be
divine
holy
i touch your body and you touch mine
and set ourselves on fire
the world, in some ways, in its darkness
at noon
or night time, gets lighted with our lust
i call it love, because it feels so right
my blood pumping from my heart to my head to my bottom
to my toes
and i moan, and i sigh, and i think, at a glimpse when i close my eyes
i have seen the eyes of God looking so gently
to the eyes of my soul
inside this body,
my bones did not make the sound of the rattling snake
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Body The Glass!
your fingers the match,
to light this candle...
they tremble as if
memory unsure.
your lips the wine,
this body the glass.
drink long and deep,
before the moment is gone!
this storm will break,
the earth ravaged with passion.
the grain deep in the wood
brings forth leaves from the void!
and love itself,
needs no reason or answer.
the candle chooses fire,
this body the glass!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Weeping... (Betrayed)
weeping...
i know the sound,
the feel, the taste.
the deep intensity
of storm laden skies.
the grey dust
on the building vacant.
the stink of human flesh,
when hunger ripens into need.
the death of oil tainted water,
and smoke choking out the air.
the sudden take of violence,
seems reason never justifies.
the cold clank of chains,
the sobbing dirt of endless fields.
the baby gasping for life
in a room designed by hate.
the old woman dying on a makeshift bed,
rats running across the floor.
the old man left alone,
to read books that resemble life.
the church empty, the alleys full,
the eyes staring at the ground
in the unemployment line.
the hand too poor to be touched,
the body too old to be loved.
the jack-o-lantern face of god,
in a world too stoned to know.
the rope hanging from the ceiling,
the silence when words run out...
weeping...
time betrayed by the hands of death!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Inbetween, We Live!
the human heart feeds...
we are born hungry, born searching,
born needing, born wanting....
left alone on an island...
we lift our beaks to the sky,
gulping for flesh, gulping for air,
gulping for fire....
still smelling of ocean,
and something dark we cant name,
we run into the open,
running, not knowing where.
i cannot live
without the taste of darkness,
the smell of flesh,
and the touch of that
which is hidden...
i shout into the ocean,
and hear only the roar...
i leap from the ledge,
forgetting my wings!
i need a small fire,
and the secrets that curtains tell windows.
my lips need the grain
of soul on soul.
my body burns,
i listen for the prayer of ashes,
ashes that tremble
on the hearth alone.
i need body and eyes,
most of all eyes...
the curve of the breast,
coming and going with the tides.
i need legs and dampness,
conversation without words...
i need to remember
that i am alive.
the quiet walks in the rain,
with god as our partner.
barking with the dogs,
stopping to touch a blade of grass.
the feel of nearness,
the breath of companion....
we are born and die alone,
inbetween, we live!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wildfire
The border of this fire crackled and snapped.
It's undulating movement that moved
All over the earth's body.
It's leaping orange and red intertwined,
This fire in all it's glory made me scream.
It made me heat up, this fire of old and fire of new.
This fire's constant singing made me wonder how it had a voice.
But it did, sometimes lower and sometimes higher, and then
So high.
This fire was nature's mischief maker and he made mischief.
Of all the leaves, branches and trees around him,
And he made mischief on me.
One day I disclosed to all my friends,
This fire was not a true fire.
It didn't burn down anything,
But it so excited me that it did burn my heart.
It excited my whole body and burned through my soul.
This fire just lit up my life.
But this wildfire was no ordinary fire.
This wildfire was my lover.
For this there was no other.
For his mother had named my lover Wildfire.
Watching his antics and speeding around on the playground,
I'll always hold Wildfire tightly in my arms because he's so hot.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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Last Words to Miriam
Yours is the shame and sorrow,
But the disgrace is mine;
Your love was dark and thorough,
Mine was the love of the sun for a flower
He creates with his shine.
I was diligent to explore you,
Blossom you stalk by stalk,
Till my fire of creation bore you
Shrivelling down in the final dour
Anguish -- then I suffered a balk.
I knew your pain, and it broke
My fine, craftsman's nerve;
Your body quailed at my stroke,
And my courage failed to give you the last
Fine torture you did deserve.
You are shapely, you are adorned,
But opaque and dull in the flesh,
Who, had I but pierced with the thorned
Fire-threshing anguish, were fused and cast
In a lovely illumined mesh.
Like a painted window: the best
Suffering burnt through your flesh,
Undrossed it and left it blest
With a quivering sweet wisdom of grace: but now
Who shall take you afresh?
Now who will burn you free
From your body's terrors and dross,
Since the fire has failed in me?
What man will stoop in your flesh to plough
The shrieking cross?
A mute, nearly beautiful thing
Is your face, that fills me with shame
As I see it hardening,
Warping the perfect image of God,
And darkening my eternal fame.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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I Am..... (Feathered Wing)
i am the kiss of the feathered wing...
having no body i walk across oceans.
driven by ancestral blood i go deep in the mines,
listening for the voices of freedom.
i define hunger with faces and eyes,
i unload the gun, and tear down the idols.
i am the maker of mountains,
bare branches bringing forth leaves.
i am the winds of change,
the still small voice within.
i am the womb of the unborn child,
i am the casket, the forever dirt.
i am the groan of the lover left alone,
the shout of the old man's empty room.
i am the stink of poverty,
and the bitter taste of wealth.
i am money burning
on the altars of mankind.
i am the voice of the god
you no longer remember.
i am the touch that breaks down walls.
i am conversation without words,
i am black and white,
both male and female!
i am death unlike what you feared,
i am the bridge you're afraid to cross.
i am the pierced tongue,
and the language of birds.
i am the promised land
deep within you!
i am the wail of justice
during the height of the storm.
i am the storm, and the quiet that follows.
i am the end of human striving,
and the beginning of breath.
i am the price and the cost of condemnation.
i am the scriptures written in the grain of trees...
i am the hand that stills troubled waters.
i am nothing, came from nothing,
to nothing i return!
i am the sight that heals blindness,
the cure for the disease.
i am you...
evolving!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Eternity, And Such...
eternity, and such...
the stain in the coffee cup,
the holes in the old man's underwear.
the rough tongue of a stray cat,
the shadow moving in the alley.
the trail left by the snail,
paper cups blown by the wind.
the blood left on the highway,
the dog dead in the ditch.
the glass shattered on the floor,
the stink of the body
three days after...
the limb torn from the tree
by the memory of storm.
your pillow, my hat,
a shot of brandy in an empty room.
the sound the heart makes...
when no one can hear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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