To Paint The Moment!
the silent ones come walking,
wearing faces that turned with autumn...
barefoot, and drunk with grace,
their hands tremble, but their eyes are sure.
almost as if unexpected snow,
gigantic flakes clinging to the porch rail.
swallowing all trace of living,
in a vast sea of stillness that hints of hope.
the candle by the window flickers,
shadows stop to give an ear.
the strong scent of the heart lingers,
in things unspoken and undefined.
we shout from corners hidden,
while the tiny carcasses of ants simmer.
and the broom waits with hat pulled low,
for infinity to paint the moment!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Saving Face
She lives the glamour days.
The Euro-fashion phases.
So set another trap some other way.
Cause shes not biting.
And oh no, shes getting wasted again.
Imagine that.
Hooked on saving faces.
What are you thinking.
What are you doing here.
You pretend youre safe inside.
But I know what no one knows.
Were the same.
Undefined by you.
As youre living through my eyes.
Always living through my eyes.
Shes taking over the game.
And always running away.
Theyve tried to tug her in so many ways.
Shes still inviting.
And oh no shes playing bastard again.
Imagine that.
Hooked on pointed fingers.
Are you breathing.
What are you doing here.
You pretend youre safe inside.
But I know what no one knows.
Were the same.
Undefined by you.
As youre living through my eyes.
You pretend youre safe inside.
But I know what no one knows.
Were the same.
Undefined by you.
As youre living through my eyes.
Cause its a union of androgyny.
That lingers like the plague.
Know its still a question of gender.
Imagine shes pretending that shes hooked on saving faces.
What were you thinking.
What are you doing here.
You pretend youre safe inside.
But I know what no one knows.
Were the same.
Undefined by you.
As youre living through my eyes.
You pretend youre safe inside.
But I know what no one knows.
Were the same.
Undefined by you.
As youre living through my eyes
song performed by by Orgy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Candle
A spark flickers
a bright flame glows.
Pushing shadows back
one candle burns.
Within its heart
such strength is born.
Brings the will to persevere
in the darkest hours.
From one burning candle
no matter near or far.
Like a living soul
warm energy flows.
To one who is lost
this tiny radiance
lights a dark path.
It shows the way.
Think of the good
could be done.
Had one the power
of a single burning candle.
06May03
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Walk The Path In Stillness
walking barefoot...
down alleys dark,
while children play
with garbage and broken glass.
past unlocked doors,
through buildings spent,
left for ghosts and tribal memories.
past walls charred by sweat and time,
left to smolder with empty ache....
to the time before the time before,
when living had a name.
under war torn skies,
over bodies strewn,
and left for birds of prey.
down dusty roads,
holding a child's dark hands,
in shadows anguished pain.
the skies aflame,
as if stars died, and every veil is rent.
to the sound of freedom's hungered drums,
and shadowed wings beating fury.
to the barren room,
the mattress on the floor,
frost upon the pane.
where lovers turned upon the spit,
with bodies made of water.
eyes wide open, living thrust,
tongues tracing maps to destiny.
the hardened cock,
buried in soul's wet lips,
while angels silently prayed.
and the candle burned
till the break of dawn,
and moonlight's final kiss...
the barren room of the empty house,
where eternity revealed!
the field once plowed
has now turned brown...
sparrows pick at the dust.
and scriptures written
in hickory rust,
whispers lost to sound!
battles fought, and flags laid down,
cover caskets that wait for dirt.
the little girl's shoe, the old washtub,
the broken pot beneath the window.
while dogs bark, and ants converse,
and hearts are covered with snow.
the faces of god fade into wood,
stacked and thrown into the fire.
be it dream, be it madness,
or the simple turning of the wheel...
the wind turns with a final kiss,
bare feet walk the path in stillness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Soul Confesses...
my soul confesses
to the vast night swallowing
the last remnants of day,
to the unborn child,
unwanted, unnamed!
to the empty grave,
and the dirt praying
for the casket.
to the lover betrayed
by the fear to touch.
to the soul wrapped in cobwebs,
and the heart's body
afraid to be naked.
to the unfulfilled,
the unspoken, and unclaimed.
to the bastard son
of the demon and the mortal.
to the holy infidel,
who tore off his collar.
to the unspoken prayer
of the farmer looking for rain.
to the cell and the gallows,
and the righteous fire.
to the truth written
in the hidden parts of the soul,
to the pilgrim who turned
from salvation to compassion.
and again to the night,
the long night of redemption.
without a trace of regret,
without holding back!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Reflections Of Fire # 2
waiting for the snow
the cleansing frozen stillness
where spirits inhabit fossils
and the earth spins
naked and complete
in each turn.
this old body's worn out!
the turtle leaves its shell,
grows wings, flies into darkness.
lying again at the Mother's breasts,
watching her touch the wind
and create forms!
snow, tiny flakes
falling, defying gravity,
clinging to the windowpane
each a tiny lifetime
melting without a whimper,
melting into the light!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Redemption, And Such!
black coffee and sweet silence,
echoed by the sounds of the living.
walking, air sharp and cutting,
kicking piles of leaves.
what we've forgotten is the moment,
the tiny flame that flickers just once.
the taste of a kiss without thinking,
stopping to tie a child's shoelaces.
the old dog on the porch knows....
the wind knows, the trees confirm!
nothing need be said or spoken,
just breathe deeply, and be aware!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hiding From The Broom!
i walk the paths of stillness
into the setting sun...
in the company of dead poets,
and a few mongrel dogs.
we come to a clearing,
and gather wood for a fire,
waiting on the night spirits to join us.
my hands are broken,
they cling to nothing and no one.
i see with my ears,
and listen with my eyes.
my soul rhymed by darkness
dissolves into dust,
while crickets chant eternity.
i return to an empty house,
curtains pulled, door flung open.
lighting a candle, i sit on the floor,
waiting for death, or morning.
only then i notice the spider,
candlelight tracing the web in the corner.
and in this moment i knew,
of such am i!
a moment, a corner,
my heart just a web...
waiting on love,
while hiding from the broom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Flora of the Eden: Antwerp
Eyes that sought my eyes, an-hungered, as a fire;
Hands that sought and caught my hands in their desire;
Hands and eyes that clipt and lipt me as a hungering fire!
But I turned away from your ecstatic eyes,
But my heart was silent to your eager sighs,
But I turned to other eyes from your imploring eyes.
Hands that I rejected, you were fain to give;
Eyes that for their moment loved me, as I live;
Mouth that kissed me: Flora of the Eden, O forgive!
poem by Arthur Symons
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Books Of Color
autumn leaves falling
in slow spirals to the ground...
books of color and richness,
turning brown, waiting on sleep.
the sea of hungry human faces,
reaching out through the darkness...
books of color and richness,
turning brown, waiting on sleep.
the souls of the weary
fall like tiny flakes of snow
covering the stillness with hope....
for a new spring,
new books of color and richness....
from the seeds of memory
of those that have gone before!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Fragment-2
Wrapped in settling snow from the warm pink
Flakes upon flakes upon patterns and soft geometry
My dad pulls me and sled snow silent
Him the single shape through flake and flake
On getting in home the breath is extinguished
Warmth of different vapours the seer of hot aches
The weight of wet clothes but a discomfort
Sitting and steaming hands in the fire glow
Stars through my window danced upon by rime
Somewhere the full moon shine eases the dark
Covered I lay furtive with an unknown fear
The cold of the space whispered to this hero
The last few nights when through another window
An autumn wind turns midnight into a sanctuary
This turning season places a summons upon chemistry
And accompany its solo even with my ageing
poem by Michael Oliver
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Houses In Motion
For a long time I felt without style or grace
Wearing shoes with no socks in cold weather
I knew my heart was in the right place
I knew Id be able to do these things.
And as we watch him digging his own grave
It is important to know that was where hes at
He cant afford to stop...that is what he believe
Hell keep on digging for a thousand years.
Im walking a line-Im thining about empty motion
Im walking a line-just barely enough to be living
Get outa the way-no time to begin
This isnt the time-so nothing was done
Not talking about-not many at all
Im turning around-no trouble at all
You notice theres nothing around you, around you
Im walking a line-divide and dissolve.
Never get to say much, never get to talk
Tell us a little bit, but not too much
Right about then, is where she give up
She has closed her eyes, she has give up hope
Im walking a line-i hate to be dreaming in motion
Im walking a line-just barely enough to be living
Get outa the way-no time to begin
This isnt the time-so nothing was done
Not talking about-not many at all
Im turning around-no trouble at all
Im keeping my fingers behind me, hind me
Im walking a line-divide and dissolve.
I turn myself around, Im moving backwards and forwards
Im moving twice as much as I was before
Ill keep on digging to the center of the earth
Ill be down in there moving the in the room...
Im walking a line-visiting houses in motion
Im walking a line-just barely enough to be living
Get outa the way-no time to begin
This isnt the time-so nothing was done
Not talking about-not many at all
Im turning around-no trouble at all
Two different houses surround you, round you
Im walking a line-divide and dissolve.
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Moment Of You
small tiny prayers,
passing thoughts,
a moment of you....
maybe just the sunlight
sifting through the blinds,
the wind blowing a branch
against the windowpane.
the sound of the train
on the distant tracks....
the ticking of the clock
in the dead stillness.
a child laughing and talking,
walking down the road....
a sudden pain in my heart,
that lingers, then is gone.
an empty bird's nest
on the ground beside the shed....
a stray cat begging for food....
small tiny prayers...
clouds in the afternoon sky...
water dripping, an old spicket......
a moment of you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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On A Distant Hill!
lover...
broken heart,
you undress painfully,
evolving from soul to self.
turn away from the window,
the moonlight will follow...
to find your breasts weeping,
and the shadows in your void.
tender eyes almost afraid,
to give the only gift
you have left...
you cross the bridge trembling,
your scent hangs in the air.
redeeming the given in given,
the tiny box on the dresser.
i will wrap you forever
in the light hidden in darkness.
your heart the bell,
mine the shell holding echo.
i kiss your feet with desire
while the wolves howl
on a distant hill!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Snow Flakes
as i look out of my window i see snow flakes
blowing all around landing gently on the ground.
the falling flakes set my heart all aglow.
as it makes a blanket of pure white snow.
creating such a beautiful sight.
the snow just like a heart can be gentle to the touch
yet! cold as ice.
if you plan on playing with it you better think twice.
the heart is the most complex part of the human body
it controls the entire anatomy.
so as the snow trickles down and creates a picture of purity.
and its coldness touches my bones
in my heart grows the warmth of a fire
with all of its desire.
to melt the coldness in your heart
just so you could see.
even the coldest of hearts can belong to me.
but when you want true beauty look up to the sky.
it is not the snow flakes coming down
but the love of god which is all around.
poem by Louis Rams
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Snowball War
Snowball War.
Three flakes of snow fell on the village, there might
have been a few more, but those I saw landed on
the roof of the car and I saw them melt to droplets
of clear water. On each droplets a tiny rainbow and
my mother´s face when I called and asked for her to
throw down a sandwich with marge and sugar on.
She did, often- I´m not a football keeper- it landed in
the snow which was more than tiny flakes; so what!
Bread and sugar, I was hungry and fighting against
children who had invading our street. And when my
hands were frozen I came up warmed them by the stow
and remember how it hurts to get the circulation back
into my hands.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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We... (Stoned By The Struggle)
we, who are stoned by the struggle,
whose faces bear the marks of living.
whose hands tremble a little
as we unbutton the shirt...
whose eyes dim still see.
whose bodies smell like bodies,
whose feet need to be washed.
whose hearts whisper in the empty night,
whose souls restless roam the earth.
whose dreams have become the small things,
whose breath smells of brandy and smoke.
whose doors are unlocked,
whose beds are offered...
we, who are drunk with living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Man Standing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
held the earth
in his hands...
until time and storm
finally had their way.
the man standing
in the shadows,
plowed and planted,
season after season,
till winter grey
closed the last door.
the man standing
in the shadows,
built a house
and a bridge...
and swept room and porch
till it was finished.
the man standing
in the shadows,
picked up nests of straw,
and opened tiny cages,
blowing light from cupped hands
till the darkness swallowed.
the man standing
in he shadows,
played a wooden flute,
caught stardust in each note...
till the great stillness came,
and the wind stopped blowing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
still smells like you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Tried To Paint A Fire In The Snow
Red and orange, yellow
Maybe a touch of blue
Paint the sky with fire
And the snow with a barren hue
Can we catch these shadows with our hands
Or will the dusk refuse to play our game
I think the streetlamps want to breathe awhile
Before we fit them with a starry frame
The people pass and nod their vacant eyes
We paint them with a dash of loneliness
The keys for home sit anchored in their pockets
And all the words are written on their breath
The snow is whiter than the stone I found
That summer day in august at the shore
We said it looked just like a tiny moon
You held it till the daylight closed its door
But now the snow is growing cold as dawn
And all its left is pictures we could paint
That show two lovers with a broken brush
You paint a sky that I describe as faint
Red and orange, yellow
Maybe a touch of blue
I’ve painted love with fire
And the snow with a barren hue
poem by Ben Paynter
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Winter Night
It snowed and snowed ,the whole world over,
Snow swept the world from end to end.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
As during summer midges swarm
To beat their wings against a flame
Out in the yard the snowflakes swarmed
To beat against the window pane
The blizzard sculptured on the glass
Designs of arrows and of whorls.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
Distorted shadows fell
Upon the lighted ceiling:
Shadows of crossed arms,of crossed legs-
Of crossed destiny.
Two tiny shoes fell to the floor
And thudded.
A candle on a nightstand shed wax tears
Upon a dress.
All things vanished within
The snowy murk-white,hoary.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
A corner draft fluttered the flame
And the white fever of temptation
Upswept its angel wings that cast
A cruciform shadow
It snowed hard throughout the month
Of February, and almost constantly
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Lingers
The rain is gone,
It's pitter patter silent,
It's accompaniment of thunder quiet,
It's ensemble of lightning dark,
but the smell still lingers.
The soft breeze carries the scent,
A cool night with damp grass,
The animals hide in dry brush,
The people tucked away at home,
The air thick with the weight of silence,
The thunder once so loud and startling,
Now distant and still moving further,
The lightening once so bright and threatening,
Now a distant glow that illuminates the horizon,
The storm has passed.
And like the rain,
you are gone for now,
Too far from my grasp,
For now my arms are empty,
But your smell still lingers.
The breeze from the open window carries your scent,
A cool night with warm sheets,
The restless hearts calmed,
The racing thoughts slowed,
The air thick with new memories and feelings.
The sounds once so crisp and real,
Now the silent rise and fall of chests,
The light in our eyes once so bright and alluring,
Now hidden behind closed lids,
The storm has passed.
The rain now as calm as our dreams,
And the storm as silent as our breathing,
Until once again the lightning will strike,
And our eyes light up again,
But for now, the smell still lingers.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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