En.Citatepedia^®.ro

We Are....

we are the children
of the tears God wept.
we are the names and the faces
of the spirits that roam the night.
we are the leaves that fell
with autumnal passion...
we crumbled back into the dirt,
and returned to our mother.

we are the oaks cut
to build the house.
we are the saws, the hammers,
and the nails.
we are the water,
and we are the well.
we are the cup and the basin,
we are the mirror long cracked.

we are the fire,
and the bodies huddled.
we are the long blackness
of the unnamed night.
we are the book,
and the living words,
the preacher closing the casket,
the shovel, and the dirt.

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Dirt Road

Aint no people on old dirt road,
No more weather on the old dirt road.
Its better than a mudslide, mama, when the dry spell come, yeah,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, old dirt road.
Aint no diffrence on old dirt road,
Tarred and feathered on the old dirt road.
Trying to shovel smoke with a pitchfork in the wind, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Breezing thru the deadwood on a hot summer day,
I saw a lazybonin out in the hay.
I said, ah, hey, mister human, can ya rainmaker too?
He said, I guess its okay, you know the only thing we need is water,
Cool, clear water , (water) water, (water).
Aint no people on old dirt road,
No more weather on the old dirt road.
Its better than a mudslide, mama, when the morning come, yeah,
Oh - oh - oh - oh - old dirt road.
Ah!
Mm, good night.
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
So long,
So long,
Bye, bye,
Bye,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on, keep on, keep on, keep on,
Keep on, keep on, keep on.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Dirt Road

Aint no people on the old dirt road
No more weather on the old dirt road
Its better than a mudslide mamma when the dry spell come, yeah
Oh oh oh old dirt road
Aint no difference on the old dirt road
Tarred and feathered on the old dirt road
Trying to shovel smoke with a pitchfork in the wind, yeah yeah yeah
Breezing thru the deadwood on a hot summer day
I saw a human being lazybonin out in the hay
I said uh, hey mr. human can ya rainmaker too?
He said I guess its o.k. ya know the only thing we need is water
Cool, clear water, water
Aint no people on the old dirt road
No more weather on the old dirt road
Better than a mudslide mamma when the morning comes, yeah
Oh oh oh oh old dirt road
Keep on keeping on
Keep on keeping on
So long, so long
Bye bye

song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Red Dirt Life

So many red dirt roads he’s traveled
Along his long red dirt life
Children born and raised with
His charming red dirt wife

A home was built and furnished
Upon his red dirt land
He’s done the very best he could
Always taking a red dirt stand

Red dirt roads that lead up to
A bridge to the other side
He tries to go right with the flow
Along life’s red dirt ride

And during that ride it seems
There are some pot holes in the road
But he just keep pluggin’ along you see
Just carrying his red dirt load

The streams and valleys continue
Until the end of his red dirt time
And when the sun beats down on him
He loves to see that red dirt shine!

poem by Marilyn Lott
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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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Looking For Tornadoes... (Part Two)

and redemption tastes,
like an old book or our scrotum.
with nothing left behind,
to barter or trade.
standing naked before god,
without a thought of excuse...
bastard trees defiant,
curse the saw and the fire!

and small children whisper
to the trees and the stone.
men with colorless faces,
shovel the dirt.
young girls drunk on cheap wine,
shed a tear and fix their faces.
young soldiers lay down their guns,
and grin with silent understanding...

a moment, a brandy....
and one last smoke!
let babies be born,
let new fathers pace.
let the poor build a fire,
that costs nothing and gives all.
life dances with madness,
and lays down with goats!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Red Dirt Windmill

There are so many wonderful things
You’ll see in a red dirt world
Like windmills of all sizes
Their blades just whirl and whirl

The pasturelands are brilliant
As you see cattle roam around
And still you hear the noises
Of a windmill sort of sound

Delightful old country homes
Built many years ago
Surrounded by red dirt roads
They help the world to flow

Wild flowers growing ‘long side
Those ambling roads so red
That I could travel all day long
Until time to go to bed

If you’ve never been on red dirt
Or seen a Red Dirt Windmill
Just try it and see what you think
You are in for quite a thrill!

poem by Marilyn Lott
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I Walk Alone...

i am the last rebellion,
the fire you cannot control.
i am the faces of lost bodies,
names written in blood.
i am the call to battle,
armed by the heart.
i am the silence that knows,
the darkness that takes.
i am poverty's shadow,
and the language of need.
i am the anger of the beaten,
i am the field forsaken.
i am the tint of skin,
and the color of the eyes....
the song of the shovel and whip.
i am the bones of the old ones,
shaking with rage.
the tears of the grandmothers,
the dirty hands of small children.
i am the soldier imprisoned,
on the streets of despair.
i am the conscience of the murderer,
that haunts the night.
i am the bodies of lovers,
glistening with passion.
i am the child born,
neath a sky with no star.
i am the crucifix and prayer beads,
the hymn known only by trees.
i am the dog abandoned,
rain falling without remorse.
i am the monk self-immoliated,
the cry for freedom unheard.
i am human dignity,
and i walk alone!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mystery House

That door had been shut for years
No sound ever passed its ears
Its eyes were starved, for light,
Inside was just silent Night

Why was it closed, what had it been
Had it some kind of mishap seen
Was it waiting for its master, last,
To free it from some spell he cast

The wood cracked, the metal, rusted
cobwebs on its top vested
' The house of ghosts ',
it was taunted
Little John too knew the house was haunted
Eerie spirits, you could hear all night,
poor Ken, you see, huddled in fright
mother forbade, no one went close
into the death trap, none tried nor chose

' The Winchester House ', it was named once
None gave the manor's house a glance
I believe the house, will forever remain
Yet none its mystery will ever explain.

poem by Vishnu Sampoorn
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All I Need From You Is That You Clean Me, Mama

you lay a mat on the floor
for you to understand dirt and its implications its complications
to the wall
or to the center table and to the rest of the parts of your house,
dirt must be eradicated, that is your rule number one,
so you put lots of mats and rugs, doormats, floormats,
in every door in every corner of the floor

all dirts are not welcome,
it is as though you have studied dirt at length for years,
what is dirt? what are the kinds of dirt? the causes of dirt?
the consequences of dirt? the historical background of dirt,
and your recommendations finally about
dirt
its control and eradication,

you have talked about dirt and how you disliked it,
how you have driven dirt away from this house
how you called they police when dirt resisted to leave
and of course they all were arrested and jailed
without bond
the judge convicted dirt on the basis of those dirty exhibits
and dirty testimonial evidence,

dirt must be poisoned by lethal injection, hanged, electrocuted,
to make them disappear forever
that is your firm belief
your solid conviction

the sound philosophy of
your society

you are talking to me, and i will now tell you who am i really,
my name, the place where i live, my family and how i am related to you,

mother, i am dirt, my name is dirty, my family is dirty,
i live in a dirty place, i am your son,

i cannot step on your doormat, immediately i must leave now
you will report me to the police and i will be arrested
and jailed and even be hanged dead,

all i need is only that you clean me, mama.
now, please........

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Toddlers

When it comes to playing in the dirt
you will find children everywhere in the sand,
but at bathing time every toddler is in rebellion.
When it comes to playing in the dirt
children build astonishing roads and dams
and with soldiers they want to free each other.
When it comes to playing in the dirt
you will find children everywhere in the sand.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Lost Tears (an ode to children of alcoholics)

LOST TEARS

To all the boys who never cried
My heart it weeps for you
Longing for a fathers touch
Slipping slowly out of view

A hand it reached within my chest
And entwined around my heart
With every beat the fingers grew
Until they covered every part

And keys would fumble in the door
What would this dark night bring
And in from the night the tyrant came
The beggars received their king

To bow and scrape, perhaps defuse
To laugh at every joke
Perhaps the tyrant king would sleep
Perhaps we would provoke

With every night the fire dies
Embers of the heart recede
The king is god, he rules supreme
Don't hurt our mum the children plead

And darkness overcomes the soul
Into the night the children flee
And all around the curtains fall
And when they fall you cannot see

Who will rid us of this endless night
The blackness and the shades of gray
For beneath the pillow held so tight
Is not a place where children play

Why do these tears that belong to you
Fall down from upon my face
For once I dwelt in shadowland
Its now your dwelling place

So if you wander in the night
A night within your heart
The true King sees behind your veil
He sees you play the part

Oh wont you come on bended knee
And find the tears you lost
The true King longs to set you free
And that at any cost

Don't you long to see the sun
And feel its warm embrace
A heart of flesh and not of steel
And tears upon your face

My God He is the tears you lost
Living waters from above
He restores the broken and the crushed
With Godly tears of love

The true King wept when you could not
He wept to see His Son
And with those tears on Calvary fought
And now the work is done

Come out from amongst the dead He cries
And He will deal with all your fears
For every time you could not cry
My God He shed your tears

And all these tears He's gathered
And they flow from Heavens throne
And when your swept up in this tide
You'll know you were not alone

poem by Frank McEleny
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Sacrifices

All winter the fire devoured everything --
tear-stained elegies, old letters, diaries, dead flowers.
When April finally arrived,
I opened the woodstove one last time
and shoveled the remains of those long cold nights
into a bucket, ash rising
through shafts of sunlight,
as swirling in bright, angelic eddies.
I shoveled out the charred end of an oak log,
black and pointed like a pencil;
half-burnt pages
sacrificed
in the making of poems;
old, square handmade nails
liberated from weathered planks
split for kindling.
I buried my hands in the bucket,
found the nails, lifted them,
the phoenix of my right hand
shielded with soot and tar,
my left hand shrouded in soft white ash --
nails in both fists like forged lightning.
I smeared black lines on my face,
drew crosses on my chest with the nails,
raised my arms and stomped my feet,
dancing in honor of spring
and rebirth, dancing
in honor of winter and death.
I hauled the heavy bucket to the garden,
spread ashes over the ground,
asked the earth to be good.
I gave the earth everything
that pulled me through the lonely winter --
oak trees, barns, poems.
I picked up my shovel
and turned hard, gray dirt,
the blade splitting winter
from spring. With hoe and rake,
I cultivated soil,
tilling row after row,
the earth now loose and black.
Tearing seed packets with my teeth,
I sowed spinach with my right hand,
planted petunias with my left.
Lifting clumps of dirt,
I crumbled them in my fists,
loving each dark letter that fell from my fingers.
And when I carried my empty bucket to the lake for water,
a few last ashes rose into spring-morning air,
ash drifting over fields
dew-covered
and lightly dusted green.

Anonymous submission.

poem by Richard Jones
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The Hand That Loves

the hand that loves,
is weathered and calloused.
long gifted, now trembles,
but just a little.
wipes tears and fights injustice,
buttons the collar of respect.
takes down your hair,
like rain falling on leaves.
bandages the dog's paw,
lights the fire late at night.
turns the pages of the book,
strokes the inside of your neck.
unleashes volcanoes,
opens the door of the cage.
and sprinkles dirt on the graves,
of those that came before...
softly puts down the pen,
and puts out the candle.
for it belongs to the wind,
to the stars, and your heart!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Perhaps Only Rainfall....

evolution,
or perhaps only rainfall.
kind words given,
dripping from autumnal leaves.
rose petals weep at the funeral,
then drink till dawn.
and old men draw highways,
that lead to the eyes.
destiny, dirty socks
and old coffee cups.
while shadows taste like the dirt,
on the bank of the creek.
the cry of freedom seems bitter,
somewhat hot to the touch.
as the face of the stranger,
dissolves in the mirror.
the sky still as if waiting,
drawn by the memory of wings.
the book on the shelf,
smells faintly of love.
time itself an illusion,
the spirit runs barefooted....
back to the wind,
the tongue behind your ear!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Purifier

Water for shower washes away bodily dirt
Drinking water washes away dirt of body’s internal organs
And cleanses blood
Tears washes away dirt of mind
Thus teardrops carry away sins of all kind
And make people good
And give them the power to control mood.

From the lowermost paradise
Breeze will be blown sometimes
In the uppermost hell
So the sinners living there will be able to cry
And become good people
That’s why they will be forgiven someday or other
But the sinners of other hells
Will not be able to shed tears
Because of extreme hot weather
So they will be punished forever and ever.

poem by Asif Andalib
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The House

They are building a house
half a block down
and I sit up here
with the shades down
listening to the sounds,
the hammers pounding in nails,
thack thack thack thack,
and then I hear birds,
and thack thack thack,
and I go to bed,
I pull the covers to my throat;
they have been building this house
for a month, and soon it will have
its people...sleeping, eating,
loving, moving around,
but somehow
now
it is not right,
there seems a madness,
men walk on top with nails
in their mouths
and I read about Castro and Cuba,
and at night I walk by
and the ribs of the house show
and inside I can see cats walking
the way cats walk,
and then a boy rides by on a bicycle
and still the house is not done
and in the morning the men
will be back
walking around on the house
with their hammers,
and it seems people should not build houses
anymore,
it seems people should not get married
anymore,
it seems people should stop working
and sit in small rooms
on 2nd floors
under electric lights without shades;
it seems there is a lot to forget
and a lot not to do,
and in drugstores, markets, bars,
the people are tired, they do not want
to move, and I stand there at night
and look through this house and the
house does not want to be built;
through its sides I can see the purple hills
and the first lights of evening,
and it is cold
and I button my coat
and I stand there looking through the house
and the cats stop and look at me
until I am embarrased
and move North up the sidewalk
where I will buy
cigarettes and beer
and return to my room.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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Come, Night...

come, night...
night of the holy,
open arms outstretched,
wrapping all that hurts
and burns in cooling blackness.
come, night,
night of the candle lit,
of the curtains blown,
of the silent whispers.
come, night,
night of the glass upturned,
of the laughter of comrades,
of the talking of the eyes.
come, night,
night of the bodies wrapped,
the tongues electric,
the hardness and the wetness.
come, night,
night of quiet reflection,
of soulful introspection,
of prayer beyond words.
come, night,
night of sleep eternal,
of the wind that leaves the body,
and searches the depths of emptiness.
come, night...
let us walk!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Kiss The Dirt

Playing in the dirt
We find the seeds of doubt
Don't water them with your tears
Don't think about all the years
You'd rather be without
Eden lets me in
I find the seeds of love
And climb upon the highwire
I kiss and tell all my fears
Falling down the mountain
End up kissing dirt
Look a little closer
Sometimes it wouldn't hurt
Playing in the dirt
We find the seeds of fun
And we scream like alleycats
Tearing down what we attack
To prove that we are one
Cutting through the night
And we find the seeds of lust
And lose our minds on one intent
These passions never seem to end

song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cat People

See these eyes so green
I can stare for a thousand years
Colder than the moon
Feel my blood enraged
It's just the fear of losing you
Don't you know my name
Well, you been so long
And i've been putting out fire
With gasoline
See these eyes so red
Red like jungle burning bright
Those who feel me near
Pull the blinds and change their minds
It's been so long
Still this pulsing night
A plague i call a heartbeat
Just be still with me
But it wouldn't believe what i've been thru
You've been so long
Well it's been so long
And i've been putting out the fire with gasoline
Putting out the fire
With gasoline
See these tears so blue
An ageless heart that can never mend
Tears can never dry
A judgement made can never bend
See these eyes so green
I can stare for a thousand years
Just be still with me
You wouldn't believe what i've been thru
Well you've been so long
It's been so long
And i've been putting out fire with gasoline
Putting out fire with gasoline
Putting out fire
We've been putting out fire
Well it's been so long so long so long
Yes it's been so long so long so long
I've been putting out fire
Been so long so long so long
And putting out fire
Been so long so long so long
Yeah yeah putting out fire
Been so long so long so long
Been putting out fire
Been so long so long so long
Yeah putting out fire
Been so long so long so long
Putting out fire
Been so long so long so long
It's been so long
Been so long so long so long
It's been so long
Been so long so long so long
It's been so long
Been so long so long so long
I've been putting out fire
Been so long so long so long

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Defiled

spirits wail in the napalm night,
bodies without faces walk deserted streets.
dreams whisper from cardboard boxes,
ants walk with angel's feet.

the sound of mouth's stricken,
deeper than just need.
the soul of fire shudders,
while glass eyed leeches feed.

history written with grave cost,
we are what we have done.
while outside the door anger lurks,
and the bullet seeks the gun!

gods? i think not....
even demons fear to tread.
the hand takes from its own heart,
and leaves the hunger for dead.

bells ring with hollow haunt,
fear drives the nails in the cross.
even tears of blood cannot repair,
what love defiled leaves as loss!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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