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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Molton
Something is taking over
My brain is like a motor
Release me from these binds
Help me free my mind
Everyone's so disguised
Cant find truth in their eyes
Living this masquerade
Everyone's so afraid
Chorus:
To die is all we got
6 feet down our bodies rot
As our souls get released
Next our carcass lays deceased
Can't get it outta my head--8x
This is vituality
Someone Explain to me
I keep on seeing illusions
Of living institutions
Chorus:
To die is all we got
6 feet down our bodies rot
As our souls get released
Next our carcass lays deceased
Can't get it outta my head--8x
Dont wake me I'm feelin fine
I'm outta here in another time
I'm more alive even after I'm dead
Remember me with every breath
I am a holy soldier
I am a holy soldier
I am a holy soldier
I am a holy soldier
song performed by by Vanilla Ice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Molton
Something is taking over
My brain is like a motor
Release me from these binds
Help me free my mind
Everyone's so disguised
Cant find truth in their eyes
Living this masquerade
Everyone's so afraid
Chorus:
To die is all we got
6 feet down our bodies rot
As our souls get released
Next our carcass lays deceased
Can't get it outta my head--8x
This is vituality
Someone Explain to me
I keep on seeing illusions
Of living institutions
Chorus:
To die is all we got
6 feet down our bodies rot
As our souls get released
Next our carcass lays deceased
Can't get it outta my head--8x
Dont wake me I'm feelin fine
I'm outta here in another time
I'm more alive even after I'm dead
Remember me with every breath
I am a holy soldier
I am a holy soldier
I am a holy soldier
I am a holy soldier
song performed by by Vanilla Ice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Who Whisper
we who whisper...
with our feet as we walk,
with our eyes turned inward,
with our bodies that weep.
we who weep...
with hands that tremble,
with quiet desperation,
with our prayers that build.
we who build...
with the ruins of our loss,
with our spirits broken,
with our hearts that bleed.
we who bleed...
with our trials and mistakes,
with our failures to reach,
with our love that whispers.
we who whisper...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Uninterrupted Poetry
From the sea to the source
From mountain to plain
Runs the phantom of life
The foul shadow of death
But between us
A dawn of ardent flesh is born
And exact good
that sets the earth in order
We advance with calm step
And nature salutes us
The day embodies our colours
Fire our eyes the sea our union
And all living resemble us
All the living we love
Imaginary the others
Wrong and defined by their birth
But we must struggle against them
They live by dagger blows
They speak like a broken chair
Their lips tremble with joy
At the echo of leaden bells
At the muteness of dark gold
A lone heart not a heart
A lone heart all the hearts
And the bodies every star
In a sky filled with stars
In a career in movement
Of light and of glances
Our weight shines on the earth
Glaze of desire
To sing of human shores
For you the living I love
And for all those that we love
That have no desire but to love
I’ll end truly by barring the road
Afloat with enforced dreams
I’ll end truly by finding myself
We’ll take possession of earth
poem by Paul Eluard
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Last Living Souls
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Take a gun
Or how you say
That's no way you behave
Just a law, a new begin
Sing a song that doesn't sin
And it grows
Hey, you know
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last to get away to some another day?
Do we know
Well, we know
Doesn't seem to be complete
Are we, are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Get up, get up, get up, get up...
What you say?
Cause all I was on
I got it down wrong
I see myself to get
And the Lord, seeing all now
Can you take us in
The part that comin' on
The coldest man doesn't see it's all
We go to the car
I see you walk to the far
And when you get there do you see
You fit the last you need on me
Cause we're the last living souls
We're the last living souls
Yeah, we're the last living souls
We're the last living souls
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Day Is Done
nuclear fission, sins of omission,
hide your eyes, buy the lies!
hearts gone numb, minds struck dumb,
the flesh dies, stink and flies.
roll down the window, just past tomorrow,
trading souls, fighting for control.
politicians kiss and tell, on the road to hell,
the fire gone cold, nothing left to hold.
broken down, running on empty.
packs of wolves roam the cities.
children's bodies down in the alleys,
nowhere to run, day is done!
nowhere to run, day is done!
the curse of invasion, profitable occasions.
fly the flag, drums and bodybags.
different shades and colors, forgotten brothers,
it's easier to kill, than it is to feel!
the cries and the voices, ghosts of our choices,
rome burns, with every turn!
poverty's needle, almost inconceivable,
blood on the hands, blood on the hands.
broken down, running on empty.
packs of wolves roam your cities.
children's bodies down in the alleys,
nowhere to run, day is done!
nowhere to run, day is done!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Could Bear To Look!
broke down,
system.
faces peeled,
razor knives.
hands cut off,
feet bloodied.
mouths open,
gulping air.
eyes plucked out
by the lies.
souls bartered
for a cup of rice.
flags burning,
bodies strewn.
the well oiled wheel,
turns in spite.
no god,
could bear to look!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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It is our destiny
Sorry it wasn’t your fault and neither yours, it is our destiny that we met in middle of the road, our eyes shack hands, our hearts mumble to each other, our footsteps banded together, our breath touch each other's, our lips sticks, our bodies get merged, our souls winded, then our roads separated, our bodies disengaged, Sorry it wasn’t your fault and neither yours, it is our destiny.
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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On Crumpled Things
the brittle piece of chalk
crumples on the floor from the
hands of an angry teacher
her feet stamping upon
us, fragile and no longer
eager to learn
our first view on the violent
nature of those
monsters behaving
like gods
on crumpled things turning
into powder
in the same manner that
bodies turn
to ash
to dust
but must these gods know
inside those crumpled things and bodies
is the air that they have
not seen
the faces of our souls
passing through the storms and rain
rising to find for once
their homes in the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Breaking Free
The heat begins as the movement starts,
Two bodies, two hearts,
One place, one dream,
The sweat becoming a steady stream.
One against the other skin pressed,
Their bodies together, both undressed,
Together they move, together they feel,
Both wondering how this feeling could be so real.
They lay together fingers raoming, tracing,
Bodies steady, minds racing,
Bothe wanting, both longing.
The feelings so vivid, the so taunting.
Lips roam over features, memorizing turns, dips, taste.
Bodies tangled together, hands laced,
Breathing so uneaven, yet so right.
Together they stay, through the long night.
Moans break through the air,
Into eachither they melt, into their eyes they stair,
Both so lost, yet forever lost in one place,
Skin together as one, as hearts race.
The bodies meet and one enters the other,
Both in pain, both in longng for the other,
Both wanting more, bothe lost in their dream,
as they melt together soft as cream.
Their eyes flash bright and open,
Both hoping, both wanting to feel it again,
Together they smile, love is all they now see,
Their eyes close, their hearts slow, they break free.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Stink
the stink...
human excrement,
starving mouths,
skeleton bodies...
breath short and aching.
blood on the hands,
violent scars that tremble,
in the darkest night,
burning out of control.
hatred fear,
that drives and shatters.
the grip on the cup,
broken, and shaking.
hot love molten,
howl, and moan...
the stars in the sky,
falling like hot knives!
silent prayers,
tongues ripped from mouths,
that move like fish,
praying to the water.
feet walking through mud,
hands covered in ashes.
human hearts beating,
souls rotting with desire!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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City
Living in tenements
surrounded by stone
Living in cities,
never alone.
Bodies moving,
never standing still.
A pace of living
that peace can't fill.
Shuttered in brownstones,
escaping the poor,
must face them eventually
when leaving their door.
For out in the cement
the faces are there
of each city dweller
that breathes dusty air.
Neons flashing
all through the night,
Never quite absent
from their sight.
Garrish, not soothing
reminders each day
that even at night
they don't go away.
Dog-walkers walking,
drug dealers stalking
smells of the city
never take pity
on the homeless sleeping
on sidewalk grates
while high-tech money men
await their fates.
Entombed in tunnels
like zombies in motion,
faces on subways,
devoid of emotion
doomed to ride
under streets of cement
return at night
to their tenement.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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When The Dead Whisper To The Living
When the dead whisper to the living
That they can’t go home again
The living wonder and wait and have no answer
They want to help but they cannot-
The dead whisper and whisper and whisper again
And then cry out at night in the screams of dreams of nightmares everlasting
They ask they demand
But no one ever answers them.
‘You can’t come home again’ says the cliché
And the dead know the meaning of this on their flesh
If they have any flesh left-
They want to return
They want to touch this place again
But they cannot-
How gone are we all then and will we by when we say goodbye forever
To this dear earth and small home
Which we sometimes love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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Epilogue (Part Three)
shivering nails,
black and white coffins whisper.
bodies without heads,
strewn in the sand.
the taste of gunpowder
on my lips.
i bow, but cannot pray!
the sound of the oil rigs,
the coarse rhythm of greed.
take and destroy, take and fulfill!
the cry of sea life,
the gurgling choke,
soon to be the children
of flaccid men.
buildings like bodies,
stripped empty and bare.
the memories smell
of life that once was.
empty, and pulsing,
with the want of need,
no one hears the ghosts within.
hunger and homelessness,
heroin and Jesus.
the shelves are bare,
the mother's eyes are bleeding.
the nameless and unwanted,
cast aside in the storm,
while ghouls walk amid
the rubble of the lie.
sing for me, pray for me,
take my hand, take my hand...
even when i close my eyes,
i still hear, still feel,
the faces of the wind!
and god, if there be,
in each and every tear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Extasie
Sat we two, one another best,
Bodies were left; souls rose and met.
They transacted their love at best.
Struck by the sight of their bodies,
Motionless, the souls asked themselves:
‘Our bodies why so we forbear?
They are ours, though they are not we.’
We are flames and they are matter.
‘We owe them thanks because they thus
did us, to us, a first convoy
yielded their forces, senses to us.’
The souls returned to their bodies,
And declared in solemnity:
“To feel love, we live in bodies.”
29.10.2008
[ Based on the poem with the same title, written by the famous love poet John Donne 1572-1631]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Children Of Love...
sometimes it seems we travel
on long journeys as far away from
ourselves as we can....
before we can find the way
and the means to come home.
often, somewhere in the seasons
of our living, love is like that.
we become so numbed by the struggle
to merely exist, that we lose our
intimate connection....
we lose our sense of taste, of smell,
our very sense of touch...
and it is this loss, if we are lucky,
that redeems us, that strips us
and brings us back to the basic
instincts of our heart...
the storm comes, destroying
all the false images we've worshipped....
yet the rain washes our bodies,
the very bodies of our souls clean....
and only then, naked and vulnerable,
without any props... are we able again
to know love... to feel, to touch, to taste....
and again, through suffering, the candle is lit.
at our best, and our worst, naked...
we are the children of love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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How Wide The Dawn
How wide the Dawn
Is smiling!
How silent-new
The air is breathing!
How raw the sea
Without a wave
Is looking!
And in the night –
Id est last night
How strange
The owl chanteth!
How far, how far
Its cry did seem
And yet
It was so near!
How thrilled the tree
Below my lighted window
And in the night
The solemn night
The owl was still a-calling
To spirits wild
Perhaps
Or long white ghosts
Perhaps!
And in the eyes
Of the pale moon
The lake nearby glistened:
How white
How thin
The rays that fall
In midst of the dark waters!
And from the lake
A soundless sound
Is coming:
For in the waves
And from the waves
There comes a little gurgling
And in the night
In the long night
The owl is speaking, speaking!
Ah! this night – in the night
The people in the house
Are all a-sleeping
I – only I
The vigil, the night-vigil
Am making:
And I
And only I
Will my reward receive
For I
And only I
Am seeing
For I
And only I
Am hearing
And I
And only I
Am feeling!
How strange how sere
The feeling!
How from the clear night
The mist of sudden riseth!
And from afar
Past ten long fields
The cemetery is burning
With the pale light
Of the swift moon
That fall
On every wall
This long, long night!
It seems
It seems
That the cemetery’s open:
And yet
And yet
There is no noise
No sound
But from the yews
A soundless sound
Is coming:
A restless sound
Like souls
This night all-aching
And restless
Restless
At some thing
I am not hearing!
Ha! We on earth
Make prisons
And lodge
Bodies – human bodies in them:
And we on earth
Make cemeteries
And lodge
Bodies – human bodies in them
And the long night
Under the light
Of heaven
How waning-blue
And tight
Is coming!
So:
At long last
We fall into a prison
If not the one
In fine to the other
And at the last
And in the last
We enter our last prison:
And in the night
The long and lonely night
The cemetery is shining!
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Perhaps A Brandy
perhaps a brandy....
the shovel still caked with dirt,
the body restless, turns and groans.
the shade o'er the window
yellowed by mold,
the frail hands of the clock
do not move or whisper.
the scent of love,
lingers and stutters.
the fireplace empty,
the books weep on the shelf.
the old tree fallen
just outside your window,
the barking of dogs,
the prayers of rust.
children without faces
carry the box into the night...
the hoot of the owl,
another mockingbird dead!
moonlight, perhaps a lie,
even the stars remain distant.
nothing dressed in wrinkled clothes,
squats by the fire,
humming an ancient tune.
the spider's web reflected
on the oil tinged dew,
tastes like love remembered!
perhaps a brandy?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Skylark's Message
SWEET little upturned faces,
Poor little hands and feet,
Little eyes that are careworn and anxious
From hunger and want in the street,
Hear ye that skylark singing
5
Like an angel far away?
'Tis bringing to you a message
From the Golden Gates of day.
Ah, little know ye of the meadows,
Poor little blistered feet,
10
Down in the smoke of the city,
Down in the noise of the street!
But it sings of a better country,
Where tired little hearts can rest;
Of a sun that shines for ever,
15
And the love of a Father's breast.
O poor little weary spirits,
I would that ye knew its song,
For the world is very heartless,
And your journey may be long;
20
And ye need such heavenly music
To cheer you in the night,
Little hearts that are now so noble,
Little souls that are now so white.
I would that ye heard it always,
25
That sweet bird's voice within,
When the heart is sad and lonely
In the long, long struggle with sin;
Till a rest comes out of the sunset
For the labouring hands and feet,
30
And a silence has fallen for ever
On the noise and the dust of the street.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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