What Have I To Fear?
if death be but a step,
a flower fallen with silent shouts...
a kiss blown by wind but never lost,
a friend who tends the grave.
a hymn, a prayer, kind words spoken,
a drink at a corner table.
a book placed back on the shelf,
a child's drawing done in crayon.
a door closed, left unlocked,
cattle left in the pasture all night.
an empty bowel, a candle burned down,
a sparrow sitting outside the window.
a shovel of dirt, a broken glass,
boots left in the corner.
the dog's leg cocked,
the fire burned down....
the still darkness waiting on dawn.
the river overflowed,
the cage door opened...
then what have i to fear?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Lost In Eternity!
long shadows cast,
the corner now empty.
the bare branch scrapes
against the window
of the house left vacant.
the desk left cluttered,
as if in waiting.
the candle half burned,
naked without fire.
the woodstove cold as ice.
the gravel drive now virgin,
the mailbox rusted shut.
the yard oozes like an open wound,
in the womb of stillness.
nothing moves, nothing at all!
another world?
maybe it never was!
the rope tied in a noose,
the noose around empty.
the hoot of an owl...
lost in eternity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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Nowhere Lane
we are...
the ink barely dried
on the page,
the cup chipped
on the windowsill.
wood stacked against
the porch,
the shadows on the
empty swing.
the kiss lost,
and the ring.
red dirt dried
on the shovel,
the old boots left
by the door.
the creaking of the
screen door opening,
the box tied and
packed away.
hunger sap dried
on novel sheets,
the half smoked cigarette
lying in the ashtray.
the sound of the empty room,
in that old house on nowhere lane!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Never Sleep On
that book on the shelf,
the one you've forgotten,
waiting in silence,
untouched and unread.
the crack in the window,
rainwater seeps through.
the lamp by the table,
you never turn on.
the axe in the corner,
covered by shadows and web.
the limbs ripped from the tree,
blown by the storm.
that old photograph album,
pictures yellowed by time.
the guitar in the closet,
waiting to be strung.
and the sound of the ocean,
in the shell you never pick up.
the skin left by the snake,
clouds that cover the moon.
the letter you never opened,
the ring in the drawer...
my heart on the pillow,
you never sleep on!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Simplest Of Things...
there is a rare beauty
in the simplest of things...
the door knob tarnished,
the book with the worn cover.
the hallelujah shout of the snail,
rain water standing in an old tire.
the lampshade covered with dust,
the iron sitting unattended.
the child's toy left on the floor,
the hand that always somehow fits.
the old woman's heavy breathing,
the coffee cup stained half empty.
the cry of young lovers from a distant window.
the dog's low growl at something unseen.
the tattered remnants of the robin's nest,
the broken eggshell clinging to grass.
the old hymn sung by the man working his garden...
the swing of the axe, the stacking of wood.
the spider clinging to the outhouse wall,
potatoes laid out in the cellar for winter.
the grave solitary three days after the funeral.
the cat cradled on the step while it rains.
the laughter of a love long in journey.
the cup of coffee shared with the transient stranger.
the prayer of the child, and the room gone dark....
words spoken from the heart with hands and feet.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Gone Is The Light
Every day I wake in my lonely bed
How I wish that I was dead
No more left to be said
A great burden I carry on my head
All I do is question why
No longer pointing my head to the sky
No more wind is in my sail
Nothing more I can fail
I have lost my only friend
In love I fall never again
It is sad but yet so true
Nothing left for me to do
Into the night I'll fade away
For me there's just no more day
All is left is the night
Gone tomorrow the sun light
Darkness surrounds everywhere
Gray are my skies since she's not here
Turned his back no longer I sleep
For my soul no one will keep
As winter’s chill cometh the dawn
Lost all my senses since she’s gone
The darkness cry’s out my name
Hard I find to live down the shame
No longer can I conceal my sorrow
Why must there be a tomorrow
No more comes a brighter day
It just won’t seem to go away
This is a first for me to be alone
I've never been on my own
Gone are the days of my happiness
All is left is pure sadness
No one left to kiss and caress
No longer do I have someone to impress
The darkness I now embrace
For I have fallen on my face
No more to rise it’s the end
For I’ve lost my best friend
That voice I no longer hear
For she’s no longer here
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Funeral Parlor
Sitting in the funeral parlor
On the night before the day
Think i might have left the stove on
Think i might have left the door unlocked
I don't know if
The stores will all be closed when i get out
I don't know if
The chores will all be done when i get home
Sitting in the funeral parlor
Listen to the organ play
What if i forgot the trashcan
What if i forgot to telephone
I don't know if
I wrote the number down in my book
I don't know if
I can stand to stay here one more second
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broken Down
By simon climie & dennis morgan
Everything was wonderful when you were in my life.
Yesterday we were on a roll, baby, then we end up in a fight.
Everywhere I look, I see problems, where I never seen before.
The cracks in the sidewalk, when I get home my key dont even fit the door.
The moon dont shine, its broken down.
The clouds are crying, theyre broken down.
The car wont start, its broken down.
And this shattered heart, its broken down.
My whole damn world, its broken down.
Since you left me girl, Ive broken down.
Stepped outside into the night, I took a walk around the block.
I stopped by the church that I used to go inside but even that door was locked.
So I came back home, feeling so alone, a light had burned out in the hall.
My tv is broke, said Im out of smoke, theres no one I can even call.
Chorus
Said my whole damn world, its broken down.
Since you left me girl, Ive broken down.
Till you come back, come back to me, Im going to be broken down.
Till you come back, come back to me, Im going to be broken down.
Chorus
I mean my whole damn world, its broken down.
Since you left me girl, Ive broken down.
My whole damn world, its broken down.
Since you left me girl, its broken down.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Window Left Open...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces.
the broom in the corner wept.
the box in the closet drew breath sharply,
the book on the shelf turned away.
the bulb in the lamp burned out.
the spider packed up its web and left.
the empty nest fell from the tree.
rainwater gushed from the gutters.
the young boy locked in his room
crawled out the window.
the neighbor's dog barked...
god gathered her clothes,
and put on her shoes.
while warships sailed for another land.
drones killed three women on the way to market,
another baby died without having lived.
another factory shut down,
another church burned to the ground,
so many things said and unsaid.
another chapter, another book unread.
things are not what they seem.
another war on pillows fought by silence,
another day in a land untouched.
old trees pray for lightning,
old dogs wait without fear.
old photographs turn yellow and fade.
old men empty their pockets and die.
even Jesus couldnt wait this long....
they say the good die young.
the thief in the garden steals roses,
that he gives to a girl wearing glasses.
while passion weeps waiting for snow.
and leaves prepare to fall...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces...
the moth flew through a window left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Scent Of The Lover....
i am still water, moonlit and waiting.
i am the crucifix made of fingers,
the letter written in blood.
the fool tripping over windmills,
the beacon from a distant shore.
dust in the corner, dew on the grass,
the eyes of the racoon,
the bat hanging upside down.
the whisper of moss,
the depths of the cave.
the pine tree fallen across the path.
i am the kiss long silent,
the iron skillet, the tin cup.
i am the body of the wind,
without beginning or end.
i am the child alone,
and the woman abused.
the angry man, and the broken glass.
i am the farmhouse deserted,
the voices of ghosts.
i am the spirits of slaves,
who call in the night.
i am the cock and the dawn,
the howl of the dog.
the pilgrim beaten and robbed,
and left for dead.
i am the cry of childbirth,
and the shout of death....
i am the scent of the lover,
that stains your soul!
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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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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When You Left I Did a U-Turn
When you left I did a U-Turn.
And prevented my feelings from yielding.
After being burned I have learned,
Never hop back in hot spots.
When you left I did a U-Turn.
And whether or not you ever return,
My heart has been cautioned...
To stop with a never looking back.
When you left I did a U-Turn.
And prevented my feelings from yielding.
After being burned I've learned,
Never hop back in hot spots.
When you left I did a U-Turn.
And whether or not you ever return,
My heart has been cautioned...
To stop with a never looking back.
With a packing of my things to step forward,
And go...
From a closed door.
To stop with a never looking back.
With a packing of my things to step forward,
And go...
From a closed door.
With a packing of my things to step forward,
And go!
When you left I did a U-Turn.
With a packing of my things to step forward,
And go!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I... Then!
i am... then,
the fallen sparrow,
the broken pane,
the house where no one lives!
the worn out shoes,
the guitar in the closet,
the child with cancer
staring from the window...
the book signed and forgotten
beneath the pillow,
the shotgun in the corner,
eyes painted that hide.
the telephone that doesnt ring,
love stains on the sheet.
the old man trying to bum a cup of coffee,
and the young girl behind the counter
who takes him a cup.
the political prisoner,
his blood on the floor.
the refugee... his blood
on his face!
the heretic who turned away
and found the face of god.
the lover left alone,
the darkness of night.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wasted Sunset
the day is gone when the angels come to stay
and all the silent whispers will be blown away
lying in the corner, a pair of high-heel shoes
hanging on the wall, gold and silver for the blues
one too many wasted sunsets
one too many for the road
and after dark, the door is always open
hopin' someone else will show
someone is waiting behind an unlocked door
grey circle's overhead, empty's on the floor
the cracks in the walls have grown too long
the slow hand is dragging on, afraid to meet the dawn
one too many wasted sunsets
one too many for the road
and after dark, the door is always open
hopin' someone else will show
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Finally Found Forever
i finally found forever...
in the laughter of a small child,
in a raindropp rolling down the window.
in a flower that opened and closed
in one fleeting day.
in the embers of a fire going out.
in the door latch opened,
the shadow walking across the room.
in the old woman dying,
her face peaceful and calm.
in the smile of the young boy cuffed
in the back of the police van...
in the revolver unloaded,
and put back in the drawer.
in the box of clothes
left on the doorstep.
in the cup of coffee shared,
the plate, the fork, and the smoke.
in the moment of eyes engaged,
and talking without words...
in the given without thinking,
the breathe that was felt!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Nowhere Left To Stand!
angels made of dust,
stray dogs, homeless children.
righteousness invades,
who forgives the forgiven?
the hands on the clock prophesy,
and the darkness demands.
god stares back from the mirror,
moves with human hands.
empty houses on fire,
empty hearts strike with fear.
and all that remains,
words spoken, unseen tears.
pay the cost of the choice,
pay the price of a life.
but you cannot learn to live,
till you learn how to die!
faces without names,
names written in the sand.
praying for deliverance,
with nowhere left to stand.
when hatred takes form,
the identity revealed.
what we cannot bear to touch,
and wont admit we feel.
the candle burns on the table,
the self walks before.
we have to free ourselves,
before we unlock the door!
faces without names,
names written in the sand.
praying for deliverance,
with nowhere left to stand!
praying for deliverance,
with nowhere left to stand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Bridge
i stared across the bridge,
lantern held high...
searching the trees and
the shadows for a sign.
the surging river below
made my heart stamp its feet;
the wind blew, almost moaned,
the bridge groaned as it swayed.
taking off my boots,
i crossed barefooted and sure.
looking down, i could not see rocks,
but i knew they were there...
on the other side the damp dirt
felt good to my feet...
i followed the path down,
ever down... a wolf howled!
i came to a clearing,
made out the form of your hut...
dark and still, almost a womb.
i made my way to the door,
my trembling hand on the knob...
unlocked, the door opened.
staring around the darkened room,
nothing moved, only a lone candle
on the table beside the bed.
i could feel the stare
of your hungry eyes...
heard you whisper, 'come here! '
a thousand battles,
and journeys untold,
forgotten in the warmth
of your flesh...
new stars formed
in a limitless sky,
fell and shattered
as we loved!
the groan of the earth,
the moan of the wind,
the fury of storms unleashed.
holding back, holding back,
till there was no return...
dissolving into the fire
of your pulsing depths...
and all of life, finished!
with the morning light,
i found myself alone...
got up and dressed
with the ache and the taste...
as i left the hut,
i turned to see the owl...
set my chin, braced my mind,
and walked to face the coming snow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Scriptures
i read the scriptures written in human faces,
in calloused hands, in bruises and scars.
in the spider's web, in the trail of the snail.
in the pot stained with use,
in the axe and the plow.
in the old woman's silence,
in the broken window.
in worn out boots, and the broken lock.
in the gravel drive,
in the eyes of the hungry....
in the fear of those oppressed by war.
in the dead squirrel's body,
in the nest left empty.
in the prisoner staring
through a window barred.
in the old man's chair,
a dog's turd and a hill of ants.
in the fallen leaf,
in the empty room.
in solitude and stillness,
in the prayer of lonliness.
in trash strewn in the alley,
in the grave unmarked.
in the truth of doubt,
in a puddle of rainwater.
in fresh cut grass,
in the cow fresh milked.
in the lover's touch,
in the dialogue of silence.
in the shovel, the hammer, and the flute.
in the grain of the old tree,
and the woman giving birth...
let us speak of nothing less!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cocoon (Illusions)
illusions...
sand blown by the wind....
the reflection of fire
on the coldest of nights;
the cry of the empty rice bowl.
the violin played in an empty room.
sunlight glaring off fresh fallen snow.
the axe and the boots
standing alone in a corner...
the ticket takers through a glass window....
oil pumping into the mouths
of starving children....
the exploding bombs, bayonets
draped in bright colored flags.
the moment you give,
as if by accident;
and then steal away,
wrapped tight in your cocoon!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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