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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Related quotes
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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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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Through The Veil for Dave Walker
there's a light
in the window
of the house
forgotten by time;
a book on the table,
unopened.
footprints on the floor
covered with dust.
a cup in the sink
half-empty.
the wind blows
curtains grey with time....
whispering, whispering....
names that cannot
be heard.
voices, echoes,
creaking the floor.
a book of photographs
on the closet floor.
walking through the mist,
the fog and the shadows,
touching small particles
of being left like gifts....
lives unwrapped into mine!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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Lost In Echo.....
you cut off my thumbs,
strung them on a necklace.
split my tongue with a razor,
and burned my shoes.
now i go howling,
in half darkened rooms.
drawn by the scent and the symphony,
of red pulsing blood!
you arched your back,
and the curtains trembled.
the vase full of water,
fell on your pillow.
i awoke from a dream,
my lips dry and aching.
moaned without thinking,
the willow bent, and sure!
who are we? the forgotten,
the silence lost in echo!
the tire worn thin,
the key left in the lock.
the bottle near empty,
on the edge of god's table...
the drum in the closet,
the nest blown by the wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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No Difference
i stared out the window
at the bare frozen limbs
of my favorite old tree...
i closed my eyes...
saw leaves bud forth
and turn green...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i stared at the young girl
reading at a corner table
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old grandmother
washing dishes with her grandbabies
playing in the floor at her feet...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw the young man
carrying his son on his shoulders
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old man standing
by his son's casket
draped by a flag...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw an old man
standing on the corner begging
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy
playing ball in the street
laughing and dodging cars
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a crack head shivering
by an electric heater in a bare apartment
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young a/g student
helping some kid with his math
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a desperate girl
walking the streets
looking for a john
i closed my eyes...
and saw a young girl's room
stuffed animals on the bed
pictures of her and her daddy on the wall
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw a young man
wild-eyed with fear
in a prison cell
i closed my eyes...
i saw a young boy gone hunting
with his grandpa on thanksgiving morn
with his dog by his side
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i pulled back the veil of time...
knowing, there is no difference!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wearing The Inside Out
From morning to night I stayed out of sight
Didnt recognise what Id become
No more than alive Id barely survive
In a word...overrun
Wont hear a sound
From my mouth
Ive spent too long
On the inside out
My skin is cold
To the human touch
This bleeding hearts
Not beating much
I murmured a vow of silence and now
I dont even hear when I think aloud
Extinguished by light I turn on the night
Wear its darkness with an empty smile
Im creeping back to life
My nervous system all away
Im wearing the inside out
Look at him now
Hes paler somehow
But hes coming round
Hes starting to choke
Its been so long since he spoke
Well he can have the words right from my mouth
And with these words I can see
Clear through the clouds that covered me
Just give it time then speak my name
Now we can hear ourselves again
Im holding out
For the day
When all the clouds
Have blown away
Im with you now
Can speak your name
Now we can hear
Ourselves again
Hes curled into the corner
But still the screen is flickering
With an endless stream of garbage to
...curse the place
In a sea of random images
The self-destructing animal
Waiting for the waves to break
Hes standing on the threshold
Caught in fiery anger
And hurled into the furnace hell
...curse the place
Hes torn in all directions
And the screen is still flickering
Waiting for the flames to break
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting For The Storm
snow birds screeching in the trees,
bare limbs bent with time and promise..
desolate, hungry clouds from the south,
and the quiet before the storm.
and those i love are sleeping, or far away.
there's nothing that can be done just now.
all the fires and smoke are as distant
as hours and days will allow.
stillness, and waiting... for something
that hasnt taken form or spirit yet.
walking through the museum of my heart,
searching for answers, and finality.
i cant find God in the garden,
or in the pounding of the big guns.
or in the broken bodies strewn by greed,
or in the voices wailing with hurt and hunger.
every direction leads to lostness.
prayers fall like ash in the wind.
and i'm left with the sound of the
snow birds calling, waiting for the storm.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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40 Past Midnight
Well Im waiting standing on the corner
And its coming 40 past the hour
In the midnight lonely freezing hour
With my insides churning in the gutter
And Im waiting 40 past midnight
Catching rain in the soda light
Wont you come & call me to your window
Please dont leave me waiting on the corner
We could have the best time if you lighten up your life
With my pockets holey in the inside
With my bus ride rolling in the gutter
But if you would only light your lamp ligh
Then I would be here than any other
Well Im waiting 40 past midnight
Catching cold in the pouring rain
Wont you come & take me to your door
So I can take myself home again
When Im waiting standing on the corner
And the soda light begins to flicker
And its getting 40 past the hour
And I think I wont see what I figure
Well Im waiting freezing on the inside
Staring up at your window pane
If you wont come see me this evening
I can see myself here again
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ricochet
Like weeds on a rockface waiting for the scythe
Ricochet - ricochet
The world is on a corner waiting for jobs
Ricochet - ricochet
Turn the holy pictures so they face the wall
And who can bear to be forgotten
And who can bear to be forgotten
March of flowers, march of dimes
These are the prisons, these are the crimes
Men wait for news while thousands are still asleep
Dreaming of tramlines factories pieces of machinery
Mine shafts things like that
March of flowers, march of dimes
These are the prisons, these are the crimes
Sound of thunder, sound of gold
Sound of the devil breaking parole
Ricochet - its not the end of the world
Sound of thunder, sound of gold
Sound of the devil breaking parole
Ricochet - ricochet
These are the prisons these are the crimes
Teaching life in a violent new way
Ricochet - ricochet
Turn the holy pictures so they face the wall
And who can bear to be forgotten
And who can bear to be forgotten
March of flowers, march of dimes
These are the prisons, these are the crimes
Early, before the sun, they struggle off to the gates
In their secret fearful places they see their lives
Unravelling before them
March of flowers - march of dimes
These are the prisons, these are the crimes
Sound of thunder, sound of gold
Sound of the devil breaking parole
Ricochet its not the end of the world
Thats when they get home, damp eyed and weary
They smile and crush their children to their heaving chests
Making unfulfillable promises
For who can bear to be forgotten
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beneath The Tree
how many deaths
must i die?
how many times left alone
on some nameless shore,
watching the storm carry
my boat off to sea?
how many blackbirds dead
beneath the tree?
if i die inside of you
will you remember my name?
or am i just an old coat
hanging in the back of the closet?
a hat your grandfather wore....
a deck of cards forgotten in a drawer....
a spider's web clinging to your feet!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Walking Nightmares
Black silhouettes of a hangman's noose
Surrounded by ways to cut my life loose
Worn away gravestones of the gone and forgotten
Smell of decay, Bodies are rotten
Clouds form to create tombstones
Dead and abandoned, Feather and bones
In the road states the word death
Written in blood and the body that's left
Defenceless creature lays on the curb
Ripped apart flesh leaves me disturbed
No escape from death, No where to turn
Murder in mass as distant trees burn
Shadows before me stand crucified
I hear dying children that have cried
Funeral bells ring in the back of my mind
A family photo that's been left behind
Fallen tree looks like a dead body
Waiting to be found and ready to study
A helpless wave from a fallen branch
The wind whistles the funeral march
poem by TyjaRae Guy
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The Small Lamp
the small lamp
beside the bed in the empty room,
burns strong with silence,
and waits without reason.
the pawprint of the dog
beneath the window,
identifying emptiness.
and the broom in the corner,
stands ever on guard.
the book of passage unread,
urine stained sheets.
even god almighty
cant control the wind,
that blows through the window,
and fills the room.
while babies are born,
and wars are stopped.
yet the earth waits without breath,
for the coming of love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Stranded At The Moonbase
A long way up in light-years,
Just a pinpoint in space,
In a century of planetary storms,
Stranded at the moonbase,
The air is getting low.
The air is getting low.
Looking out at the roof-window,
I've seen many strange things,
From shooting stars to Stars 'n' Stripes
Thought I'd caught a glimpse of golden wings.
The air is getting low,
The air is getting low,
The air is getting low,
The air is getting low.
I got the vision of a big white dove.
I've heard the creaking of the pearly gates above.
I'm wond'ring why the big white dove
Is keeping me waiting, keeping me waiting,
Keeping me waiting, keeping me waiting,
Keeping me waiting, keeping me waiting.
Looking way down below me,
The worlds are all awhirl-whirly.
Won't you come along beside?
This place waits for company.
The air is getting low.
The air is getting low.
I leave my limbs behind me.
As I'm being lifted
Out into the, into the
Spiritual boom-boom abyss.
The air is getting low.
The air is getting low.
The air is getting low.
The air is getting low.
I got the vision of a big white dove.
I've heard the creaking of the pearly gates above.
I'm wond'ring why the big white dove
Is keeping me waiting, keeping me waiting,
Keeping me waiting, keeping me waiting,
Keeping me waiting, keeping me waiting.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Magical
Today I found Grace,
She looked me right in the face!
Found the courage to stare back,
My heart opened, just a crack,
Life flooded in,
My heart filled with love and Light,
Heaven is on earth tonight!
No time to deny,
Your love is magical,
Lifting me high,
High, beyond the sky,
Can't always see what lies ahead,
Just when I thought I was dead,
Found Grace sitting on my bed,
Waiting, waiting for my heart to mend,
Opening up to love's promise, that,
With time all pain will end!
So when you feel down and lonely,
Remember life is just a journey,
No need to mourn her,
Grace is just around the corner,
And in the end, she's just a friend,
Waiting for our hearts to mend!
21 June 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Tombstones!
rows and rows of tombstones,
glaring white in the morning sun...
with open graves before them,
and the smell of fresh turned earth.
cars speed by going nowhere;
people walking, as if lost....
the phone rings, no one answers,
the book, unread, stares from the shelf.
trees almost bare softly whisper,
dollar bills blown by the wind...
the old man sits by the station,
counting by number,
and not by name....
rows and rows of tombstones,
waiting for gifts unwrapped
by time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Why Don't You Come Over
VERSE 1
Don't you worry, pretty baby
Everything's alright
Its another day tomorrow
and another night.
You can tell me how your feeling
every single word
I was having trouble sleeping
like the early bird
who just want's to be heard
CHORUS
Why don't you come over
I can't stop thinking of you
Why don't you come over
My heart wont rest "till you do
pick up the phone
your clothes from the floor
the sleep in your eyes
and walk through the door
I'll turn on the light
Why don't you come over
why don't you come over
why don't you come over tonight
VERSE 2
We can sit down at the table
let your problems drown
I know how to get you smiling
how to be your clown
there's no need to think about it
Just come as you are
I'll be waiting by the window
for my shining star
you know it's not that far
CHORUS
Pick up the phone
your clothes from the floor
the sleep in your eyes
and walk through the door.
I'll turn out the light
Why don't you come over
why don't you come over
why don't you come over tonight.
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ah!
i am not your poet,
not even your rising poem.
i am but the simple sound, 'ah',
that comes between
your irregular heartbeats!
i am the sperm
that fell to the floor,
the dust wiped from the cover
of an unread book.
i am the rust on the plow,
the burp of the earth.
i am the nest made of straw.
i am the old clothes,
washed in the creek.
i am the pot simmering.
i am the child
forgotten by god,
i am the body
left for the crows.
i am the silence that overwhelms,
i am the healing without name.
i am the lover, the cross,
and the road not walked.
i am the embrace of death,
and the quiet companion.
i am the still beauty
of scars and bruises,
the kiss that lights the night.
i am the hope
that looks like you...
the simple sound,
'ah'!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Notes From Her From A Distant Shore
how can you fold
a flood and put
it in a drawer?
how can you wrap
a storm and put
it your room?
how can you
keep a love letter
which says
that he is dying?
how can she be so
alone in her room
waiting for no one?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Days Of Waiting
an old man
a black book
a cigarette
and some smoke
a room
a black suit
a table and a footstool
a poetry to read
and then
a sound sleep....
there are dreams that follow
soon
but like his grand
days of youth
he will find it hard to remember..
his days and nights
are nothing but matters of waiting
and waiting
all these
drag.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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