You Wanted To Know....
the starving child you saw on your tv screen,
the one that made you turn the channel.
the old homeless man who tried to bum a dollar
when you were pumping gas...
whose hands were shaking,
who smelled like trash,
who you made fun of when you left...
the one you gave 50 cents to,
just to get away from...
the young painted up girl you called a whore,
the guy strung out on pills
buying groceries with food stamps...
the veteran who came home
to find his family gone....
no job, no home, he blew his brains out!
the gay boy who slit his wrists,
tired of being bullied.
the old couple evicted broke and sick....
the bodies of women and children killed by the drones,
the young man in prison who just got gang raped.
the disabled woman you cursed when she made your change,
the old man buying dog food who doesnt have a dog...
well, you wanted to know what god looks like!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Hanging Tree.... (What Do We Call It...)
down through the woods
to the clearing where
the hanging tree stood...
sometimes you can still see
the shadows of ghosts,
swinging in the hot summer sun...
now the tree has been cut,
and time has passed,
yet the air's still heavy with guilt.
do we know more?
are we more civilized?
or have we just changed trees,
and gotten better rope?
what do we call the young men
sent to die in the oil wars...
the young people stuck
in the gang ridden slums?
the bullied ones who lose hope?
the illegal immigrants who die for work?
the young couple stuck on unemployment
and food stamps?
the elderly couple evicted
cause they cant afford the rent?
the Muslim family afraid to go out at night?
the gay couple in love who cant get married?
the young children without a father?
the millions strung out on pills?
what do we call it,
if we dont call it hanging?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wind Of The Human Spirit... (Part Three)
i slept in your homeless alleys,
grieved for the baby in the unwanted dumpster.
walked the streets with the pregnant young girl,
just turned away from the clinic.
watched the family that lives in their car,
buying sandwich food with food stamps.
saw the old man pull the plug on his sick wife,
and walk down the hallways to forgotten.
and when each had finished their task,
mine had just begun.
i broke the window with the angry young man,
crawled in and stole what i could.
i felt the junkie inser the needle,
and the whore being beaten to death.
i saw the boy raped by gang members,
down on cellblock C....
while the guard turned his head,
texting on his cellphone.
and when each had finished their task,
mine had just begun.
i watched them vote for indifference,
and drive away in SUV's.
and tonight their grandson committed suicide,
couldnt take the bullying anymore.
i saw gay lovers condemned to hell,
by those afraid to feel.
and the young Muslim girl afraid to walk home,
in the land of the free....
and when each had finished their task,
mine had just begun.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Her Voice
i believe there is a God
i can hear her voice
in the tears of the homeless
of the hungry, of orphaned children
of the young woman lying on the
kitchen floor bleeding
in the hollow ache of the young
man who just killed a family
with his M-16
in the stink of helpless
on the young boy raped
in the prison cell
in the vomiting anger
of the man who caught his wife
cheating, and shot her
in the prayers of the mother
whose son joined a gang,
and walked away from her dreams
in the cry of the baby
left in the alley
behind the church
that refused to help
his mother
in the pen on the desk
of the man at the bank
who just foreclosed
on another family
i can hear her voice
and feel her hurt!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Dont Even Know Their Names!
his spirit left his body,
and walked through the hells.
a firm voice spoke:
'keep your eyes open,
look, and see! '
he saw dark skinned children,
their bodies frail and thin,
their features carved with hunger.
he saw women and children,
running from the bombs,
young men gunned down,
in the streets.
he saw the homeless family,
sleeping in a beaten old car,
hoping no one would come
to make them move.
he saw the young addict shaking,
the young woman helpless,
her baby crying in the bare apartment.
he saw the young man sent to prison,
trying to hide his fear,
a fear so strong they
could smell it on him!
he saw the woman who'd been beaten,
the man jobless and angry.
he saw millions of Native Americans,
slaughtered, and left for the crows.
he saw the old couple hungry,
in their apartment with no lights,
and no heat in the dead of winter...
'i cant take it any more,
what has this got to do with me?
i dont even know their names! '
'their names are anybody, and everybody...
they are why you must return.
they are your children, your
brothers and sisters, your father
and your mother...
they are your responsibility!
you must return to finish the work! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Poet
who is the poet then?
the master of words,
phrases, rhymes, and symbols...
or the one who wipes the ass
of the old man in the nursing home,
whose family does not come anymore.
or the young gay teacher
in the projects, walking the thin line
between the hatred of gangs, and hope.
or the small time farmer
who planted one last crop,
knowing that the bank was coming
to take it all away.
or the soldier in Iraq,
who stops to help a child up,
and sees his own children miles away;
cant speak, and cant breathe.
or the young man in prison
for something that he did;
just trying to survive, day to day,
and to find a new way.
or the young woman who was raped,
being humiliated on the witness stand,
and they call it justice!
or the man left standing
on the brink of losing it all...
the eyes of his family haunting him;
with nowhere to turn,
and no one to ask for help,
and a gun in his hand!
if poetry then is written
by the hand of God....
the hands are human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (The Branch, Part Two)
i am...
the orphaned child and the abandoned dog,
the woman raped, the young man killed.
i am the body hanging alone and cold,
the old woman shaking in an empty room.
i am the young girl taken and enslaved,
the needle, the spoon, and the revolver.
i am black skinned, brown skinned anger,
and the bones of bodies hidden...
the speaker of truth detained and tortured,
the invisible trail left behind.
i am...
the rage of jobless, homeless, hopeless...
the unemployment line and the sweat shop.
i am the family living in a stolen car,
and the child who runs away.
i am the store clerk killed by the robber,
her minimum wage death unnoticed.
i am the shadow crossing the border,
the inmate that breaks and runs.
i am the guns silenced,
and the lies revealed...
i am human rebellion.
i am the branch covered by leaves,
waiting for certain autumn!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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For All of These, and More
for every daughter aborted
in China because sons
are preferred...
for every young girl or boy
sold into slavery here
in the states...
for every whale killed
by the Japanese ships...
for every expanse of ocean
filled with our oil...
for every tree cut
by the saws of greed...
for every woman and child
working in sweatshops...
for every political prisoner
that we ignore...
for every homeless person
in the 'land of the free'...
for every kid in jail
who never had a chance...
for every old person
left alone to die...
for every family in Africa
left to starvation....
for every plate of food
thrown out, wasted mindlessly.
for every mountain raped
by the miner's hands...
for every kid that is different,
that is abused and beaten...
for everyone killed in our
money driven wars...
for all of these, and more...
i ask forgiveness, as
a member of the human family.
for all of these, and more,
i take responsibility.
for all of these, and more,
i choose to live today...
with an involved hope
for tomorrow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am.... (Hand Of Silence)
i am the fire raging out of control,
the blade of the shadow on poverty's neck.
the broken sound when no one can hear,
the cold feel of the gallows,
the wings of the dead bird.
i am the raccoon trapped,
and the fury of loss.
i am the waiting that kills,
moment by moment.
i am the hand too tired to touch,
the baby just born that no one wants.
i am the ribs showing on the starving child,
the refugee fleeing with nowhere to go.
the smell of despair at the county dump,
the apartment without curtains or furniture.
i am the soldier killed who hesitated with conscience.
i am the prisoner afraid of both detention and freedom.
the young gay teenager who hangs himself,
the pregnant girl who takes too many pills.
i am the protester beaten and left on the sidewalk,
the old man alone without food or heat.
i am the touch of Jesus in the addict's eyes,
the street bum sleeping in the alley.
i am the farmer whose farm was taken,
the family left without a home.
the 40 year worker in the unemployment line,
the young girl taken and sold as a whore.
i am the Buddhist monk who sets himself on fire,
the rebel imprisoned for speaking the truth.
i am the millions of young who cant afford school,
the millions of workers who cant afford insurance.
i am the immigrant deported,
whose family has no chance.
the young mother caught stealing food.
i am the morals hidden by despair and anger,
the conscience of the poor holding the gun.
i am the color of skin covered with blood,
the face of god in strays of all kinds.
i am the Buddha weeping,
the body of suffering....
the hand of silence covering the grave.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am Responsible.... (Poet's Heart)
i am responsible....
for the child dying of starvation,
whatever color, whatever country.
for the young Muslim child alone,
his family killed by the bombs.
for the addict shaking on the street corner,
for the young girl selling her body
on that same corner.
for the family kicked out of their house,
who have nowhere to go.
for the young angry men in prison,
for the victims of the crimes.
for the stink of poverty,
and the abuse of wealth.
for the planes, the bombs,
the guns and the flags...
for the political prisoners who spoke out.
for the elderly going without food and lights,
trying to pay for their medicine.
for the victims of racism and prejudice,
and those that wave that banner.
for the preacher, the thief,
the murderer, and the lost....
for the woman treated as less.
for the young man who commits suicide,
and for those that caused his desperation.
for the immigrant killed crossing the border,
hoping against hope for his family.
for the 'moral' who cant feel,
for those who feel, those who suffer.
for the bones of those we've killed
on our journey to civilization.
for the Jew, the Christian,
the Hindu, the Muslim, and the Buddhist...
of equal worth and value.
for the atheist, the doubter, the searcher,
and those who question all.
for the man, the woman, and the child.
for the sins of the past,
and the path to the future.
i am responsible...
because i am human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drive (For Daddy Gene)
It was painted red
The stripe was white
It was 18 feet from bow to stern light
It was 2nd hand, from a dealer in Atlanta
I rode up with daddy when he went there to get her
We put on a shine, put on a border
Built out of love, but made for the water
We ran her for years, til' the transim got rotten
A piece of my child hood will never be forgoten
It was just an old plywood boat
A 75 Johnson, an electric choke
A young boy two hands on the wheel
I can't replace the way it made me feel
I would turn her sharp, I would make it wide
He said you can't be the way a old wood boat rides
Just a little lake across the Alabama line
But I was king of the ocean
When Daddy let me drive
Just an old half ton short bed ford
My Uncle bought new in 64
Daddy got it ridin cause the engine was smoking
A couple of burnt valves and he had it going
He'd let me drive her when we haul off a load
Off a dirt strip where we'd dump trash
Off of thickpin road
I'd sit up in the seat and stretch my feet to the pedals
Smiling like a hero
Who just receivied his medal
It was just an old hand me down ford
With 3 speed on the column and a dent in the door
A young boy two hands on the wheel
I can't replace the way it made me feel
I would press that clutch, and I would keep it right
He would say just a little slower son
Your doing just fine
Just a little dirt road with trash on each side
But I was Mario Andretti
When Daddy let me drive
Im all grown up now
3 daughters of my own
I let them drive my old jeep
Across the pasture at our home
Maybe one day they'll reach back in their file
And pull out that old memory
And think of me and smile
And say
It was just an old worn out jeep
Rusty old four doors
Hot on my feet
A young girl two hands on the wheel
I can't replace the way it made me feel
and he'd say Turn it left, and steer it right
Straighten up girl,now your doing just fine
Just a little valley by the river where we'd ride
But I was high on a mountain
When Daddy let me drive
Daddy let me drive
Oh he let me drive
She's just old plywood boat
With a 75 johnson
And electric choke
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shilo
Written by: neil diamond
Young child with dreams
Dream, evry dream on your own
When children play
Seems like you end up alone
Papa says hed love to be with you
If he had the time
So you turn to the only friend you can find
There in your mind
Shilo, when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shile, you always came
And wed play
Young girl with fire
Something said she understood
I wanted to fly
She made me feel like I could
Held out my hand, and I let her take me
Blind as a child
All I saw was the way that she made me smile
She made me smile
Shilo, when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shile, you always came
And youd stay
Had a dream, and it filled me with wonder
She had other plans
Got to go, and I know youll understand
I understand
Shilo, when I was young
I used to call your name
When no one else would come
Shilo, you always came
Come today
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Notification
I have been to a Social Services Agency today in California.
I was interviewed by a very kind and a polite Lady.
The building and the environment too very attractive.
She explained and gave me the writ.
'Your household's application for food stamps has been denied.
Here's why: You or a member of your household does not meet the requirements of United States Citizenship or eligible Non-Citizen status as established by food stamp regulations.
Your application for Medical dated today has been denied because you are not eligible for any of the following programs:
Medically needy program for a family with a child whose parent(s) is/are absent from home, deceased, incapacitated, unemployed, or working with limited earnings or Medically needy program for the aged, blind or disabled or Medically indigent program for pregnant women or Medically indigent for persons under 21.
Here's why:
You are not blind or disabled and you are not aged.
You are not pregnant.
You are age 21 or older, but under 65.
On the way back home I thanked God!
For not blind or disabled me and still not aged.
But I have some regrets as my beloved had a surgery before in the Uterus
And I too had a surgery in my Scrotum,
So we never get pregnant.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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On The Sacredness Of Life
i watched and listened as the young
woman confronted the older woman
for her pro-life stance...
'i understand that you're pro-life,
and while i admire you for the intent
of your stance, i have a few questions...'
'go ahead, it's pretty cut and dried.
life is sacred from inception.'
'what life, or better, which lives? '
'all life! '
' well, let me ask you this...
did you vote for the man who sent
your son off to war?
a war in which he dropped the bombs
that killed hundreds of people,
many of who were women and children....
a war in which later his plane was shot down,
and he was killed?
did you vote for the man who voted to
cut off unemployment benefits,
to cut off medical care to the sick,
and the elderly?
do you change the channel any time
a commercial comes on showing starving
children in Africa?
are you in favor of capital punishment?
well, where do you draw the line? '
no answer!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Saw God
i saw god...
in the small child shunned,
playing alone.
in the pregnant girl scared,
still a baby herself.
in the young man going off to war,
chest stuck out, and knees gone weak.
in the angry young man,
who learns to read in prison.
in the old woman in the empty house,
every wrinkle a chapter of love.
in the stray cat curled
against my leg.
in two young men in love,
kissing on the steps of a church.
in the family living on food stamps,
day work, and faith.
in the addict with the guts
to go into rehab.
in the body in the funeral home
that no one came to see.
in the couple married for twenty five years,
survivors of struggle, passion, and despair.
in the jobless shuffle of the heads down line.
in the old man fishing with his grandson,
in the mother teaching her daughter to pray.
in the poet, the carpenter, the farmer,
the doctor, the garbage man, and the cashier.
in the bride and the groom,
even the murderer and the victim!
in the anger of the protesters,
in the sin, and forgiveness.
in the black, the white, and every color between.
in moonlight pouring through poverty's window....
yes, i saw god...
never entered a church, a temple, or a mosque...
i merely entered the heart
of the living... and touched!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drive
It was painted red the stripe was white
It was eighteen feet from the bow to the stern light
Secondhand from a dealer in Atlanta
I rode up with daddy when he went there to get her
We put on a shine; put on a motor
Built out of love, made for the water
Ran her for years, 'til the transom got rotten
A piece of my childhood that will never be forgotten
It was just on old plywood boat
With a '75 Johnson with electric choke
A young boy two hands on the wheel
I can't replace the way it made me feel
And I would turn her sharp
And I would make her whine
He'd say, "you can't beat the way an old wood boat rides"
Just a little lake across the Alabama line
But I was king of the ocean
When daddy let me drive
Just an old half ton shortbed ford
My uncle bought new in '64
Daddy got it right 'cause the engine was smoking
A couple of burnt valves and he had it going
He let me drive her when we'd haul off a load
Down a dirt strip where we'd dump trash off of Thigpen Road
I'd sit up in the seat and stretch my feet out to the pedals
Smiling like a hero that just received his medal
It was just an old hand-me-down Ford
With a three-speed on the column and a dent in the door
A young boy two hands on the wheel
I can't replace the way it mode me feel
And I would press that clutch
And I would keep it right
And he'd say, "a little slower son you're doing just fine"
Just a dirt rood with trash on each side
But I was Mario Andretti
When daddy let me drive
I'm grown up now three daughters of my own
I let them drive my old Jeep across the pasture at our home
Maybe one day they'll reach back in their file
And pull out that old memory
And think of me and smile and say
It was just an old worn out Jeep
Rusty old floorboard, hot on my feet
A young girl two hands on the wheel
I can't replace the way it made me feel
And he'd say, "turn it left and steer it right,
Straighten up girl, you're doing just fine"
Just a little valley by the river where we'd ride
But I was high on a mountain
When daddy let me drive
When daddy let me drive
Oh he let me drive
Daddy let me drive
It's just an old plywood boat
With a '75 Johnson with electric choke
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man of the House
It was a misunderstanding.
I got into bed, made love
with the woman I found there,
called her honey, mowed the lawn,
had three children, painted
the house twice, fixed the furnace,
overcame an addiction to blue pills,
read Spinoza every night
without once meeting his God,
buried one child, ate my share
of Jell-o and meatloaf,
went away for nine hours a day
and came home hoarding my silence,
built a ferris wheel in my mind,
bolt by bolt, then it broke
just as it spun me to the top.
Turns out I live next door.
Poetry (The Real Deal!)
poetry....
16 penny nails
...hammered in the
.......outhouse wall,
the rope,
...still tied in a knot...
.....the still warm bodies
......quivering, in shallow graves.
the children of the man
....who pushed the button,
......who made the choice....
the Mexican immigrant
....who washes the car
.......of the oil field supervisor,
....whose family lives
......in a broke down bus...
the ground up pills
...the boy snorts up his nose,
....while his momma prays;
and his daddy beats a young girl
...in a whorehouse across town.
the old man's vomit stained shirt
...as he lies in the floor,
.....wondering if anyone
.......will ever find him.
the young protester's bloody face,
....standing for the mug shot;
......his father's company
........just closed another plant!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh Daddy
I used to be daddy's little girl
To us U meant the world
And, oh how we seemed so happy
Thought we had everything
But oh how the seasons changed
When you broke up with us and made a new family
So many
Times I cried
Sleepless nights
Asking why did U go
I still don't know
What happened to the man I used to know
You loved me then left me
Out here with no daddy
No longer a family with daddy
Though we struggled for a while
We still made it through these trials
I don't think back because we're OK, Oh daddy
Day by Day it got so hard
Ma takin any job
And the car just won't drive and nothing to get by
Next thing we in a food line
These things, no you didnt see
Cause you gave up on me
I just kept following my dream
You loved me then left me
Out here with no daddy
No longer a family with daddy
Though we struggled for a while
We still made it through these trials
I don't think back because we're OK, Oh daddy
Now slowly I start to understand
This was just all apart of a plan
Cause without we've been thru so many things
Now to you we are thanking
Every word I say is true
I couldn't forgive but now I do
But we just can't forget I just can't let it happen all over again
You loved me then left me
Out here with no daddy
No longer a family with daddy
Though we struggled for a while
We still made it through these trials
I don't think back because we're OK, Oh daddy
You loved me then left me
Out here with no daddy
No longer a family with daddy
Though we struggled for a while
We still made it through these trials
I don't think back because we're OK, Oh daddy
song performed by by Christina Milian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Union Sundown
Well, my shoes, they come from singapore,
My flashlights from taiwan,
My tablecloths from malaysia,
My belt buckles from the amazon.
You know, this shirt I wear comes from the philippines
And the car I drive is a chevrolet,
It was put together down in argentina
By a guy makin thirty cents a day.
Well, its sundown on the union
And whats made in the u.s.a.
Sure was a good idea
til greed got in the way.
Well, this silk dress is from hong kong
And the pearls are from japan.
Well, the dog collars from india
And the flower pots from pakistan.
All the furniture, it says made in brazil
Where a woman, she slaved for sure
Bringin home thirty cents a day to a family of twelve,
You know, thats a lot of money to her.
Well, its sundown on the union
And whats made in the u.s.a.
Sure was a good idea
til greed got in the way.
Well, you know, lots of people complainin that there is no work.
I say, why you say that for
When nothin you got is u.s.-made?
They dont make nothin here no more,
You know, capitalism is above the law.
It say, it dont count less it sells.
When it costs too much to build it at home
You just build it cheaper someplace else.
Well, its sundown on the union
And whats made in the u.s.a.
Sure was a good idea
til greed got in the way.
Well, the job that you used to have,
They gave it to somebody down in el salvador.
The unions are big business, friend,
And theyre goin out like a dinosaur.
They used to grow food in kansas
Now they want to grow it on the moon and eat it raw.
I can see the day coming when even your home garden
Is gonna be against the law.
Well, its sundown on the union
And whats made in the u.s.a.
Sure was a good idea
til greed got in the way.
Democracy dont rule the world,
Youd better get that in your head.
This world is ruled by violence
But I guess thats better left unsaid.
From broadway to the milky way,
Thats a lot of territory indeed
And a mans gonna do what he has to do
When hes got a hungry mouth to feed.
Well, its sundown on the union
And whats made in the u.s.a.
Sure was a good idea
til greed got in the way
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ladies Complain
The Men go out and Hunt for Food
Women stay home and make there Brood
Then the men come back in a good Mood
Only to get, both ears Chewed! !
So then things Change, and the women hunt for a Meal
And all their men stay home and Invent the Wheel
Then the women come back with the Food
To find there men in a real good Mood
So either way the women will Complain
About men's cocks and having no Brains
Maybe someday this will all End
And all women will be our best Friend
poem by David Darbyshire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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