The Blame Game,2011

it's time for us
to quit blaming
acts of violence,
greed, and hatred...

on God!

we are what
we are doing,
what we are allowing....
and what we ignore.

the responsibility
lies 100 per cent
on humanity!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Cave!

i lived in a cave
one time for weeks....
bathed in a creek,

built small fires,
watched them slowly
burn down...

and slept,
wrapped in primordial
stillness...

i always think of that
when i think of you!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Stays Lit!

the candle
on this table
stays lit...

burning down slowly
to the end...
burning bright,

chasing shadows back
into darkness...
warming the tired spirit

with hope....
stays lit,
almost as if

an open hand!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Do You Have A Name?

perhaps you then are my heart,
do you have a name?
in the outlines of your face,
do i sense destiny?
are your eyes the last chapter?
are your feet the lamp?
am i just an old fool,
waiting on the grave?

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Thoughts (From The Grave)

he said he needed
two dollars, he was hungry...
the image of a cheap
bottle of wine dripped

from his eyes...
i gave hime the money,
and a couple of smokes.
time has a way of bringing,

even from the grave!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mine, or Yours

just a pilgrim...
travelling
the pathways
of your body
in search of
a soul...

mine, or yours?...

dare i
pay the toll?
and jump the
trolley?

hurtling madly
to the destruction
of self...

mine, or yours?...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Key To The Door!

the key to the door
is the human mind...
educate the mind,
liberate the heart,
and the actions of
a free man will follow!

ignorance,
the last disease,
the tool of those
that would use!

unlock the door!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wars Of The Heart

are we then
the casualties of love?
shell shocked, and wounded,
unable to sleep
for apparitions in the night...
limping, and bandaged,
we come to each other...
the last survivors,
in the wars of the heart!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wolf Cub

rolled up in a ball
in the curling hollow
of your heart...

the wolf cub sleeps,
milk dripping from his chin....

dreaming of blood,
shadow and flesh....

your heart races!

the wind whispers
his lullaby...

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Is A Prism!

when 'We The People'
goes from concept to reality,
then, and only then,

can real change be created!
unity in diversity!
freedom is a prism,

shine your light on it,
and bask in all
its different colors!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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