On The Trail Of Pessoa
i've walked this road for so long,
that i know what silence tastes like.
i hear only the simple sounds,
or the simplicity of sound...
i no longer confuse shadows,
and i sleep with dogs.
owning nothing,
there's nothing i would kill
to purchase!
there are no footprints
in front of me,
i follow no one.
intimate encounters with strangers,
for we are all strangers,
even to ourselves.
perhaps a word or two,
or not...
we share the cup, and the fire.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wind, Rain, And The Eyes!
i went from the shadow of Jesus,
to Tao's uncarved block,
flowing with the water
for over a decade....
to the feet of Buddha,
awareness and universal compassion...
respect for all that lives.
each of them now a part of me,
of who i am and will be.....
but when i thought each the end,
my destination....
came a voice... Go further!
i went from virtue to evil,
to night needs day,
just as day needs night....
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Who Bury Your Poets
America....
you who bury your poets
like fallen leaves beneath weeping trees.
like the sound of the tire
that strikes the stray cat.
like the trembling dark skinned hands
you ban from your voting booths.
like the flag draped caskets
of your sacrificed young.
like the books you burn
with religious fervor....
like the shuffle of boots
in your unemployment lines.
like the faceless ones
in your clinics shutting down.
like the ones who speak out,
then suddenly disappear.
like the crack pipes and needles
of your 'worthless' poor....
like the babies born to babies
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Whose God (Do We Worship Now)
your God preaches success,
and individual achievement.
lives in sanctuaries of gold
with windows of colored glass.
doesnt get His hands dirty
on the down side of town...
turns His head from the ugly,
from the smell and the stink...
walks on the other side of the street.
demands sterile cleaness,
prefers people of stature!
no touching, no feelings...
out of control!
our God walks the tracks
leading the lost home...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Believe.... (Chant One)
i believe...
that all men and women
are created equal...
equal in worth, dignity,
authority, and sacredness.
that wars, for any reason,
are wrong...
that they constitute murder.
that any government
that oppresses the many
for the good of the few,
should be overthrown!
in nonviolent protest,
and the way of the peacemakers.
that the earth,
and all living beings,
are sacred.
that prejudice is murder,
that the faces of god are many...
and that many,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Southern Tribes Of Youth
southern tribes of youth...
high and tight fastball,
louisville slugger cocked,
bases loaded, two outs!
freckled faced girdle wrapped
momma sworn girls laughing...
old chevy trucks, three on the tree,
careful not to jam the gears.
rock n'roll blaring, pedal to the floor,
Richard Farina rebellion,
'beware the monkey demon'!
and Vietnam lied and vomited
on the tv screens...
gunshots, dead Kennedy's,
and Martin Luther King defiled
by angry riots...
marching for peace,
cuffed and stuffed in a van...
staring through the bars,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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From The Jesus Papers....
the question we have to ask ourselves
is whether Jesus would be a member of the present
Christian church?
would He choose to be American?
or would He walk the starving roads of Africa?
would He flee with the women and children
in the countries bombed?
would He be a political force,
or a political dissident?
would He be a capitalist, a socialist, or an anarchist?
would He self immoliate with the Tibetan monks
in the name of freedom?
would He carry the bodies out of the mines?
would He hold the addict's hands?
would He call capital punishment justice, or murder?
would He turn His back on the poor, the homeless, and the jobless?
would He be white, black, or brown?
would He condemn? or walk in compassion?
would He hate Muslims, Buddhists, and atheists?
would He be a patriot, or a rebel?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Only You Can Decide...
perhaps then we were lovers
in ancient Greece...
perhaps you were the one who danced
in the cave when i discovered fire!
were we born just outside the garden,
in a land long forgotten?
were we primitive wolves,
mating in the moonlight?
perhaps you were the dry land
that split from my ocean.
perhaps your cry of passion,
exploded stars into dust!
perhaps i was gravity lost,
and you were the moon....
perhaps you were the spoken word,
and i took the form.
perhaps you were war,
and i came running in madness.
perhaps i am death,
and you are the grave...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lover, Come!
lover, come!
i cannot bear another moment.
i walk aimless through fields,
down wooded paths
to where the water sings
against the rocks!
i have forgotten you,
forgotten your name,
forgotten your face!
all that i have left are
the faint memories
of smells and tastes
and hunger
and timeless indentions
left by touch and feel
and need
lover, come!
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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...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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