I Am... (Namaste, Number Two)

i picked up the broken pieces
of glass when you threw her picture,
and closed your eyes
as you stared at the walls.
i walked with you to the mailbox,
day after day....
i am the letter
your daughter never wrote.
i helped you dig the hole
to bury that old dog,
and mouthed the words of the prayer
that no one heard.
i walked with you down the aisle,
the best day of your life.
i helped your shaking hands
sprinkle dirt on the casket,
forty years later.

i felt your excitement,
the first time you made love.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Battle Cry 2

underpaid, overworked, high anxiety near beserk,
took it all now you cant hurt...
the memory of a man.
styrofoam lips, fake rack, shake your hips,
illusion sunk a thousand ships,
there's a curse on the land.

burden's beast, you'd think at least,
you'd be invited to the feast,
but you stand outside the door.
God's man or Satan's boy, nothing but a sex toy,
looking for the real Mccoy,
you never reach the shore.

pedophiles, cartel gangs, cell phones, getting strange,
tell me brother how it hangs,
there's blood on the door.
faded love, faded jeans, everything to extremes,
shotgun poets on the scene,
pedal to the floor.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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God Simply Is

god is not some distant sphere,
not the hall of judgement,
not righteous fear.
god is not the image we worship,
not a holy book or recited prayer.
god is not a purity that cant be touched.
god is not a religion,
not a concept, not a moral storm.
god is never the reason to hate,
never the reason to go to war.
god is not white,
not conservative, nor liberal,
not going to destroy the world....

god is the power between two hands that touch,
the birth of a child, the death of an old man.
the longing we were born with that drives us on...
the courage to enter the realm of the heart.
true communion, true dialogue,
the bridge over our fears.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Wait For You....

i wait for you...
inside the hollowed ache
of the empty space,
where the stump of the willow,
buried by grief, testifies!
where the old galvanized tub,
wanders from yard sale to neglect;
where the old Ford with mismatched tires,
sleeps in the indignity of crushed.
where the outhouse walls,
scorched by time's fires,
lies strewn, charred by random fate.
where the cry of wetness,
trapped by the urn,
awaits ash and stardust.
where the manger bleeds,
in the cobwebbed shed;
one set of footprints leads away!
where the cock curled
into the bark loses,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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In Closing

each person's life is a message,
every action a crucial page
in the book of time and again.
behind every action lies intent,
it is in the intent
that we are born anew.
decades of waiting for
the flower to bloom,
yet in a moment the petals fall.
will they hit the ground like thunder?
or kiss it like soft falling rain?

we identify only by touching,
are made eternal by compassionate involvement.
our bodies become dead branches
for the everlasting fire,
only our giving makes us eternal.

we have sung of equality and freedom,
tore the masks off prejudice and fear.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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God, I Know Mine Do!

perhaps the lips of god tremble....
with the death of every child out of season.
with the padlock on the door of the foreclosed house,
with the bullied child hanging in the closet.
with every call to war and flag that's raised,
with the bare feet of the poverty dwellings.
with the unemployed man making bathtub met,
the girl trading sex for a high...
with every affluent sneer,
and every indifferent stare.
with every tree cut for no reason,
and every tanker spilling oil.
with every dog taken to the pound,
with every racial slur.
with every elderly person left to eat dogfood,
with every unmarked grave.
with every moment of religious pretense,
with every shirt made in a sweatshop.
with every illegal immigrant shot and killed,
with every tick of the clock in an empty room.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Simple Prayer Of A Child

'missing in action'...
they didnt know...
dont get your hopes up,
we're doing all we can...

she lay on the bed
and wept uncontrollably...
the little boy sat in the darkness,
thinking...

he got down off his bed,
and down on his knees:
'God, if you're out there,
if you're real...

help my mommy, help me,
bring my daddy home! '
the room was still,
he could hear his own breathing...

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mouths To Feed...

the wind called...
and i went walking,
down hard edged streets,
past the abandoned and forsaken...

through dirt and filth,
grime, grease, and soot.
down past the edge of town...
i made camp by the tracks.

haunted by the sounds
of living now just echoes,
echoes and shadows,
shadows almost forgotten.

haunted by the faces,
the dreams, the fires now ash...
the smell of need and
the harsh stench of hunger.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Howl (The Returning)

black eyed, hungry teeth,
souls drawn tight through a needle.
displaced, desolate,
lives packed on borrowed trucks.
padlocked doors, Wall Street roars,
dead soldiers coming home.
street corners, somebody's daughter,
selling shadows wrapped in dreams.
religious freaks, hangman's noose,
dark glasses see only white!
Christians and Muslims, russian roulette,
hollow threats and doomsday lies.
starving children, doors locked,
faces turned away.!
oil rigs pumping, dry humping,
the earth screams, 'it's rape'!
protesters marching, riot squads,
take away your rights.
prisons full, hard degrees,
anger has a price!

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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For Government To Be Fair!

for any government to be fair,
every citizen has to be
just as important as every other.
every citizen has to have equal rights,
whether black or white,
rich or poor, gay or straight.
whether they believe in the same god,
in another, or in none.
whether they speak english,
or another language.
whether they are educated,
or not!
every citizen has to have an equal chance,
for employment, for education,
for housing, for love and happiness.
and every citizen has to respect,
both himself, and others...
this government should be
a government by the people...
any leader should be from among the people.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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