But Your Name....

who are we then to linger?
the pine needle bed turned brown.
the sky filled with emptiness,
where wings once sang in glory.
the mountain path deserted now,
footprints borne away by the wind.
as time exacts its heavy due,
leaving nothing as if a gift.

we who dared to speak of love,
who drank deeply with abandon.
who lit the candle as if it would last,
who dared the darkness to answer.
who kissed neath moonlit trees,
and danced till we were drunk.
who made love as if we owned the clock,
as if the leaves would never turn.

do you remember? lest we forget,
what was done, what was the cost!

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Degree

someone asked me what my degree was in...
well, i've been a factory worker,
a mill worker, a carpenter, a trash collector...
milked cows and rode horses,
grown gardens and cut wood.
i've been a kick boxer, a fugitive,
a poet, and a mad lover.
a two bit picker, a prisoner,
an addict and a thief.
a street preacher, a hobo,
a father and a husband.
a monk and a heretic....
need i say more.
i've loaded trucks and worked sawmills,
been a salesman and a business manager.
i've climbed mountains and lived in caves,
bathed naked in waterfalls.
i've been a winner, and a loser,
i've been a friend to the end.
i've been a fighter and a believer,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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If (A Buddhist Poem)

if all living beings are by nature Buddha,
then how can we designate worth to one,
and no worth to another?
what makes us think we have the right
to choose?
if all a baby understands are nipple, light,
darkness, and being loved... have we grown
wiser?
if a faithful dog follows us till the day he dies,
only asking to be fed and loved, giving
unconditional love in return...
who is the real master?
if we spend all of our lives in the pursuit
of money and possessions, ... do we own
them, or do they own us?
what happens to them when we die?
if we love someone so much that
we're afraid to let go.... do we really
love them?
if we have food to eat, and a place to sleep...

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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All The Same!

i am the illegal immigrant,
picking your fruit.
while my children are hungry,
and my wife scrubs your floors.
the young black man in your prison,
the anger of the poor.
i am the books,
you forbid us to read.
i am the Vietnamese family,
whose children speak english.
the young Sioux poet,
whose words sound like tears.
i am the white man's reservation,
and the white man's god....
the sound of the gas pump,
the feet of soldiers marching to death.
i am the grandson of the miner,
who never came out.
the body of the union organizer,
buried beneath rubble.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Small Glimpses Of Holiness

i can remember being a kid,
and going to church on Sunday....
can remember the way the sunlight
danced through the stained glass
windows, the smell of the old
hymnals, the way the hard bench
hurt my back....
can remember singing the old hymns...
(sometimes they come to me
in my sleep....)

but i cant remember any particular sermon!

it's funny what we equate with God,
and holiness... and what we dont!

just as easy i can remember being alone
in the woods, watching sunlight pour
through the pines, listening to the gurgling
of the creek.... and the way the earth felt

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Gospel, The Dharma, And The Breath

the darkened streets
haunt and whisper,
lights come and go,
eternity breaks the glass.

and right and wrong,
frozen on the ground...
smokestacks, abandoned cars,
vacant buildings ran by rats.

the hungry hand,
the mouth of poverty.
the addict's needle,
the body in the alley.

the woman beaten,
her face blackened and bloody.
the click of the hammer
on an empty chamber.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Freedom Rant.... (For Greg Uhan)

burn down, tear down,
empty buildings on fire.
wages getting smaller,
the cost keeps getting higher.
gasoline, political machine,
waiting to ignite.
the walking dead carry their beds,
two wrongs dont make a right.
unemployed, polaroids,
given to the flame.
drunk on fears, unspoken tears,
even hunger has a name.
gunpoint, tossed in the joint.
making meth in backseats.
bloody coins, where nothing joins,
bodies covered with sheets.
momma's grave, cant be saved,
redemption calls for blood.
funeral hymns, unpardonable sins,
caskets made of wood.

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Death, and Life

so many forms of
death so many chapters
ended abruptly without
resolution
the father or mother
you thought you'd never lose
that you didnt spend enough time with
the son lost to a foreign conflict,
draped in a flag
the abortion you opted for
cause you couldnt see
any other way and now,
years later, you have doubts
the teenager who committed suicide,
that you couldnt reach,
somehow couldnt tell them or
show them they were not alone
the young man who overdosed
alone in an empty apartment
the baby left to die

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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For Those Wounded by Love

i've been divorced before,
been in relationships that
ended badly...
and i know the deep level
of pain and anger and loss...

where there was great love,
there will be an even greater
sense of hurt... as if the whole
world comes crashing down on you...

one of the hardest things
for me was when there were
children involved.... especially
small children....
(and all children, in a parent's
eyes are small!)

i can remember waking up at night
in a sweat hearing my children calling,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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What If I Fell In Love?

what if i fell in love with a leaf,
became the tree that nurtured?
became the sun, the rain, and the wind,
and the turning of the seasons...
what if i fell in love with the lock
on the knob of the door to eternity?
what if you were the only key?
whose hands would make the turn?
what if i fell in love with shadows,
etched by the blade of hungry light?
whose face, whose form, whose scent...
whose imprint on my soul?
what if i fell in love facing death,
and you were my last breath?
would you breathe into me rivers...
rivers and trees, and stone laid paths.
what if i fell in love despite of...
despite of wars, poverty, and anguish?
would you restore hope to the hopeless?
and build a fire to warm the night...

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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