Notes For A Tomorrow
i feel very fortunate to be able
to write, and to share my thoughts
and feelings
i also feel a responsibility to write
the truth, not only my truth, but the
truth of all those around me
and so i paint these pictures of life,
some quite beautiful, some harsh and
distressing
we, as a people, and as individuals
are the human race. and what makes
it work is the word we
we are a part of each other, our happiness
and our hopes are dependent on each other
there is no i that is not a part of we!
we have reached a point in time when things
are extremely hard when it's almost impossible
to survive when it would be easy to lose hope
too many wars, too much poverty, too much disease,
too much homelessness, too much despair
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hammer Purged By Rust (Part Two)
the railed fence broken,
buildings stink with shock,
the sky falls with shattered force.
young boys with brass boners
chase burning limbs,
lips too numb to talk.
in uniforms of pretense,
that hide all remnants of fear.
drilled to perform without conscious thoughts,
their mothers prayers denied.
to the kingdoms of the poor,
unleashing the vultures of greed.
striking dead any man who dares to stand,
burying the children on trash covered streets.
to banish thought, to blacken hope,
to sever hands that join!
walls built of bones,
young mothers fight back with stones,
the match of judgement struck.
wave upon wave, led by dogs and owls,
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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.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am..... (Walls Of Fear)
i am...
the theology of mice and roaches,
hymns of praise sung by stones and moss.
i am the Family Bible, the Quran,
and the meditation cushion,
all come to the meeting place.
i am the atheist driven by reason,
the scientists' microscopes.
i am the teachings of Aristotle,
the music in Einstein's mind.
i am evolution, passage engraved in stone,
the rise and fall of civilizations.
i am wars fought over flowers in bloom,
and the rising of those oppressed.
i am the division and multiplication
of the human race.
i am the edge of freedom,
and the forbidden land,
i am the cross of self-denial.
i am outer space and inner space,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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In The Name Of Humanity
we who have heard the roar of silence,
who have walked in chains,
who have been imprisoned.
who have been to the place
where hunger lives...
who have slept in cars,
and underneath bridges.
who have worn our failures
for the world to see...
who have tasted the fruit,
who have worked the fields.
who have died each day
for a small portion of living.
who have reached for the sky,
and fallen from the limb.
who have been the tears,
the sweat, and the anger.
who have slept alone,
who have crawled in passion's window...
who have carried the cross,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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In Response...
Jesus never had a church,
was not religious...
never wanted holy monuments
to be built in His honor.
was not interested in donations
that ease the load of sin...
never wanted to be fought over,
or for wars to be fought
in His name...
He was a complete human being,
His every breath spiritual.
He tossed the moneychangers
out of the temple,
and stood up to the religious
pride of the Pharisees.
the people He walked with,
and that He taught,
were His family...
He was as responsible to them,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Broom In My Hands
we walk the edge of suicidal silence,
sweeping shadows beneath curtains
with brooms made of straw.
while somewhere soupbones
boil in the pot,
and the sound of coffee making
startles children's trains on tiny tracks..
the heroin news grates against the mind,
and dogs wait in silent anticipation.
Jesus dies again, a matinee,
the Bill Of Rights stutters
neath a thin layer of dirt.
travelling shoe salesmen grope lady's legs,
and old men on park benches
peer over bifocals.
the woman ironing, in her bra and panties,
quietly curses, with trembling hands!
bare chested men split wood in the sun,
while boys tinker on cars with oily hearts.
the soldier returned home to no home,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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And, Magic!
and so once again,
spring hath violated
the tomb of god,
and brought forth magic!
shadows dance,
seeds are planted.
life bursts through
the frozen casket...
light begins anew,
poets too long slumbered,
cast the webbing from their eyes,
birthing words into being.
thunderstorms, and magic.
the sun carries the hands of time.
summer dares come, wave upon wave,
poets dance naked in the moonlight.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am (Desire)
i am, become...
i am the stillness of the mountains,
and the whisperings of the grasses.
i am the kiss of the river,
running o'er stones and dirt.
i am the magnificent eagle,
but no less the sparrow...
i am the wind that weeps
for the land of the free!
i am concrete and glass,
the great cities you built.
i am factories and mills,
i am trucks hauling freight.
i am rows of corn,
your tractor, your mule.
i am brick houses built,
row upon row...
i am breasts and hands,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am (Kneeling)
i am, become...
i am forgiveness,
wanted, prayed for, needed,
in heart and action...
i am the blood of those
you killed crying out,
in the name of God and humanity!
i am the action done with foreknowledge,
the action done without intent.
and even worse the inaction,
that turns the head and closes the eyes.
i am the earth gasping with death,
crying out to her children.
i am your children, and
your children's children...
starving at your feet!
i am the people of color
you killed without remorse...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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