Protest, The Art Of Change
in order for peaceful protests
to wield the power to change...
we cant just protest against,
we must also protest for!
if we're protesting against
the financial inequalities
in this country or abroad....
we have to have specific changes,
and a specific plan in mind.
and we have to be united on this!
tax the rich, stop the oil wars,
reopen our factories....
put our people back to work....
make 'made in America' mean
something again!
stop the use of illicit drugs.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Once More To Live...
we have been a dead people
worshipping dead gods for too long.
our living no more than simple arithmetic,
collecting trinkets we name,
that somehow define us...
to be spread across our graves...
as if, to testify... but to what?
we've built moral cages that drain all color...
have become black and white photographs,
wearing suits, carrying bibles..
and now it seems the world's gone crazy,
violence, sex, rampant poverty...
war after war, hatred after hatred.
we've defiled our beds,
even our shadows have fled.
who are we? who are these faces
that haunt our sleepless nights?
who are the bodies we sleep with?
what is real?
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Darkness, Man, And God!
lonliness...
the soul cried out for
the presence of god,
even while held in the womb!
and so stars appeared,
for we feared darkness...
forgetting darkness our mother.
and we howled as wolves,
until there was fire.
yet the flesh we cooked
was our own...
darkness wept, and created dawn.
and the tribes of man rebelled
against the scent of the mother...
and civilization was born.
and men created distance,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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No Difference
i stared out the window
at the bare frozen limbs
of my favorite old tree...
i closed my eyes...
saw leaves bud forth
and turn green...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i stared at the young girl
reading at a corner table
i closed my eyes...
and saw an old grandmother
washing dishes with her grandbabies
playing in the floor at her feet...
i opened my eyes...
knowing there was no difference.
i saw the young man
carrying his son on his shoulders
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Sparrow's Thoughts... (Number Eight)
'steady rain, black dirt,
birds singing, to the clouds.
streets wet, cars passing,
time turns inward, so do i...'
a long slow Sunday afternoon.
winter whispers, almost forgotten.
spring turns the page, life begins again.
we are faced with so many issues;
poverty, joblessness, hunger, homelessness,
wars fought for profit, the corruption
of Wall Street and big business,
the oil companies raping the earth....
people fighting over religions,
over politics, over pieces of ground...
forgetting, we dont own the earth,
we belong to the earth.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Notes From Freedom's Heart
i spend a lot of my time writing
about freedom, dignity, and equality....
using a lot of different forms, just
trying to be heard....
but i've come to the understanding
that whether i write it, sing i, play it
on guitar, paint it, dance it, or write
it on signs and march it.....
doesnt matter!
what matters is whether i live it!
when i can look into another human being's
eyes and not see color, gender, religious
or political idealogies, or sexual preference...
when i know that their mistakes and failures
are my own... that there is no difference
between us... that we have the same needs
and desires... and that we need each other.....
when i'm willing to listen, to offer a hand up, willing
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Damned Truth
i am absolutely enraged at the current political state of this country.
shutdown, no shutdown, last minute hysterics, cant pay our soldiers,
but the politicians damn sure gonna get paid!
this isnt a game, it's not a joke, it's not one hand trumps the other!
what we are dealing with here are the lives and well-being of the
American people... and they're playing chess, and using us as pawns!
we're involved in wars we have no business being involved in, that we
financed because we cant pay for them! we have allowed corporate
America to sell out our jobs for a higher profit margin.
we have raped our environment. we've sold our children into sexual
slavery. we've traded freedom for manipulation. we've allowed our
educational system to deterioriate.
we've sold out to sex and drugs and the 'big deal'. the American dream is now a nightmare for most of us.
we've become a dishonest, greedy, bigoted, self-righteous, apathetic mess!
everybody wants to point fingers, nobody wants to take responsibility.
it begins at home, with the man or woman in the mirror. and then it comes down to what we will allow to be done to us!
it is time to quit playing republicans and democrats. it's time to be the
American people again! time to be human! and anybody of whatever party that tries to get in the way needs to be kicked out! ! !
i told someone this morning that i know Jefferson's rolling over in his grave.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Which Side Do You Belong To?
i hear the cry of the hawk and the rabbit,
i feel the talons tearing flesh.
i smell gunpowder, and bodies burning,
i hear the sound of boots on the road.
the groan of the tanks turning without faces,
the buzz of the drones flying above.
the mechanical order, as life is destroyed,
the cry of babies on their mother's dead breasts.
the mourning sisters who bury their brothers.
light making shadows on all the colors of skin.
the shout of the flags, the bowls left empty.
the bolt of the rifle, the knife slid from the sheath,
the sound of the falling just before impact.
the cry for freedom on the lips of the martyr.
the pages of the holy book turned down forever.
the prayer of justice over equality's grave.
the soldiers of poverty who fought against all odds.
the sound of dead elders drawing in their breath.
the wind named liberty howling and lost.
the fingers of the child touching dead lips.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Walk The Path In Stillness
walking barefoot...
down alleys dark,
while children play
with garbage and broken glass.
past unlocked doors,
through buildings spent,
left for ghosts and tribal memories.
past walls charred by sweat and time,
left to smolder with empty ache....
to the time before the time before,
when living had a name.
under war torn skies,
over bodies strewn,
and left for birds of prey.
down dusty roads,
holding a child's dark hands,
in shadows anguished pain.
the skies aflame,
as if stars died, and every veil is rent.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Southern Gospel... (Part Two)
he lay still on the floor,
wrestling with the darkness.
his life flooded his senses,
and the lives of all others!
he stood again by his mother's
grave... felt again that emptiness.
and the first time he'd ever been in love,
the softness of her skin, the gentleness
in her eyes. the way her lips tasted
when they kissed, the way her body
felt beneath his... the eternal sadness
in her voice when she said goodbye!
the birth of his children, the house and
the home... the same 8 hour shift, year
after year...
the day they announced the layoffs, the plant
shutting down... the day the unemployment
ran out...
times of war, acts of courage, and murder that
bruised his conscience.
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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