Eric Cockrell Poems

i close my eyes and go back...
sixties angry churning deep south,
to the old oak tree in the clearing.
where two bodies hung side by side;
...

i am the flute,
fashioned of skin and bone.
waiting for the soft feel of your lips,
and the hot breath of your desire.
...

with every breath i take,
the ache of your nearness hurts more.
the lone figure skating on ice
inside the glass globe,
...

i saw god this morning...
and brushed her long grey hair,
as she sat in her favorite chair,
watching the sunrise through
...

you cut the howl from your dogs,
blunt the claws of your cats...
then leave them for Buicks to devour
on hungry homeless roads.
...

do we sleep in the stillness,
the moment after the guns are laid down.
the day the war on terror
becomes the war on poverty.
...

even trees undress,
on a moonlit night...
and the grasses moan,
mountains shudder with joy.
...

is it anarchy...
when we tear down
everything that says:
'I dont care,
...

hard nosed old half drunk men,
missing fingers, teeth, and hope.
50 years of working for somebody else,
somebody else's money, somebody else's dreams.
...

we are defined...
by feet tripping on the doorstep,
by the cup spilled,
by the broom calling from the corner...
...