Moonlight Swallowed Poem by Eric Cockrell

poets do their best work,
with shovels by light of moon.
burying the unspeakable,
owls mumble o'er the grave.
and moonlight taunts,
with a flip of her hair,
sending fireflies to worship
in the naked trees.

the lies old men tell,
over bourbon and wars.
old bellies straining,
and eyes long dead.
while their women grieve,
over irons and burnt pots.
and the children plot,
with matches and wills.
a Wal-Mart cross necklace,
blood pressure, and sugar.
while boys with hard passion,
stare at girls with big breasts.
crippled by fear,
unable to talk or listen...
life races by,
in spasms of ego.
and hymns sung in graveyards
seem little to pay...
for the fire and the embers,
now ashes cold.
somewhere a baby is born,
an abandoned dog killed by a car.
one seeks for milk...
the other eaten by crows!
flags stained by pus,
lowered in reluctant protest.
while a single flower blooms,
on a mountain of garbage...

and poets, lest we forget,
look for hammers and nails,
ah... to build an ark!
moonlight... swallowed by clouds.