for every tree you cut down,
a child is dying.
for every barrel of oil that
you drill and spill,
...
they want to
ban books, ban abortions
ban gay marriages
ban free thinking
...
how many died that day
at the World Trade Center?
how many died
in the field?
...
from a tiny acorn,
the oak tree grows.
what a man cant find,
a child will know.
...
it took ashes...
for me to draw
a picture of your living
in black and white...
...
one lone rose
opened by the sun,
the faint memory of rain,
and the dark damp earth.
...
i quit trying to save the world...
and just offered my hand,
and walked beside it.
i quit trying to find the truth,
...
a beer and a shot....
two old men sitting
on the stoop. talking...
...
poverty is not my cousin,
is not my lover,
is not my preacher,
poverty is not my brother.
...
there is a moment just before darkness,
when every sound is amplified.
when the senses come alive,
and smell and taste take bodies.
...
the curtain is drawn,
the memories of another year,
a year of hardship and need,
...
for any government to be fair,
every citizen has to be
just as important as every other.
every citizen has to have equal rights,
...
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
...
racism is the rich man's lash
on the poor man's back!
yea, it's hard down in the projects.
...
civil disobedience...
daring acts of courage?
peaceful rebellion.
...
dont cry for me, Jesus,
it should be me crying for you.
when those that invoke your name,
do so on the field of battle;
...
for too long
i was a prisoner...
a prisoner of myself!
held captive by desires
...
i am 58 years old... have been writing poetry for over 40 years... had a troubled youth, was in trouble a lot, was a drug addict... survived it all... have worked a variety of jobs... have 4 grown children,3 grandchildren. was a member of the North Carolina Writer's Roundtable for a while... write poetry, songs, political and spiritual commentaries... am somewhere between a Buddhist and a gnostic Christian... am a renagade socialist by political nature... believe most of all that compassion is the one true path!)
A Child Is Dying
for every tree you cut down,
a child is dying.
for every barrel of oil that
you drill and spill,
a child is dying.
for every coal mine you
rape the earth with,
a child is dying.
for all the nuclear waste
you cannot dispose of,
a child is dying.
for every country you bomb,
a child is dying.
for every chemical you spray
on your vegetables,
a child is dying.
for every river you dam & drain,
a child is dying.
for every oil field you own,
a child is dying.
for every animal you drive
to the brink of extinction,
a child is dying.
for every smokestack, every sweatshop,
and every synthetic thought,
a child is dying.
for every tree you cut down....
Hi Eric, you write too much, I'm jealous. You really are like a Buddhist Priest at his temple.
always be happy dont be sad its my saying remember that.....................
I was looking for a poem to end a reflection on the last story in Matthew 25. I found you and In the Presence of God and got hooked on your prayerful, insightful poetry. Thank you for sharing it with us.
i would like to thank you for the poem 9/11 And the day after thanx..
Enjoy your day Eric my friend, keep gifting the words the light into other lives, for this we choose to live our days.
His voices Those voices Come from somewhere far Far, far away..in a man. a man A man who travel by his mind Who has nothing but honest heart A man who candles light in his voice His words utterly heard Wander through the world With his wisdom played In every song he sings About pieces to be whole About scar to get healed Still far, far away Journey of him to bright To stop and sing his own melody Cheer people with his words Who believe in love Those voices I still hear today From a same man who still offers his heart for us learning something For us taking from his experiences So now i singing my own song for a man who sing us for long A man of far, far away But very near near inside Eric Cockrell Who is a man, where the candled sound comes Dedicate to Eric Cockrell By Unwritten Soul