Three Poems. The Vow Upon the Rock. The Power of Eros. Who will You Listen to?


You move your love beyond your normal reach,

and hug your life into an austere fast,

renounce what forms so old that others preach,

to take upon this challenge. Act at last!

Where you face daily the trials anew,

and devotion knows those torments to repair,

miracles work their way along this view,

to save their soul from pain and dark despair.


The cruel wind sweeps onto souls so pure

as sunlight comes, a change far more than token,

to take away their ways, hard to endure,

their voices run round the town unspoken.

Take refuge in the offer of a cause,

a giving up of pleasure’s hold and grasp,

so nothing holds aloof, no place to pause,

and know that you are fully free at last.


You take on tasks, your voice is here to stay,

you hammer walls, resistance not at hand,

you leave yourself open on what to say,

so that you kiss the way that seems unplanned.


Do stay awake, to service dear, sublime,

the strange joy that responds on daily round,

emergence connects without fuss or chime,

where needy ones, sit and observe, draw sound.

You sing the song of nightingale’s that’s dear,

offer your vital words so ears will hear.


Ah, we can make love without our bodies,

we give up this pleasure sensed between us;

it seems so deep, we remain so modest,

even for you and me without a fuss;

our yearnings hold the eyes – windows to the heart

our passion held so high, could then just start.


The passion stays, both hearts go with the wind,

a jewel shows in every text and call,

far from our suburban streets,

thick skinned, until we land in fields of flowers tall,

in your small offerings that melt the fears

and make adventure with long laughs and tears.


We draw the line, and then we act with words,

a friendship meets, whispers, our pauses here;

Eros is pulling strings and that’s absurd,

we can’t go far, nor do we get too near;

we cannot try to form the whole event,

our sensual inclines are heaven sent.


A drop of kindness tells our soul to drink,

a word can touch upon embodied play,

the play of life and smiles in such we sink,

the sun and cloud can reach to make the day;

the two hearts of us, a meeting, a must,

I could not want for more than that of us.


Who will you listen to when they declare,

they swirl all round you; they always know best,

and then try changing you, so then beware

upon those judges whim to fix your fate,

as though they can offer real security,

and then deceive you with maturity;

those voices will not guide, nor promise much,

you must explore the woodland’s path as such.


The wind that sways along the rolling fields,

the skylark’s song is floating down to earth,

a bird now hovers, afternoon now yields,

and horses gallop, meadows green with worth,

across the swaying grassland, hooves galore;

so listen here and catch the sound around,

to make your acts of crazy wisdom soar,

a passion beats itself upon the ground.


So dance to the drumbeat from the far shore,

and find out what you feel is wild at last,

so you can dive and see what you explore;

crestfallen, down the coalface, far below

becomes the faintest tap, a call beyond;

here you can listen, here you can respond.

If you can sense the current, learn to grow,

far from their voice that fails to correspond.


So, catch the song, where judges lose their grasp,

then throw off wish to please powers around,

let go, no more of living dead for you;

so climb outside the coffin, screw and nail,

you soar above, beyond where skylarks flew,

and see expanse, a view that the gods do hail;

you live upright with vision firm and true,

and then you know what’s right and new for you.

Poems from Poems from the Edge of Time

Christopher Titmuss

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Scroll to Top