poem

Oh God, Oh God, I hear your voice,
a thumping thumping in,
Were every beat does bodly note,
the want and fear of men.
A closeness sound, of moan and shake,
that swells my blood but where?
For sweat and strike, and beat it does,
with every gasp of air.
But beat it is, and beat it must,
and noise it does procure,
but sadder is the gentle heart,
for don't the wretch endure?
With thump and pump, a rise and fall,
were each is in its turn,
A raceful sound, of blood to slake,
for which we trump and burn.
For as the heart does thumping quake,
and feign a mute desire,
Oh where, Oh where, your voice does sound,
if not my chamber's fire?

w.c., 02 February 2007

A Poem for Toes

Toes tumble from the East

and mulch upon the lawn

blushing, flipping, they beam and play
before the sun has gone

And in such light, where all can see,
they sing a youthful song,

a part of feet, their joy will last,
until our shoes come on.

w.c., 26 May 2007