Skin

So it s to paint porcelain –
With the long gentle brushstrokes
of the colors of my
- Kiss

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Harvest

Thus I gather the stores of sentimentality –

That such is the kindling of my heart.
Collected deep within its chambers are the remnants
of what were the moments of our intimacy.
May their memory keep me as warm and hopeful
throughout the long winter nights
when I will find myself
- Without.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Birds

As feathers fall around me –
I am left without the sanctuary of your arms.
Having fallen from the nest of grace
my heart has been broken as well as its wings.
Thus all I can do that I can no longer fly
is lie here and watch the world
- Turn.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Love over gold

As diamonds do rust –

Then so it is not silver I seek but soul,
thus I would not mine your heart for it’s gold.
That I have found that the tangibility of unconditionality
is being buried deep in the arms of mutuality
of what is the simplicity of sincerity
to be locked in your arms
- Hold.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Just a goddess

Such is the color of spring -
May that it be the emerald of your eyes.
A shimmering of hope beyond cloudless scope
‘tis my fortune in beautiful
- Disguise.

Thus is the soul of summer -
As your smile is the beacon your heart.
The beckoning reflection of love and affection
as its warmth fills my cups
- Rampart

As autumn falls in your hair -
Tresses of ocher and tendrils of umber
that your garden golden is a harvest beholden
as I lie in your leaves bed of
- Slumber.

Then soft is your winter song –
Unfurling gently from skies of porcelain.
Caressing and petite laying kisses ‘pon my cheek
that I am all a blush of tender despair
as to when I may hold you
- Again

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2005

Insipid expectations

Such is a heart in waiting –

That what for is the gift of a promise if it is broken
Is time not precious enough that it is stolen,
yet the consensus lies in the conceit of your conjecture
that you anticipate I will hold my breath
waiting tto drown just for
- You

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Hope’s despair

Such is this weight of my heart -
That I an overwhelmed with this helplessness
for I cannot change fate nor determine the product of destiny;
Yet I rather you break the bonds of my mortality
than steal the innocence from a
- Child.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Submissive

Be my slave –
That I take possession of your heart.
Where as whatever the crimes of my passion be
I am only accountable for the affections
of which I have for
- You

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Nectar

Bashful blossom of gentle heart –
bid not my attentions adieu.
Your flower has captured my heart
thus my intentions be true.

Silken beauty budding soft of solace
does your rose blush of red.
Wanting for dawn’s quenching dew
to sate your weddings bed.

Might a hummingbird court your kiss
seducing your sensuality sweet.
Your petals are plush of passion pink
attract my own summer’s heat.

Stolen kisses bestow borrowed hearts
with lustful longings of lament.
Thus my whispers of perennial promise
are beget by passionate scent.

Captured by the hyacinth of your hip
make me a pillow of your thigh.
Where I would lay in waiingt enrapt
by the wisteria with in your eye.

Then like ivy ascend intimacies trestle
entangled in marigold’s tresses.
May your lips petals purse to my fancy
and cover me in butterfly kisses.

Brushing softly ‘gainst your necks stem
shoulders lily wantonly of white.
As such is your honey sensually suckled
‘neath a moonflower’s ivory light.

Inciting visions violet of lavender lust
buds blossom in purling blooms.
Daffodils of desire run delicately deep
orchid’s scent heartily swoons.

Yet innocence lost is not but plucked
by pistol poignant penetration.
Was not her stem and stamen stalked
save by the botany of blameless

- Pollination

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2005

Synthenasia

As she is a rainbow –
Of scented sound sweet of oboes,
even as her touch speaks blue as the moon.
Yet her sway which is golden as autumn
that the owls enchanted croon of ocher and umber.
Might the wind comb her hair with song
her eyes still caress the trumpet of my stare,
for it is only her heart’s chord which I hear playing
as its silver strings ring silken she sings
“Hold me now or hold me never
and I shall be yours
- Forever.”

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Sex toy

Batteries not included –
Automated stimulation commitment under warranty
You rock my world when you pack my drill satisfaction guaranteed.
Cybernetic synthetic technological seductress of tease
velvet glove preprogrammed for love I feel the torque in its squeeze.
As with pneumatic propulsion my systematic expulsion builds behind loves gun
that its wham bam alakazam as I can feel your mother board hum.
Yet eruption cut short by the corruption of your port have that I blown the fuse
Bucket of nuts this just sucks as your functionality is now old news.
Finding the receipt I will get a replacement for my treat
then so I head to Home Depot in search of more power and plenty,
that the checkout girl winks saying something sweet
like “Yes, we have that model sir in
- 220.”

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Divinity

The ascension –
Unto sensual spirituality.
As the physical greets the metaphysical
upon the impassioned plains of self appreciation.
May that such forbidden salutations
merely be the unbridled intimacies of one,
they fulfill the rapture of
- The other

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

The silhouettes of love

As I miss the warmth of your arms –
The music of your voice, the gardens of your hair,
the soulful look of the comfortable silence within your eyes.
Might they have become the echoes and shadows of affections past,
they will always remain the reminiscent blessings
of what were moments precious with
- You

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Lorelei

Then so I hear your heart –
As it softly calls to me, beckoning me
unto the rapture which lies within your arms hold.
Thus I hear its melody in the wind and waves,
across time and distance were that you to close your eyes
would that you hear the gentle longing response
and chorus of my own hearts
- Song.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Madness

As I am haunted –
By my regrets be that I am remorseful.
Grievant voices whispering repentance unto my ear
as they dismiss the disabilities of my conscious.
Thus vengeance is wrought as the gods seek my destruction
that demise is to bear the weight of sin with shame.
Therefore the price I pay for humility
is at the expense of my
- Sanity

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Cello

As is the line of thine hip –
That thou art an instrument of beauty.
May I play my fingers lovingly along the length of thy neck
as I draw my bow tenderly across the sensuality
- Of thy strings.

Nestle the small of thy back –
Into the sanctuary of mine arms hold,
as I lay cheek alongside the poise of thy voluptuous veneer.
Thus what chord doest I strike be the music of
- Thine heart.

Thus my love of thee ‘tis not –
Merely orchestral maneuvers in the dark,
but sweet symphony of mine emotion and undying devotion.
Accentuated by mine adoration, enunciated by
- Admiration.

Lying thee down in velvet case –
I am but amiss of the melody of thine soul,
still I shall dream of the concerto of the music we did make
‘til I may next caress an encore of thine hearts
- Symphony

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Prelude to a kiss

Such is my enchantment -
As I gaze deep into the heart of your soul,
for therein lie the riches of the hold you have on mine.
Vast golden treasures of love and tenderness,
compassionate understanding as you see into the depths
and through the loneliness of my own hearts misinterpretation.
If beauty is of its beholder, then so I am found.
Thus won’t you cast the magic within your lips upon me
may that this spell be ever as broken
then so I shall always be
- Yours

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Stems

Lovely limbs –
Lusciously long and lithe,
place them temptatiously upon my shoulders
they dance delightfully up my sleeve.
Such benevolent branches how they writhe with a will,
dressed to the nines they are shoots that thrill.
Rooted to my heart these stalks of hymn
thus may I have the pleasure
of your seasonal
- Trim.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Lovebird

Sing me sweet serenade –
As you coax me into a position of compromise
with your amorously alluring tenor.
Thus your whispers do drift wantonly into my ear
as I am spellbound by their composure,
makeing nest in your arms and the composition
of your insinuative sensual
- Song

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Bubbles

Ubbles of bubbles to soothe your trubbles
bibbling bobbling bouncing bubbles.
Bubbles flip are bubbles that flop
bubbles that go bibble and bobble and pop.

Bouncing bubbles that dance on the wind
tiny balloons of rainbows and whim.
Weebles of wobbles flying all about
the children all squeal chasing them about.

Raindrops of puddles make musical bubbles
pllinking plunking pianos of mudholes.
Between your toes all kinds of squishes
bubbling splishy splashy melodies of wishes.

Bubbles giggling in the fish bowl wiggling
goldfish blow bubbles squiggling.
Silly soap swims flipping of floats
spinning on water like little bubble boats

Bubbling gum bubbles are all kinds of that
pop in your face making a big splat.
Sugar sticky of icky as gummy of goo
bubble yum bubblicious double bubble glue

Bubble bath bubbles are foamy and fluffy
rolling in clouds of poofy and puffy.
Lulling you with bubbles of streams
in a bibbling bobbling bubbling of dreams.

Ubbles of bubbles to soothe you of trubbles
bobbles of bouncing bibblebubbles.
Bubbles for me and bubbles for you
that you’ll never ever have to be un-bubbly

- Bloo.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2003

Butterscotch Rum

La lah

‘Neath blue buttermilk skies o’ pep o’ mint pies
we sail ‘de suds silly o’ cheese.
Won’t you wiggle my toes my ‘lil butterbean nose
for‘tis de’ pirate’s life fo’ me.

Sailin’ cin o’ mon toast ‘long dat butternut coast
cheese doodle dip fontainebleau.
Whilest whales’ whistle tales of snail’s silver sails
ou’ boats ‘cross de’ oyster’s stew.

Tra la lah

Hey hidey ho hum pass ‘round de’ butterscotch rum
teas o’ twiddle de’ wink tee hee,
fee fiddly fo’ thumb by Jolly Roger let’s git dumb
‘tis de’ pirate’s life fo’ me.

La lah

‘Pon castle sand beaches o’ pearl onions o’ peaches
weigh we anchor ou’ spoils to boon.
‘Tis treasures we berries o’ chip chocolate cherries
by de’ light o’ de’ pumpkin moon.

An’star shells sea shine n' 'eavens blueberry wine o’
mulberry waves o’ chocolate quiche.
Aye de’ oceans ou’ homme 'pon ‘de waves we roam
dat if I ‘ad only one wish would it be

Tra la lah

Hey hidey ho hum pass ‘round de’ butterscotch rum
teas o’ twiddle de’ wink tee hee,
fee fiddly fo’ thumb by Jolly Roger let’s git dumb
‘tis de’ pirate’s life fo’ me.

- Arrrrr.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2005

Deliberating mortality

As I ponder my past -
And present participle of what purpose I subsist
thus I suffer the trials of time’s plateau.
Where the only significance put upon humanity
is the preeminent knowledge that we are precognizant
of our own inevitable
- Death.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Dandelion

Little flower –
Of green and gold, a drop of sun in shower
You smile so bold yet I am told art weed stead o’ flower.
Dipped in dew you spring anew as your roots grow vast and deep
within a fold of earth to hold your soul within its keep.
A wind wandering waif a wildflower whose soul ‘tis willful ‘tis true
may it have been my sin to try to hold on to you.
For I tried to touch your heart yet you would never stay.
as the winds arms of whimsical charms
would always sweep you
- Away

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2003

Carpe diem

The emphasis of life -
Is the ensuing knowledge of death.
Might we be better to love one another today
may that we live again to see
- Tomorrow.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

The science of dreaming

What is the lucidity of my reverie –
That I awaken within the sanctuary of your arms.
Thus traveling unrestrained through the subsistent continuum
of ethereal space as I negotiate the bonds
of transcendental time and
- Distance

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Balance

Such is the state of grace –
Of which one is able to walk the thin line
between a rock and a hard
– Place.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2004

Learning to fly

Reluctance is a pair of wings –
That would take the pages of wisdom and knowledge
only to line the nest with the fickleness of their own disinclination.
Rather you to have faith in the ones who love you
as you step forth into the skies of your hopes and dreams,
spreading the gifts of your imagination.
Where upon by putting my trust in your heart
you will soar alongside
- Eagles

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Embrace

Such as I knew -
That as you held me in your arms
there never could have been anyone else
- But you.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Teddy bare

In her crushed velvet cloak –
Of Christmas and red long, tied in a ribbon of satin red thong.
Greeting me at the door wearing not more than stitches
thus putting a lump in my stocking and the holiday in my spirits.
Her terry cloth tummy is all kinds of taunt with ticklish
and her hips are full of heart that they are all kinds of wigglish.
Then unbuttoning those big brown bright bedroom eyes
that she whispers softly into my ear as I am merrily mesmerized.
Always with a “How do you do, are you happy to see me?
Won’t you stay with me awhile, promise to never ever leave me.”
That as she climbs into my lap with her all kinds of slinky
sultrily asks if I want it naughty or nice as she gives me a winky.
Thus my teddy bear tender of Christmas ribbons red
tucks me gently between her red satin sheets,
visions of sugar plums dancing
- In my head.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Time

As its sands do flow –
The ethereal paradox of existentialistic chance and change,
whose essence of which we are held subject to the monotony of its sloth
as well as slaved to the inevitable chaos of its swiftness.
Might it seemingly be contained within an hourglass of infinity
where we would watch its granules hang suspended in an illusion of stasis.
Yet a blink affords its opportunity to flow freely as an oceans tide.
Therefore even that we may effort to make consistent
the equations of our consequential occasion’s inconsistency,
there will never be enough to spend
- With you.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Trust

As hope is a state of mind -
It is not necessarily a state of being,
and yet we would place our faiths blindly
in the unforeseeable hands of an unpredictable fate.
Still would it to be that your sky ever fall
I would walk in those clouds
- With you

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2003

The poet

As never did I know –
I could touch so many people's hearts.
That never did I mean to let so many people down,
yet never did I think I could be lonelier
than I already
- Was

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2006

Silent night

Then so the city streets are filled -

With faceless people that anonymity is their name.
Thus cold is the compassion which strolls these hallowed halls,
warmed only by the glow of holiday lights lung low.
that as misfortune steps from shadows
- It scurries away.

Yet winter wind is indiscriminate -
Cruel that its icy touch cuts chillingly to the bone.
Thus what delight is found in the delirium of the falling snow
might simply be another’s misfortune of madness.
Still she bears her burden well, and yet
- She hears voices.

She cries into her mothers shoulder
for she is not but a moppet of rags and whispers.
“Mummy it’s so cold, how much further until we are home?”
“Hush child.” She comforts. “I can see the light.”
Tears of expectation escapes the child’s
- Black button eyes.

Thus she pushes unwaveringly on.
Onward through the crowds of faceless people,
always clutching the warmth of her child closer to her heart.
Down streets with no name that even as the snow
gathers binding the wheels of her life she
- Follows the light.

Past peep shows and soup kitchens
Where they stand pounding out words of salvation.
Jesus loves you, repent. The end is near, repent. Jesus saves,
open twenty-four hours for your viewing pleasure.
Voices, voices voices she hears voices
- “Mum. I’m cold.”

“I know child… We’re almost home.”
“Mummy, would you tell me a story?” She pleads.
Nestling the child deeper into the tatters of her coat she began
“Once there was a little princess just like you…”
touching her ragamuffin upon the
- Stitch of her nose.

“Ooh...” The child cooed attentively
as she blinked her button eyes in wonderment.
“She lived in a tower of height wrapped in thistles and thorns,
and yet the tower was so tall that it pierced the
clouds of her hopes and dreams.”
- “Ooh Mummy...”

She coddled the child with warmth.
“Thus realizing her dreamings had come true
she stepped out onto the feathery whiteness just as we are now
finding her way home to live happily ever after.”
Thus warmed the child smiled a little
- Stitch of a smile.

“That was a wonderful story Mummy.”
“Why thank you dear, as you are everything to me.”
Then as she wrapped her snow laden shawl around the child
a tear froze in her eye. “I’m cold Mummy, so cold.”
“Hush now and sleep, were almost home.”
- “I loves you Mum.”

Unnoticed she turns into an alleyway,
the boys are making holiday spirits in the back,
singing carols they are warmed by rum and burning rubbish.
Sinking behind shelter blending into the shadows
she coddles her only possession and
- Dreams of angels.

Thus day breaks with its blinding light
as the spirit is only now beginning to awaken.
Children flock to the hills with their new found sleds anxious
to be the first that breaks the new fallen snow
while others wandering from shelter
- Remain faceless.

“Look Mummy! Someone has lost a doll!
Can we keep her Mummy? Can we can we please?
Awwwww poor thing. She is all wet and cold and has lost an eye.
Will she be ok Mummy? Can you fix her Mummy?
Can we take her home Mum, can we?”
- “Hush child…”

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2003

Ambiance

As I dream of you –
Such is the scent of vanilla flesh
as I become lost within the reverie of your hair.
Softly spun with twilight as I see only the candle of your eyes.
Let the shadows of sadness play upon my wall
as all I know is you are with me
- Now

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Endorphin machine

Erroneous opiate –

That you so dominantly secrete
makes me swoon of your sexuality’s sweets.
Such pituitary persuasion of your inviting perspiration
that you can swell the orgasmic glands of any man.
Thus since you do extrude such an ambiance of erotic prelude
be my lil’ engine of could and erogenous multitude.
My mechanized testeroneal tease, caution if you please
as I do feel your living loving aphrodisiac
has begotten the beginnings of a
- Heart attack

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Piccola ala

Weep not my little wing -
That your feathers are torn and tattered.
Heart of broken as dreams have all of shattered.
Come home to where your heart can sing
for you were all that ever
mattered.

Bring me your velvet heart
that I may make you brand new feathers,
as you sleep safe tonight out of stormy weathers.
Tending to your tears and fears of dark
as I relieve your relentless
tethers.

Will come a day colors fade
that my wings are now lead and leather.
Still in your heart I hope you know there was never
a home in my heart or in my wings shade
as nobody could love you
better.

Thus I fly the skies no more
that my days have become too far and few,
yet I lie ‘neath the sky watching you soar as I flew
hopeful you know the reasons what for
that my only heart was
- You

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Mousetrap

There once was a mouse that lived in a house
In the house therefore lived a cat,
and a woman who danced with the milkman by chance
to put meat on the table stead o’scrap.

Now the mouse did he please to consort with the cheese
from the cupboard far and bare,
and yet had he to be sly for the cat had his eye
may he not get from here to there.

The day the milkman cometh the cat came a runnin’
for some cream did he think to make haste,
the mouse saw his chance and made for romance
and skirted ‘cross floor without chase.

The woman weak in the knees started to scream
as the mouse ran twixt her stockings,
and yet it wasn’t of fright but more of delight
For her house it was a rockin’.

Just as the cream rose to the top the mouse did stop
for the cat did wait with saucer,
thus he scurried up thigh putting a spark in her eye
that the woman in heat got hotter.

Now the cat he did dine on sweet cream of thine
and the milkman continued his rounds stat,
and the woman did smile for it had been quite a while
since she had caught a mouse in her
- Trap.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2004