Monday, December 28, 2009

Small mercies

Thus you curl up beside me in the dark -
Pressing your lips warmly against my ear, whispering inaudibly
that the words still stumble silently through my memory.
For your hair was scented softly with hyacinth and your touch like rain
that as your finger traced the outline of my heart
I never even heard you say
- Goodbye.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Monday, December 21, 2009

Sleeping with a broken heart

Thus we lie in the ruins of pleasure -
As our intimacies lay scattered like shells along a shore.
Where only the memory of your touch remains - I should have known
that it was never about how much love I had in my heart
but about how much love your heart
- Could hold.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Thursday, December 17, 2009

The enlightenment of death

Even as the mirror of mortality –
Is not merely the reflection of all things to come
but the revelation that all things
- Will pass.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Threshold



A
s is the capacity for pain –
Determined by our willingness to be hurt
Solely by the ones whom we - Love.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Friday, December 11, 2009

After forever

As I have loved you before –
I many forms, in many ways, in many lives.
Thus as you lie quietly with me even at this world’s end
we have no fear, or sorrow, or longing regret
for I will only love you more
- Tomorrow.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Invisible sun

As I feel the warmth of your touch –
Fingers combing through my hair, caressing my face,
and the gentle heat of breath which slowly climbs my shoulder’s retreat
that my eyes flutter with the resurgence of well-being.
Yet I bask only in the arms of my memory
For you never could give me
- Your heart.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Frozen

Consumed by vacancy –
As my last breath, suspended before me;
dissipates slowly into the shadows that its sentiment is lost.
And yet I must fathom to catch but one more –
Praying that it is sooner than these lungs are filled with ice
if I am to show you once again
how much I love you
- Still.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Half truths


How pale is a lie –
When my lips are sweeter than words.
Laden with the confections of whispering conspiracy
my tongue pours promise into your ear
as I play upon your desire
- To hold me.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Implied consent



Y
our eyes spoke softly to me –
Love at your will; with the love you impart
loving me still as I break your
- Heart.



© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Friday, November 27, 2009

Brushstokes

Lead me into temptation –
and let there be no boundaries to your whisper
as I caress the longing of my inhibition.
It is not enough to love you that I embrace this desire
for my heart is swollen with aspiration.
Might I not be able to hold you within my arms
then I shall hold you in my
- Dreams.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Implicit

As I reflect on paths not taken -
I stand remiss of the words I have left unspoken.
It is not that my heart ached more, or that my heart ached less
but that my heart aches now as I never imagined
how much my heart truly ached
- For you.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Sybilia


Such is the study in your eyes –
That I am caught between a dream and a desire.
Have I waited too long to embrace you
even though every moment I ever wanted was to be with you.
Yet as my heart trembles in want of your whisper
you have made it a better place - To be.



© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, November 15, 2009

The catharsis of love


Have we been any less loving than kind -
When it was love we wanted, there was no love to give
and yet when there was love to give, it was not the love we wanted
that the love we receive is no more than
- The love we deserve.


© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Within Temptation

Thus I feel your eyes upon me -
Caressing me gently with the warmth of intent.
Yet even as you press the grape of my own desires inhibitions
I already drink from the beauty
- Of your cup.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Soliloquy for a Nightingale

Fly away my fair evening grace, forsaken ‘gain forth of light,
by thy soul of thy song I swear I twas swain
nay now I hear thee not for thy love hast taken flight.
Yester- eve thou did sit ‘pon hearts purchase caressing mine ear with content,
yet twas it merely for the night as came the break of daylight
and my soul twas left to lament – fly, fly away my fair evening grace,
yet leave me not to the revelry of the lark,
I wilst forsake his happy tune for I wait on the moon
when thou returnest ‘gain with mine
- Heart.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009



Saturday, October 17, 2009

Ashes

There are no birds today –
And the clouds wither along the horizon.
In the distance I hear the delicate sound of thunder,
might it simply be the wings of angels having stole you away
or is it the torment which tears at my heart
knowing the world is too big
- Without you

© Charles Coakley Simpson 200

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Eternally

If only you believed in forever -
Even that forever is simply too good to be true.
For mine heart in its truth still waits
forever just to spend it with
- you.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Faith

To follow your grace –
Is to know that you would not lead me upon paths
of which your love would not protect me.
That even surrounded by this darkness I do not despair
for it is your love which lights my way
as I am guided by its
- Promise.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Solitude



S
uch is the comfort of silence –

Where upon I open my heart
that it might be filled with thoughts
- Of you.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Sensuality

Such is the touch of intimacy –
As one would explore the nakedness of a butterfly
Therefore to place beneath her wings a kiss gentle of the wind
as to lift her to the heights of her trembling adore
encompassed by the residue of
- Passion.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Strength

For what reasons have I written -
Except for all of those who have touched my heart.
The ones I loved. The ones I have lost. The ones I leave behind.
If I never told you that I loved you – I should have.
If I did – I can only hope it was
- Enough.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, August 1, 2009

The morning star

Thus is the beauty of thy temptation –
Nestled deep within the bosom of the crescent moon
thy jewel entices me with the very grace from which it hast fallen.
Yet thou would only lead me to the edge of the world
until I tumble into the eternal despair
- Of thine arms.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Twilight

As the bridge -
Between dusk and dawn
is but simply the distance breached
from my lips unto
- Yours.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Checkers

I believe it’s your move pumpkin.

Oh good Lord it is, isn’t it?
Ok then let’s see where was I…. Hmmmmmmmm?
Rook to king’s bishop takes knight’s pawn something or other whatever.
Yes. Oh my stars look at that. I say to you kind sir…
King me!

Muahahahahahah…. Checkmate.

Gimme the blouse.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2005

Thursday, July 9, 2009

The turnstiles

What is the price of absolution –
Except to endear what we endure as we suffer
Thus even as I bear my own weight unto eternity’s gate
I have found strength through my weaknesses
for as I have loved, I have learned
- To forgive.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Closure


Grant me the strength –
Where I can drive in this final nail
Might there be worse things to die for than love
you are still all that I cannot leave
- Behind.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, July 5, 2009

The shape of a heart

What then are the contours of love –
Except the reassuring circumference of your soft asylum.
Just as our embrace is like an ocean without shores
that we are two souls with one will
- To love.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Monday, June 29, 2009

Little wing

Hold me in your heart –
And lift me unto the boughs of heaven.
Where I am embraced by the heights of compassion
as there is no place left for me to fall
but the refuge of your
- Arms.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, June 28, 2009

The man who would be king


That they sing accolades before thy flesh is cold -
I mourn only the man thou could hath been, not the man thou were.
Find thy peace in the knowledge that all men are equal
in the eyes of God

for I call no man martyr whom hast not suffered
- For my soul.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Aphrodite


You contemptuous -
Vain self-serving deceitfully decadent
two-faced cock teasing slut.
Who died and made you goddess?
I want my keys back
- Bitch.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2005

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Reincarnate

As I return to the womb –
Forged by suffering, tempered by humility
and so I seek the strength of compassion in your love.
Would you to hold me as I dream of death
might I be born again in
- Your arms.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Love’s condition

As we love most what we fear to lose -
Thus love is for the moment and that is all it knows.
Love is not material. Love is not conditional. Love cannot exist
where fear does not thrive, even more so to realize
that what once we had loved the most
- Loves us no more.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Conclusions


Could that I only have known -
I would have held you longer, loved you stronger
might then that you would not have slipped from my embrace.
Thus may our last kiss be as long as the goodbye
for it shall never be over until
- I'm over you.


© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Salvation


As you did pray for me –
Then so I have been absolved by your blessings
Even said, my sins are not all omittable
for I have always only been an imperfect servant
Yet my soul is revitalized by the trust
in the truth you believed
- In me.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Monday, June 15, 2009

Hope

Deceitful expectation –
Have that you betrayed my faith by manipulating my trust
all while you prolong the torment of my heart.
I simply sought to find love through truth, live through integrity
and accept loss with a grace of humility.
What now is my reward except that the only promise
which lies within probability
- Is death.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Late for the sky


As I never intended to be -
Yet as I was born I shall die - Awakened unto conscious.
And there will be no fear, nor pain, nor suffering
nor the loneliness that resides in my heart.
Thus I cross into Elysium’s fields for I am without regret
for I know there could never be enough heaven
to hold all the love I left
- Behind.


© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Incubus

Such are the remains of her day
that she sits before her vanity contemplating reflection;
for the mirror is the conjecture of her life.
Yet as her mind is filled with the warmth of wine and ambiguity;
dare she assume the responsibility
- Of her regrets.

Her eyes glisten with candle light
imagining a lover’s fingers combing through her hair;
that she lays her cheek lovingly against the illusion of its warmth.
Not yet the rose withered might she still be plucked,
the wine casts its spell over the weather
- Of her age.

Closing the doors of her reality
she throws open the windows of imagination.
Thus playing out the possibilities of passion in her mind
that she mimic’s intimate conversation with her erroneous company.
When a voice gently touches her shoulder bare
- “My precious.”

….

Might it be the evening’s breeze
that it gently parts the length of her hair soft.
Falling so tenderly down the nakedness of her back smoothly,
maneuvering beneath the undercarriage of her ribs
and yet not before cupping the firmness of her breast’s arousal
- To rest upon hip.

Her nipples purl with awakening
as her heart skips with a kind regard to the sensual sensation.
That it is merely the leniency of her anticipation
inciting her to lay her head back in self sacrificing vulnerability.
If only to rest her cheek against what may be
- An evening’s breeze.

Bearing no more of this fantasy
she pirouettes anxiously upon cushion with an exalted expectation
only to address the dancing remorse of her own shadow.
White silken lace dances and spins wildly about an opened window.
She sulks to the sill and closes the sash harshly
- Desire turns to despair.



So is her bed cold comfort
yet she sinks into its soft asylum as the candlelight flickers and fails.
Moonlight fills the room with its gentle ambiance
as she lets the wine warm her heart with the illusion of its intimacy;
reminiscing to her self “I will always love you.”
- As if she mattered.

The twilight her carousel
that she pulls the satin of her sheets up around her shoulders
and watches her dreams spin upon the ceiling
That clinging tightly to the faithfulness of her pillow
she presses her cheek delicately into the familiarity of its coolness
- Seeking security.

Shadows gather quietly
as the hot wax drowns out the last of her candles flame.
Thus she slips across the threshold of sleeps dark and silent gate;
yet conscious of another presence in the darkness,
she waves it off as the whispering vanity of loneliness in her ear
- “My precious.”



The fickleness of dreams -
surrealistic stepping stones of our most vaunted desires
might we become kings or queens or lay with unrequitable lovers.
An ability to unravel the mysteries of our deepest secrets
as well as keys that unlock the doors of our
- Darkest fears.

Such is her hearts intent
that she surrenders to the pleasures of her own self appreciation
and succumbs to the warmth of an imaginary lover.
The impassioned heat of his whisper moving along her shoulder
carelessly confiding wanton secrets unto her ear
- Susceptible.

She writhes in delusion
as hands gently defy the sanctity of her sheets.
Exploring the naked continent of her porcelain flesh excitable,
she shivers with the fever of her anticipation
as the whisper discovers the scent and secret of her garden
- “My precious…”



Tending her own garden
she parts thighs reverently and opens the petals of her flower
a like any blossom which would wish to be plucked,
allowing the whisper to browse the benevolence of its bouquet
as she mouths the words silently to her self
- “My precious.”

Whisper becomes wind
stirring wild the waves upon her shore
that her orchid glistens with the dew of stimulation,
as her leniency of his illicit touch warms a sensual apprehension.
An elation of paroxysmal exhilaration unfelt in years.
- She raises her chalice.

“Drink of me” she insists
as she tosses her cautionary inhibitions to the wind.
and wrapping her thighs firmly around the shadowy lover
she graciously presses the wine of her fruit generously into his cup.
Her needs being more important than her demands
- She persists “Take me.”



Passion is fueled by fire
commencing with the selfless spark of an intimacy’s touch
and then fanning that flame into a bonfire of vanity.
Thus the price of passion is found in the recklessness of rapture,
yet favoring the cost of its consequence that we
- Worthy the pain.

Song becomes symphony
then so does symphony become cacophony
as she feels the full weight of his body upon her now.
The inflexibility of excitement pressing against her inner thigh
she throws open the flood gates of heaven
- Inviting the deluge.

The wind turns tempest.
She lifts her hips to greet his unbridled thrusts;
bodies lathering of sweet scented sweat and sexual insatiability
she is at the precipice of her sexualities closure.
Yet teetering on brink of ecstasy, she knows not whether
- To jump or fall.



The event of her horizon.
She desperately tries to hold on to the sensation
forbidding this precious moment of bliss to slip through her fingers.
Yet with every breath she takes, each beat of her heart
she cannot help but submit to the delicacy
- Of disaster

Eyes roll with possession.
Trembling with the adrenaline rushing through her veins
She burrows her face deep into the shadow of his shoulder hard.
Thus biting sharply into the apparition’s flesh
seeking atonement for the release of her sensualistic sin.
- “Hold me” she cries.

Locking legs around him
she rakes her fingernails down his back and provocatively digs in
preparing her self for his full and final mount.
Resulting in the heat of his eruption deep within her womb;
her eyes well with tears as there is nothing left to be had except
- Death and distance.



Collapsing into faithless arms
a shadow scurries wickedly along the wallboard avoiding the light.
“Stay.” She pleads. "Was our passion not in vain?”
The impish silhouette scampers past the moonlit window;
then mischievously making its way alongside the length of her bed
peers inquisitively at her from its distance
- “My precious?”

“Your precious.” She submits.
The gnomish figure scales the footboard of the bed
where it sits curiously studying the afterglow in her porcelain cheeks.
She reaches out to the shadowy figure and softly implores,
“Come to me, nay that I know the compassion of your arms again.”
- Eyes blink in response.

“Kiss me.” She murmurs.
It cocks its head hungrily it feeds on her desperation
then moves skillfully towards her, transcending her trembling thighs.
Perching itself competently on her still heaving breast,
and as a cat would steal ones breath, he would steal her last kiss.
As within the light of his face, she sees the death
- Of her loneliness.



Silken drapes glow of sunrise
as the mounting light caresses the contours of her face.
Does she sleep so soundly as the dead,
or is it that porcelain skin has turned to alabaster?
As upon her nightstand sits a stemmed glass spent of wine
and a scripted vial spent
- Of her soul.

Then so does her beauty sleep.
That what were once the whispers of love in the dark
were merely her unheard screams in the night.
Yet will there be anyone who will remember her name?
Therefore we must take a care of what it is we would dream for
as there is a little hell to be had
- In us all.

Thus are the perils of heart.
As Cleopatra seduced her asp; Ophelia was seduced by the river
then so did Juliet became her dagger’s own sheath.
What for is this madness which is wrought by loneliness
when all we ever wanted to be
- Was loved.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2002

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Lipstick traces

As I remember my first kiss -
I remember my second and all the kisses I never had.
If I never said the words – I meant to.
If I did - I never said them enough, forgive me.
It was all the time I had to say
- “I love you.”

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Dawn

As her kiss is instilled –
Within the gentleness of a shard of light.
Intangible is the caress which is warm of revelation
my faith restored by tender illumination
that embraced is the hope
- Of today.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Requiem for a dream

I miss the small horned bird –
Once perched outside my window at dusk,
head cocked slightly in anticipation and courting expectation
would flutter his tiny stature as if to clear his throat.
Leaves move with the wind yet the trees speak not this night
as the song at my sill is sullen and soulless
and I think of all he intended
- To be.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

The owl's song



T
he caress of solitude –
Is the gentle call of night and its serenade
Be it a cry haunting of melancholy
twilight is only as lonely as the accompany of our
- Hearts.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Monday, June 1, 2009

Thrasher

What reckless hearts were we –
That we lay hidden in these fields of gold.
Exchanging laughter and smiles that innocence tempted
and as the dusk descended then so did our desires.
Eyes blue within blue as her hair fell darkly around me
and I was blessed with her memory’s kiss
that stirs a storm in my heart
- Even now.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Monday, May 25, 2009

The hanging tree

In meadow green –
Stands a wood tall of thorn
its branches twisted leafless of serene,
yet it only needs one strong arm
to set tortured souls a free.
Pray my love pray that stout be this limb
might I find my way back to you,
for it will bear the weight of every sin
this soul has thus -
Accrued.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Temperance

God grant me the strength –
To shoulder the weight of my humility with grace.
Impart upon me the omnipotent knowledge
might that I understand the full wisdom behind your will
for pain, suffering, fear and loathing.
Will then I crown you myself
- Merciful.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Friday, May 22, 2009

Miriam

Such is the cruelty of fate –
To have lost my evening star to the light.
Even that she did fill my heart with her loves strength
destiny was for her to shine brighter still
than heavens of which she
- Aspired.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Monday, May 18, 2009

Tempting the muse


Inspire me –
Take the quill from my hand
and drive it deep into the heart of my soul
and I shall bleed honeyed words upon parchment.
All while the ink slips sweet from my lips
as I tumble poetry softly into - Your ear.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Poverty

The wealth of love -
Is to be the penny found not lost
as I gave you the world as it was mine to give,
except all I had to offer was my
- Heart.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, May 16, 2009

The unforgiven

The infirmary of absolution –
Lies not within the jurisdiction of men and their hearts
but within the absolute judgment of their souls.
Thus even though I grant you my amnesty
there will be only one soul saved from its damnation
as you continue to contest the misgivings
- Of my heart.


© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Sunday, May 10, 2009

The principle of pleasure



A
s it is not enough -

To simply conquer the kingdom of your heart
that I want to shake the foundations
- Of your soul.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Grief

Are there no more tears in heaven –
That even my soul cannot find a well of its relief.
Thus I am lost, wandering aimlessly.
Deliberating the penitence for my own mortality,
might that the humbleness find me
searching for my last
- Straw.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009