Tuesday, March 15, 2011


The irony of my awareness, is the infinity of my consciousness
that I am trapped in a constant state of wakefulness.
Here, veiled within shadows, I am caressed by the intimacy of illusion.
The fleeting color of your kiss, the soft scent of its touch,
and the music of a voice which flows over me warm with memory.
as perception lies between the dream and the dreaming
that I am awake

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2011

Saturday, March 12, 2011

The same old sin

She used to call me “baby.”
Gliding effortlessly over to my table, she would sit on my lap
Then slowly tracing the line of my jaw with her finger
Put the warmth of her mouth to my ear and ask me to buy her a drink
I must have bought that insatiable bitch a thousand drinks
And yet here I sit, swirling the memory around in the bottom of my glass
as I grind my forsakenness into the abyss of an ashtray.
Still, watching the remnants of desire dissipate into the darkness
I tempt the brunette with a freshly creased dollar bill
She used to call me “baby.”

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2011

Sunday, March 6, 2011


You incorrigible fool
how easily led you were down the path of damnation
for a simple promise at the cost of your soul
And yet it was not your vanity which was your undoing
nor your pursuit for knowledge in the stars
but this loneliness which torments me in my misery
that empathy corrupted
your heart

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2011

Saturday, March 5, 2011


As I lie in the solitude of my bed
I hear clouds move restlessly across the night sky
Moonlight bends softly through my window
and I feel truth lurking in the shadows of my room.
I am voiceless in the presence of epiphany.
It climbs into my bed trying to comfort me with regret
caressing me with the fingertips of memory
and yet there is laughter in the promise of the sun
as it finds me cold in the solitude
Of my bed

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2011

Tuesday, March 1, 2011


Kiss me
Kiss me as if it were the last time.
That I might taste the bitter sweetness of yesterday
and all the tomorrows that will never

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2011