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

Chocolate

Such is espresso love -
Mocha latte the peanut butter of my parfait,
your prepuce lays sensually sweet ‘pon my pleasures palate,
aristocrat of aphrodisiacs thus I cannot love without it.
Sensuous bean of cocoa and caffeine you arouse my over stimulation.
Excitable delight able that you are so delectably entice able
that my tastes buds sing as my bells do ring
of my sensuality's premature
- Emaculation

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

Bombshell

As you light my fuse –
A nuclear nymph of plutonium pleasure
that I can see for myself that my sites are unfettered.
Thus a ticking time bomb of titillating eye candy
that you’re so atomically arousing thus your defenses are randy.
That one look from you better I hit the deck quick
for it’s right between the eyes - Damn!
I think you just sunk my
- Battleship

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008