Author Archive








Who’s cryin’ now?







I told you so.








Are you feelin’ dirty?








Never wait until tommorw.
When they are in your heart today.








You can’t stay mad forever.




There once was a mouse who 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 was a-rockin’.

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 rounds stat,
and the woman did smile for it had been quite a while
since she had caught a mouse in her—

The Shape of My Heart





The Shape of My Heart

for Stephanie

Might that it is fashioned
by all the ones I have loved & lost

And yet, it will never be enough to hold all that I feel for you








          Picking a fight.
          With a ten-foot pole.

Anger Management








It’s better to be pissed off.
Than pissed on









Walking the line.
Between a rock and a hard place.







        I’d rather be lucky.
        Than good.

Square Pegs






        If it doesn’t fit.
        Get a bigger hammer.








Glub glub glub…






Having the strength.
To drive in the final nail.









You’re only as good.
As your worst mistake.







Today is the first day.
Of the rest of your life.

Dumb ass.













Nobody knows when you’re lonely.






Jump. Before you fall.








It’s been a good day in Hell.
Wish you were here.





for Sarah

We are but poor passing fates,
that I could not love you any more
than I do right now.
For  I know of nothing in this world
so sad—or so beautiful
as your branches heavy with rain.

Charles Coakley Simpson

California Dreamin’

tumblr_mh3wsxluN21r8825ko1_500California Dreamin’

Cali was a cute little surfer girl from Santa Ana.
She was about this tall, had a sweet laugh, great smile,
deliriously long sun-bleached hair,
and a nice, tight little IM.

We liked to pretend we were in love.

She used to send me photos
of herself in the Victoria’s Secrets dressing room
at the mall with her iPhone
while she was sitting in Physics class.

“There’s more where that came from,”
she would wink.

She took me for a drive one night—
just her, her iPhone, and I.
We ended up out on the beach where
she lay me out beside her on a blanket, flipped me open,
and began texting with a warm, seductive voice
into my ear.

I thought I was roaming.

“Touch me—here,” she teased.
And forwarded me a photo of the inside of her thigh.

I was all thumbs.

I moved my hand slowly up the inside of her LCD.
She giggled as I started caressing her Instagram application.

Do you love me?” She purred.

“I thought we were pretending.” I replied.

Charles Coakley Simpson






I get my therapy over the phone—
She pushes happy pills between cam shows.
“Take two of these
and call me in the morning…  Darlin’.”
I receive the anti-depressants
through the mail in a plain brown wrapper.
The sensation of silk
feels good against my naked skin,
but what I really needed—was a Valium.

Charles Coakley Simpson



for Triin

Longing is the agony of the nearness of the distant. —  Martin Heidegger

The wind caresses me in the winter of the night with the nearness of the distant,
while memory wraps me, warmly, like a blanket of wool, with  the nearness of the distant.

Your eyes: grey stars , a pallor in the darkness that leads me through the absence,
a chiaroscuro, an unfolding of shadows, where I meet you in the nearness of the distant.

There, standing with the crows, your hair windswept with the color of the wheat,
I walk alongside you through the forest of the trees of moss in the nearness of the distant.

A great, golden spire rises up out of the fog, and a snow lays lazily on rooftops.
A sea embraces a sleepy fishing village as my windmills turn in the nearness of the distant.

The wind caresses me in the winter of the night, and yet I hear the singing of bees.
I am the sparrow caged by the snow laden limbs of its tree, but  I will meet you—always,
In the nearness of the distant.

Charles Coakley Simpson






We carve a nest in the wheat behind your parent’s house and lay there at dusk waiting for the stars to fill the indigo void left by the setting sun speaking in half-whispers the tender sincerity of your words filling my head with the thought of what it would be like to kiss you pulling your hair gently behind your ear the Harvest moon shining softly on the nape of your neck your mother calling out for us in the darkness the cicadas singing their summer song from the shadows of the trees which line the river of my no return.

Charles Coakley Simpson