You make your own luck.
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 it 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—Trap.
The Shape of My Heart
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.
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.
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.
Nobody knows when you’re lonely.
Jump. Before you fall.
It’s been a good day in Hell.
Wish you were here.
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
And so they laughed at your expense—
Giggled when you tripped,
chuckled as you fell,
and applauded while you wept.
Still—there is nothing softer than your heart
except for your soul sad with tears.
And I shall find you when you are lost,
love you when you are lonely,
and lift your heart up in spirit so you know—
You will always have the key—
Charles Coakley Simpson