Posts tagged “Compassion

Dogwood

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Dogwood

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


1-900-Anxiety

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1-900-Anxiety

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


Seashell

tumblr_mlz8dkPn4h1sptnddo1_500Seashell

My little heart of pink and pearl
bourn from bed of coral,
Deepest in blue I remember you
a shellfish with a soul.

Tiny crustacean, cerulean elation,
found is your way to me.
‘Cross whitened sands into my hands
a siren sad of sea.

Shallows roared, washed ashore
abandoned and alone.
Yet ‘tis within your kiss that I remiss,
your mother calls you—
Home.

Charles Coakley Simpson


The Clown

tumblr_mq6sdzBtQW1sy4tc3o1_500The Clown

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—

To mine.

Charles Coakley Simpson


Ambiguity

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Ambiguity

Are we not meant for mystery
that we wander the corridors of our hearts—
Searching for love

Charles Coakley Simpson


Vespers

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Vespers

Wake me with a kiss,
and stir my dreams with lips brush.
Might that I feel–
the soft, tender press–of loves flower.
Between the unturned  pages
of my heart

Charles Coakley Simpson


Three Days in Bed with a Stranger

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   Three Days in Bed with a Stranger

The morning light is dark with rain.
There is an unfinished tattoo
on her left shoulder.
And I remember
you closing the door on us.
Your words hung in the air for days,
like this Louisianan heat.
As if saying that you still loved me
would set things right.
There is an unfinished tattoo
on her left shoulder.
In the dark. I am grateful.
That our scars don’teven matter

Charles Coakley Simpson