Month: January 2015


matryoshkas 1

Sometimes the last

And smallest

Matryoshka doll

Is merely a wooden nubbin

Barely carved into a shape and


What a disappointment

As we pull apart each doll

And eagerly gaze at the form and colors

Only to find an undeveloped

Imperfect lump of wood

Rattling around

In the penultimate doll


Sometimes she is complete…

© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija



You whispered my name

And every favorite song

Heard throughout my life


Played in succession

As time tattooed its image

On our breathless skin


In tune with my pulse

A musical memory

Love’s exhalation


How I adore you

As we two slowly dance through

Vast circles of time…


© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija



main st condos brendan fitterer-Times

False faces

Propped up store fronts

Shadow goods piled high behind

Shiny windows welcoming shoppers

Elephantine condos blocking the river view

Try to enter but what is this?

No one home

Abandoned before it began

No backs for buildings

Merely wooden slats

Holding up the façade

Of higher property taxes

For the already working poor…


© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija

(Image: Brendan Fitterer, Times – abandoned construction Main Street)


driving away yun_376

Eight crates of crap and a car: all I own

Wait! Forgot my computer and smart phone


A closet full of boots and clothes, also

Seems ok for when I’m ready to go


Own no furniture or even books now

Amazon keeps them on a cloud somehow


Music is stored on a flash drive player

Like me, the rock stars became much grayer


Friends and family are virtual too

Clacking our keyboards is what we all do


When you think of me, please try to be kind

If you search your heart, you’ll see you don’t mind…


I kinda like portability, see?

Helps me when moving, just gotta be me


Move down, clean cups, shouts out the Mad Hatter

Begin again, nothing much will matter


New World coming but are we really brave?

Pixels won’t soothe us when it’s touch we crave


I cram this stuff in my car and then leave

Driving who knows where, but I will not grieve


There’s the horizon line beckoning me

Drive faster, don’t care who knows where I’ll be


When you think of me, please try to be kind

If you search your heart, you’ll see you don’t mind…



© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija



samovar (cauldron)

Today’s sources of DNA

Were once considered mystical

To the Romani people

And other cultures


Blood, saliva, urine and hair

Were used to counteract o jakhalo

(The Evil Eye)

Bodily sources containing

The personal code

For a particular person.


Somehow, before learning

The art of reading and writing

Or the science of genetics

Our ancestors already

Perceived and located

The essence of our being

What are the other secret ingredients?

Our cauldrons demand

A dollop of Science

A ladle of Magic

And a dash of

Rhythmic stirring and chanting

To create an evolutionary recipe…


© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija




Everything ultimately comes down to the music

Once thought if I had to sacrifice a sense

Wouldn’t want it to be my eyes

How not to ever see trees and

Birds dark against a cloudy sky

Celestial bodies inviting tidal

Wax and wane on Earth’s stage

Yet, cannot imagine never hearing

Never hearing music again

The promise of music

Is in rock and folk and ethnic

Is in jazz and classical and flamenco

Is in every instrument:

Electric violins, Gypsy violins, Cajun violins

Indian sitars, African drums, Scottish bagpipes

Acoustic and electric guitars, Blue Grass banjos

Tambourines, tablas, castanets, keyboards

The pull of love and sadness

The fullness of heart and soul

No matter one’s age, the promise seduces

Reduces us to panting, hopeful puppies

Waiting for our windy ride in the car

The promise of music always fulfills…


© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija



A Dream Within a Dream
By Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

14 – Mara (Sea) Sonnet

14-Mara disk
Sitting by the sea, hands smoothing the sand
With an airy caress of sun or moon
The blending of elements like a band
When it produces the most perfect tune.
A sense of humor creates a balance
Crucial when thoughts spiral out of control
There is no room for any allowance
Force your mind back to the center, be whole!
Stop the clacking of your brain and relax
Passivity should not cause a scrimmage
The good life examines all of our acts
Acceptance will not damage your image.
Feel the rhythm of water’s gentle tide
Let balance and harmony be your guide.

(c) 2014 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja), from Madame Sosostris Explains (A Poetry Patchwork)


dr. scholl's sandals

Dr. Scholl’s sandals

Gave way to Reeboks when fire ants

Swarmed me in protest

After I blindly

Stumbled through dirt-mound homes

In barefoot pain

Reeboks were ok

Until I slid in the mud

So then tried clogs

Teetered too much so they gave way to

Black, nail-studded combat boots I wear ‘til today

Racing rattlers scared

Making their “S” shape

Indentations in shifting

But dangerous sands

Nature determines

Footwear and dictates dress codes

When we cohabit

© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija



(Why we Gypsies and Slavs bring bread, salt & a broom into a new home):

Moving day, what can I say, I move all the time

Seeking perfection, not soulmate defection, relationships sometimes a crime


Burn barrel takes, my latest heartaches, as I toss away possessions

Now I’m down to eight, plastic crates, getting rid of old connections


Stuff crammed in a backpack, because suitcases I lack, keeps me portable

I own lots of boots, and old workplace suits, for which I’m sometimes thankful


The universe is insensible, ignoring my tears is reprehensible, I am all alone

But then I recall, a faithful thrall, my domovoi home chaperon


I must persuade, the guard of my enfilade, to happily accompany me

There he will rest, while doing his best, to protect against an enemy


I cannot forget, that he must be tempted by sunset, or he will readily desert

There are only two treats, bread and salt but no meats, his attention to divert


When these element-bound delights, that make him contrite, are brought to a new home

The domovoi eats, and gladly repeats, his promise to protect when I roam


Salt of the sea, sprinkled lightly, on his temptation meal

Bread of the soil, dipped in salt and oil, makes the new home real


A broom is also joy, to drive away a rival domovoi, beat the wall and shout

“Begone to your old space, you are in the wrong place, please get out!”


So whenever you move, be sure to improve, your chances for protection

Remember the recipe, so your domovoi will be happy, and show his affection.


© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija