Blood spattered on grass
Over-enthusiasm set off
Unknown chain of events
Minimize the destruction
Garner the spots
Contain them
Decide to be
A sheep or
A ram
Neither
Ram Red for reminder
Sheep Green for goal
Bloodstone captures the soul
Blends them
Either/or becomes both
Balance in an Aries birthstone
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
Another amazing story by Mary Cathleen Clark…
Midnight
Back yard
Dogs gleefully hunting
Digging for tree frogs
From the swamp
Suddenly
High pitched screaming
Unidentifiable animal
Expecting the dogs to bark
I see that they silently
Look through
Wire fence spaces
Something is being killed
I want to stop it
I want to save it
But the dogs
Respectfully honor
Both predator and prey
Understanding the circle of life
The food chain
I go into the house without them
Soothing myself with the ukulele
Air conditioner thankfully covering up
The discordant music of death…
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: FLORIDA BLACK VULTURE OVER MY SWAMP
Pink
Concert ukulele
It looks trashy
But sounds so dreamy
Pluck
*Thanks to Richard Ankers for Elfje inspiration
(c) 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
Sharing this lovely poem by my friend Carole Hughes:
For my Mother (1913 – 2001):
…………In the Garden……..
I dreamed of a garden
in it my mother
was tending the flowers
as was her wont
on earth
you kept all your pain inside
an avalanche of pain
to make you insane
and throw you into a well
with that sad sound in your head
yet to you it was like snow
or feathers
a part of your plumage
or the scents of your flowers
their heavenly colours more radiant
than on any terrestrial ground
discrete profiles of bluebells
and lilies
larkspur and roses
so familiar and yet so haunting
with a power to unsettle
and to console
I picked one rose
from its thorny stem
feeling the thorns between us
this is from me, I said
and when I awoke
sweet-scented petals
lay about the room
and I saw my mother’s smile
the thorns had become roses.
…… carol j. hughes
Another year passed
Still not invited to the
New Orleans Jazz Fest
So I did my own
With sparkling performances
Of new material
Never before sung
YouTube-free
My incredible
“Five Planets and a Full-Hunger Moon”
Strumming plaintive chords
On the concert ukulele
Singing between mezzo soprano
And a forced contralto
Doesn’t get any better than this
In between my own work
I sang all our old favorites:
“Jet Plane,” “Blowing in the Wind”
“John Riley,” “The Boxer”
Well, ok, folky but kinda
Jazzy Folk
And then a Talking Blues
My own “Engine Block Hotdogs”
“Joe Hill,” “Rebel Girl”
“City of New Orleans” brought down the house
Thanks, Arlo, for a great song
They begged me for an encore
So I did “Channeling”
The very first song I wrote
Yeah, had my own Jazz Fest
In an air conditioned Florida trailer
Then ate and slept with the audience
My ever-polite dogs
Who says I don’t know how to have fun?
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: My Peace Ukulele
Past memories
Break the barrier
Of approaching dawn
Can almost feel
And smell
The sweat of fear
Sometimes part of those days
Begone! I whisper
Searching for a talisman
In a brass bowl
On my bedside table
But my dogs
Those stubborn
Messy
Dirty
Dogs
So wise
Know
And they surround me
Like the sick mother
From their litter
Keeping me warm
And when the sweat dissipates
They heave sighs of relief
Chasing tails
Digging too close to the garden
And generally rejoicing
As they hear the rattling of dog bones
Making the trip
From the box
To the salivating mouth
I am in their debt
And gladly pay…
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
(USING HIS SONNETS)
#60 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
#88 When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
#66 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
#80 O, how I faint when I of you do write.
#139 O, call not me to justify the wrong
#150 O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
#100 Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long
#28 How can I then return in happy plight
#43 When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see
#66 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
#52 So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
#115 Those lines that I before have writ do lie
#56 Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
#71 No longer mourn for me when I am dead
© 2014 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja) and William Shakespeare
(originally posted 3-21-16)
Despite date rapists
Feeding her chemicals
For quiet pliancy
Despite thieves
Stealing her jewels
Of gold, silver, uranium
Hidden in her
Deep, dark pockets
Despite ripping at her
Strongly skillful hands
Lovingly tending the roots
Of trees
That shelter, oxygenate, and feed
Of weeds
Intrinsic providers for healing
Of fruits and vegetables
To nourish her hungry children
Through it all
Her molten core
Fecund to the end
Like a Baby Boomer
Listening to the music
In her soul
Dancing, singing
Shouting out
“I am the mother
Of you all
And will never die”
Because the future holds
Glorious consensual couplings
With water, air, fire
And while they helplessly fail
To protect her now
She maintains her sanity
Knowing what is right
And she will never give up…
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
Image: earth-greens
(originally posted 2-25-16)
Two-day old crescent above the
Withlacoochee River hammocks
Not much illumination
Especially for seekers of
Cryptic or everyday
Mysteries
People mysteries
Involving love and life and death
But the hammocks have their own problems
As the sea level rises in this
World of climate change
Trees drown
Fish and wildlife dwindle
So maybe they all seek
Answers in their
Bowers of earth
Castles of overheated water
Crisping nests of dead leaves
No time for love when struggling
To find food and stay alive
We are kin to other species
Suffering alike
On this changing planet
Awaiting illumination
That is in a cycle of deep sleep
How to wake it up…?
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Withlacoochee River Hammock
poeturja 