Month: October 2017


Light the fire

Rip off the robe

Hear the music

Calling you

Calling him

Slow, solitary dance

Under a subtle

Chunk of Earth

Orbiting through space

Warmed by the sun

Shining in

Another time and place

Smoky tendrils part

And I almost see his face…


© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)



(re-post of last year’s poem for Halloween, Samhain, P’habengi rat or whatever you wish to call this end of the harvest, night of the souls.  I’m in search of candy corn today 🙂  )


When that thin gossamer veil

Between the worlds

Shreds impatiently

To let the alive and dead

Have their meet-and-greet

Be careful what you wish

Be aware of what you say

Trust no spirit if they be unknown

Dump salt from a neck pouch if tingly scalp

Light white candles if black ones flicker and flare

Carve smiley orange kirbiso

And fish-feed your inky cats


Unless you crave

(If you are brave)

Excitement that may turn into


Because the spirits are bored

Powerful and jealous

And they may overcome

Whatever you believe

Who has the control?

Not us, my fellow-living

We can train, memorize, pray

But spirits have that spectral power

A necromantic way with words and wands

No, we’re no match


Unless you are blessed

With wisdom and purity

And you know the runes to

The banish spell

Do I know them?

Will I share?

Perhaps if you give me your candy corn

I can be persuaded to bare my soul to you…


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: MzScarlett


*scroll down for YouTube video*


How in the world

Would parents force a


On the subway

From Snyder Avenue

To York-Dauphin

To work at an optician’s

Known by her aunt

Five in the evening

(Already dark in winter)

To nine p.m.


Some days so herded in

Couldn’t sit

Always seemed to be

A man in the crowd


Virginal me

Winter coats smelling

Of camphor and sweat

Late at night less bodies

Perfected a scowl

Making no eye contact

Best to look crazy

As if I gripped a knife

Under my smelly, heavy coat

But finally able to afford

Denim and faux leather

Mini dresses, jeans

End justifying the means

On the rodent wheel

Of consumerism

To working class status

But no hero, oh no…


© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Subway entrance, Philly  John Lennon, Working Class Hero  (YouTube)



Was it Beckett who wrote

About the arbitrary chaos of life?

That man sure could pen-talk

Failing basic chit-chat, me

Goth Granny in glitzy lip gloss

Like a gamma ray burst

Taking billions of years

To see

The light

In this house-of-cards


As I stumble down a path

Far from capricious

More like destiny



Theatre of rigid scripts

That never change

Over and over again

I write

I say

Tell me

I’m trustworthy

I won’t laugh

I won’t sneer

Say it without fear

Let words waft into the aether…


© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Alberto Sughi, Café Painting