Month: March 2022


Perspective of old age

Allows me to think of them

As my Girls

Saints and Goddesses




St. Sara E Kali

Patron Saint of the


Rescuing the Maries*

Floundering off the French coast

Kali, fierce warrior

Yet loving mother

Hindu Goddess

Also worshipped by

Roma descendants from India

St. Teresa of Calcutta aka

Mother Teresa

Another Romni

Spending her life

Nursing lepers

Passing along her personal

Manifesto: Do It Anyway

St. Hildegard von Bingen

Medieval writer,

Herbalist, musician, prophetess

Our Lady of Guadalupe

Representing the world-wide spread

Of the Black Madonnas

None other than

(So it is said)

St. Mary Magdalene

And my favorite:

Baba Jaga traveling in her

Mortar and Pestle

Merely a wise woman of


Surely based on those

Lone practitioners,

Like me today,

Who studied and pondered

The way

To use precious healing gifts

From our Earth

But also preservation of that


You see,

All these women

Have one thing in common:

They are Healers

Perhaps the syncretistic result of

Religion blending with Paganism

The philosophical Like-Cures-Like

So to these women

My Girls

I offer this poem

As a Mexican Milagro

As an Eastern Orthodox Tamata

An ex-voto

In thanks for blazing the trail

Showing the way

Sharing the wealth

Of their knowledge

For preeminent health…

<> <> <> <> <>

© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Saints and Saviours

*Mary Magdalene, Mary Salome & Mary Jacobi

(see Saintes Maries De La Mer, France)


Right hand releases and gives

Left hand receives and absorbs

Mixing henna, preferring dye

To serious tattooing

I draw a heart

On my left palm

To receive love

I draw an eye

On my right palm

To release my iron will

An iron wall

Of protection

Because seeking love

Is permitted

But attracting harm is not

Reassure me…

❤ ❤ ❤

© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Right/Left #2


(Fortuitous Spring Equinox)

(March 20, 2022 @ 11:33 A.M. / Scroll down for Vivaldi’s La Primavera on YouTube)


In subtropical states

Weather situations

Sometimes reverse

So Spring is deliriously welcomed

Above the Mason-Dixon Line

But to me in swampy Florida

It is the precursor

To hot and stormy weather

And a 6-month unbearable Summer

Dreaded is the yearly move

Into the first sign of the zodiac

Even though an April baby,

I’m an Autumn and Winter lover

If only the sun would agree

To be eclipsed daily

Between the hours of 12 and 4 post meridiem…


Granted, Tavasi Suvo

Does have its high points

A time when all the great

Mother Goddesses are celebrated

From Astarte to the Virgin Mary

Rebirth is the theme for cuisine

Eggs, the promise of more creatures

Encouraging animal husbandry

Seeds, the potential for more plants

Including magical herb gardens

For healing the body and soul

Space reflects the New Moon

And vibrant Northern Lights

Families come together

In houses of the holy

Or around the dining table

Ancient rituals enacted

Although the true meanings

Are often wrapped in

Vaporous forgotten lore


No matter one’s feelings

It is a constant on our planet

The day and night of equal length

The sense that something

Of beauty or joy

Is waiting for us aching humans

To finally stumble upon the arcana,

To solve the mystery

Of life, as it is meant to be:

A world of love and peace…


© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja) Parallel Universe Café and Other Poems

IMAGE: Spring 2022

(Old poem, new image)

YouTube: La Primavera (Spring), Vivaldi


Here comes that cumulus cloud

Do I really want to be stirred up?

I ask out loud

Me a placid body of water

About to be drawn and quartered

You’re all wicked condensation

Piercing me with concentration

See me! Speak to me! Says

The mighty waterspout

You continue to whirl above

Showing off your clout

I passively permit you to

Shake me up and out

I’m a vortex to you the monolith

Writing a new weather myth

Of a male/female couplet

As I spin and churn

Seems like I’ll never learn…


©2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE:  Waterspout


(An Auto-Train Memoir)



St. Patrick’s Day to most

But it will always be the day

I crossed the threshold

And began a new life


Kissing bye to my sons and dogs

At six in the morning

Driving my ‘87 Horizon

Every inch packed with possessions

Including a portable tv on the front seat

Wrapped in my ubiquitous sleeping bags

Winter and summer prize

For the homeless

Speeding down Interstate 95

Past the Washington DC loop

To Lorton, Virginia

First and only stop for the auto-train

CCR singing out the car speakers

“I went down Virginia, seeking shelter from the storm”


From noon to nine next morning

Rode the train in a sit-up seat

Met other women leaving their broken lives

Searching for peace

In what I began to think of

As the start-over state


Friend for the broken and lonely

But still optimistic


People of the States


We sat in the club car

Chain-smoking through the night

Telling each other horror stories

Of marriages made in hell

Telling each other our hopes

Of finding a job

And bringing our children down

(We were all Northerners, going down, going South)

Starting over

Starting a new life


At Sanford, Florida

We exchanged addresses

No cell phones then

I got in my Horizon

St. Patrick’s Day songs on the radio

Drove toward that line

Route 4 in a packed car

Only windows to see from

The windshield and my driver side

Torrents of tears poured from the sky

Lightning coming to ground inches before me

Never saw such a storm in Philly

Nothing to do but grit my teeth and drive

Change lanes with a leap of faith


Made it, though

Lucky to have a welcoming

Aunt and Uncle to give me shelter from the storm

Been over a quarter century

Can’t say it’s been a lucky charm living here

But could have been worse

Started over

Steered my sons

Through school and college

Got more dogs, cats

Found jobs, friends, men for those lonely nights


But along with the portable TV

And plastic bags of possessions

Came that same person from Philly

With a life lesson:

We drag ourselves intact

No matter where we go

No magical changes

When crossing the threshold

We have to change ourselves…


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)


YouTube video: Creedence Clearwater Revival, Who’ll Stop the Rain


Dreams rare


Especially recurring ones

We are together

And that is only

A fantasy

I know his poems

Are not meant for me

But I can dream

Searching his intentions in

Unrhymed words

For clues

Lilting music

Turning into the Blues

Because like a dream

The fantasy

Organic, alive

Morphs into a

Spidery nightmare

As his feet


By my claim to his love

Stomp through

The fragile web of

Harmless, dreamy lies

Pulling apart my


(c) 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Blue Moon

Suburban Witchcraft Magazine – Issue 1 — Color me in Cyanide and Cherry

Originally posted on Suburban Witchcraft Magazine: Warm Spring greetings to all! It delights me to say that Issue 1 of “Suburban Witchcraft Magazine” is now live! Suburban Witchcraft Magazine Issue 1 Featuring poetry, storytelling, photography and art from all around the globe from inspirational contributors, we hope that you will enjoy this creative snippet…

Suburban Witchcraft Magazine – Issue 1 — Color me in Cyanide and Cherry

This is a beautiful new magazine that I encourage you to read and also contribute to. I am honored to have several poems included in this first issue but all of the writers (and the editor) are amazing writers. 



This is a beautiful new magazine that I encourage you to read and also contribute to. I am honored to have several poems included in this first issue but all of the writers (and the editor) are amazing writers. 



Like the succulent

I have no beauty

But can thrive

With a minimum amount

Of care

Storing life-giving water

In times of trouble

But oh


When my mind is lost

In darkened shadows

Would trade longevity

For the beauty of a rose…

<> <> <> <> <>

© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE:  Succulents