Month: August 2022



When I left Daemonia last year

All was a muddle of unsettled dreams

I thought there would be no way to look back

But the underlying horror

That never quite surfaced

Bubbled up as Terrestrial Radiation

And my rare nightmares

Are filled with your voice

Seductively calling me home

I resist warnings from well-worn tarot cards

Placed on a fringed shawl

Of navy sprinkled with silver stars

Cautioning me to forget you

I Ching coins construct hexagrams

As #28 Ta Kuo, Critical Mass,

Says don’t screw with Nature

Tea leaves create marching lines

Falling off the rim of my faded China cup

All shout: Run the other Way!

But my rebellious spirit

Demands me to ignore sage signs

Daemonia calls

And I will go

Because it is you…


© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Dawn’s Blood Moon


I’ve got USB TV

And one thousand songs

From the 60s, 70s & 80s

A little stick carrying years of pix

Of beloved dogs, kids, cats, scenery

Friends and family

I have a phone with 5G

And a laptop PC

With Microsoft downloading unwanted ads

Farther than my patience can see

Most prized is a Fire tablet

Holding more than any library

From ghost stories to cozy detectives

And the complete works of Shakespeare

Carried in my canvas backpack lovingly

Yet, despite the technology

My life is full of magical mysticality

From Medieval words passed down

The centuries from family

I have friends singing hymns once heard

On Plymouth Rock

Or Latin words echoing in chambers ritualistically

I, too, learned Latin in school

And autistically

Stim the declensions for comfort

Did autism exist before the 20th Century?

Does anyone today understand my



Like ancient times I plant my Allium sativium

Delicious to eat or banish vampires

Play my acoustic ukulele

Rock out on the electric treadmill daily

All my activities

All the piggy-backed technology

Built up through many centuries

But as always, I ask

Have we yet moved from the trajectory

Of hate…

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© Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

Image: Cartwheel Galaxy, Webb Telescope


Poetry is a song

Waiting for the revelation

Of a melody


Like you,



❤ ❤ ❤

© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Out of Reach


In my quest to be a warrior

I request guidance

Turning to the cards

No help today from Science

❤ ❤ ❤

Here she is

Me The Empress

Mother, lover, herbalist

And wannabe adventuress

❤ ❤ ❤

Woman, yes,

But also a girl

Infant, teen

Loving crystals, lava and oyster’s secret pearl

❤ ❤ ❤

My poppets named for healers

From yesterday’s unhealthy past

Women soft as soapstone

But always tough as glass

❤ ❤ ❤

Hildegard von Bingen

Eleventh century abbess

Mother Teresa nursing lepers

Panacea, daughter of Asclepius

❤ ❤ ❤

Marie Laveau known

As a Voodou queen

But she nursed with herbs

During Yellow Fever’s reign in New Orleans

❤ ❤ ❤

We all know Nightingale

Nursed in the Crimean War

But what about the Jamaican

Mary Jane Seacole’s knowledge and lore

❤ ❤ ❤

My Gran from a long line

Of Romani Drabarnis

Healing with natural gifts

Including Amazon Forest trees

❤ ❤ ❤
And here is Baba Jaga

Folklore’s true herbalist

Her likeness joins my poppets

In spirit, an environmentalist

❤ ❤ ❤

Sweep me into your heart with a broom

Rock me in your mortar above the gloom

Let’s sail around the clouds drying herbs

Trailing after the winged angels and psychopomp birds

❤ ❤ ❤

Sastimos (good health)!

❤ ❤ ❤

© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Healing Poppets


The movement of the celestial equator

Makes me think

Now that I am suddenly aging

It is not the zodiacal age that matters

It is our chronological age

When we are young

All is magical

And despite moving through time

All is still special

When young and strong

I could easily fall in love

But now, no, reality

Is a dirge song

Age of Aquarius

Age of Pisces

No matter

We are beautiful in any period

Of the Earth’s gravitational spin

If only

When we truly age

The Precession of the Equinoxes

Could knock off 72 years

From our own span of time

Stop the clock’s relentless chime

Into the unknown future…

❤ ❤ ❤

NOTES: Precession of the Equinoxes: a one-degree shift approximately every 72 years. So a 30 degree movement requires 2,160 years to complete. This makes me wonder if the songs of Woodstock, including Dawning of the Age of Aquarius, are meaningful. How we celebrated at the thought of peace, harmony, understanding.  The question is, scientifically, whether we are in the Age of Aquarius or the Age of Pisces, and what does that mean for humanity?

❤ ❤ ❤

© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE:  Webb telescope galaxy


Money won’t help when sick

Tin, Copper, Mercury and Iron

Gold, Silver, and Lead

Philosopher’s Stone for health

Seven Metals Alchemy

<7> <7> <7> <7>

© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: 7 Metals in homemade tin


The Universe is a song

And we all sing it differently

Some of us strum it off-key

We are still learning

Mistakes are made

But we grow from them

We each hear our own melody

But let’s try to blend

Into a chorus of harmony

Whether we sing and play

In soprano, alto, tenor or bass

Do right by our Universe

We want it to last…

© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE:  Universe & ukulele


Moving through the mall

Still closed but opened for

Eye doctor visits

Roomie in exam room

And me, yeah, gotta pee

Directed to bathroom 

In Food Court

Quite a hike

Totally empty

It’s abandoned

Just some old signs  for

Asian take-outs

(My favorite food!)

Kiosks and small stores still struggle

But the big guys

All gone:

Sears, Macy’s, JC Penney

Empty gaping stores

Follow signs to the rest rooms

Down a long, lonesome corridor


No doors and no one there but me

Well, I hope

Feel around for my pepper spray

Then remember it’s in my backpack

Protecting the empty car outside

Old movies flutter on the atmosphere

As I quickly squat on the toilet

Did you see the first Jurassic Park film?

That’s me

The guy first to be eaten by a T-Rex

Because his body betrays him and

He just has to pee

I do get out of there in one piece

Trek back through the lonesome corridor

Suddenly I hear a whistler


But unbidden

The song is reminiscent of an old Western

Envisioning tumbleweeds

I glance around but can’t find the source

Quickening my stride, eyes straight

I notice the ghosts of past mall shoppers

When every store and kiosk busy

When the aroma of cinnamon buns

And soft pretzels permeated the air

When children laughed while racing on a

Giant carnival carousel

When teens flirted, sneaking cigarettes 

When I would complain about the mall prices

Too high for working poor

Yet paid a dollar for a fresh orange juice

Without blinking

When infants whimper

While parents shop ‘til they drop

In between those ghosts of times long gone

Times before the pandemic

Another movie takes form

Dawn of the Living Dead

And yes, here I go again

Seeing shambling zombies

Groaning, moaning

As I hurry into the safe eyeglass store

Covid-masked, weaponless 

Heart racing as I sit and wait 

For my turn

As time churns

Toward a future

Of who knows what…

(c) 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: orange juice vending machine

See also my poem Magic Mall Machine © 2015 MAGIC MALL MACHINE (true story) | poeturja (