In my dog-dug
Garden of Gourds
Wrecked by my
Over-excited canines
You rose chthonically
Out of the Earth
Shifting your shape
Presenting me with a
Colorful medley of
Pumpkins and squashes
I stood frozen yet thrilled
And then you touched
Your bandana
Smiled, I think
And disappeared into
Swampy dirt
But my holiday was salvaged
And I whispered, “Thank you…”
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© Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Gourd Garden
Working on a novel, sigh, prefer poetry but must try. Here are poems about 4 possible Slavic (Rus, Roma/Gypsy, Czechs, Poles, Ukrainians, Croatians, etc.) folklore characters to be included. Two of the poems are fragments from longer poems I’ve posted over the years. Anyway, thought this might serve as my Halloween poem and I wish you all the sweetness of life, no matter what you call this holiday that is part of the solar year xoxoxo
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*BABA JAGA (FAMOUS SLAVIC, MALIGNED HERBALIST)
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
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KIKIMORA (FEMALE HEARTH SPIRIT)
Kikimora covets the strings of my ukulele
Strings to weave her web
She has a chicken face and feet
But magical hands to weave
Wondrous lacy beauties if happy
And terrible spider traps when not…
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**DOMOVOI (MALE HOUSE SPIRIT, HUSBAND OF KIKIMORA )
The universe is insensible, ignoring my tears is reprehensible, I am all alone
But then I recall, a faithful thrall, my domovoi home chaperone
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.
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LESHII (GUARDIAN OF THE FOREST AND SWAMPS)
Leshii
Deity of the Forest
Went looking for a wife
Such hard work
Defending the woods and marshes
And mediating hunters out of season
Especially here in the wilds of Florida
Sometimes he led the humans astray
That Trickster gene rearing its
Fun but ugly head
And he willingly led
Those bloodthirsty types away
But today was marriage day
Because the Moon was full
And he changed from a Slavic version
Of the Green Man
Into a human
And he had someone in mind
But she probably wouldn’t accept him
With wild, woody hair and face
Of course, it is modern times
And in his 2-day stint as a man
He owns a computer
And while surfing the net
He finds himself mentioned
As a shape-shifter
Really? How come his parents
Never taught him that?
So after greeting the trees
Comforting the deer and other creatures
He finds his cabin in the woods
Scrubs his courting suit, hanging it in the sun
Wouldn’t do to have leaping fleas
While asking for the hand of
The herbalist Baba Jaga
And he finds her favorite herb
Bloodroot, in bloom
Planning to pick it
Under the silvery Moon
Because love will find a way…
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© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Leshii (Pinterest, no attribution)
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TWO ORIGINAL POEMS:
At times I’ve had bouts of
Second sight
Events seen in my mind happen
Giving me a fright
But my eyes remained useless
As I squinted left and right
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Learned the word “astigmatism”
At age ten, as a tiny sprite
Called 4-eyes from class clowns
School was such a blight
Glasses stripped my confidence, became quiet
No longer considered bright
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Tried contacts when a teen
But vision still so slight
Back to dorky glasses
Until cool John Lennon’s made it all right
Decades passed but then cataracts
Darkened life like perpetual night
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Two surgeries later I could see
20-20 in the light
Would I have chosen a different path
If technology was at its height?
Or was I doomed to be just me
Blaming with a lack of foresight?
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So here I sit, pushing phantom glasses
To the bridge of my nose as I write
Realizing the eye is my personal symbol
And now I feel contrite
The eye represents Chachimos or Truth
The eye represents protection from spite
Jakhalo, the evil eye, directed toward me
An injustice I’m willing to fight
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And so my eyes, old and strange
Reflect from a mirror in merciless light
But now I can see, perfectly
Each line etched on my face, yet feeling delight
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Even if blind, the truth will let us see…
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© 2022 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: #11 CHACHIMOS (TRUTH) altered art by CS
poeturja 