What kind of day greets me

Waking up with the Romani song

Diri Diri So Kerdjan

(How Can This Be)

Clunking through my head

What kind of day will exist

Working out on the elliptical

Randomly shuffled playlist:

When Doves Cry

When Will I Be Loved

Don’t Fear the Reaper

What kind of day will I see

Alone, just the dogs and me

What kind of day?

Anything I want it to be





Forcing it

Must write

Prompts blight

My mind:


Warm shower



Gazing at the sky

Walking in nature

Thinking of events

That make me cry

Why oh why

Have words deserted me

Thought the reservoir

Was endlessly brimming

Can no longer accept

I’m specially skilled

Uncooperative brain



© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Human Connectome Project (Neuroimaging)



Waking up singing

A song that I wrote,

No matter how basic

And unGrammy-like

It may be,

Is almost the

Ultimate high

For me

Eclipsed only by

The birth of my sons


C)Couldn’t bear the memories

(G)Just can’t face it, baby, without (Am)you…

(Chorus from SUBTROPICAL, W-I-P)


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: My “peace” tattoo concert ukulele



The four o’clock poem

Has struck again

When once the words

Poured out during

My morning shower

They now prod me awake

After a restless, useless sleep

And here I am

Tapping away

Peering in dismay

At the pre-dawn computer screen


Wrecking my sight

Of not only the words

But also what I need to say


Does a confessional poet always confess the truth

Or is there a bit of fiction

In everyone’s life

Something we don’t even recognize

Because our reality

Is different from everyone else’s

Is fiction allowed

Or can we create instead of recording

The truth

As the universe knows it

As others think they know it


Writing is a philosophical dilemma

And although millions of literature majors

Write countless papers

About the poet’s symbolism

What do they really know

About the poet’s blah, blah show

Most importantly

What does the poet really know



© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)




ACT OF CREATION (composed my first ukulele song for one of my poems)

ukulele 1

The scent of music

Unlike the yeast of bread

That sets the stomach growling

Unlike the taste of honey

That brings celebration to the taste buds

Unlike the soothing herbs

That heal from a cup of health

The scent of music

Unique, all-powerful

Breathing life into the

Simplest poems

Fueling words and thoughts

As strings are pressed

Against the frets

Strummed and plucked

Music is the missing ingredient

Supplement to a healthier life

It is more than

Bread, honey, water-drenched herbs

It is the creator of joy and sadness

It is a backdrop to vitality

Enriching our inner life

Enlarging our spirit

Music is life…

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)