Daydreamed owning

A magic spatula

Carefully dug a circle

Around the back yard,

Adjacent swamp

And like a pancake

Slid and lifted

(Didn’t flip it, though)

Then placed it

In your world

A piece of me

In you


Keeps me safe

But willing to walk out the gate

When you ask…


© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Hard Rock Café Guitar Spatula



F/Wanna crawl C/inside your Dm/body

Am/Crawl in  C/side your D/mind

F/Bask in C/side your Dm/emotions

Am/Your sacred C/spirit to D/find


CHORUS (in couplets)


C/Oh for our F/dark eyes to D/meet

C/life F/berry-pie D/sweet

C/Oh to taste F/and finally D/feel

D/Baby let’s F/make it C/real


F/What are the C/magic words Dm/I need

Am/To make you C/part of D/me

F/Just want you C/real and Dm/solid

Am/Not some C/hell-sent D/fantasy



 (c) 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

Walmart in the morning, damp & rain in the afternoon, exaggerated dreams of composing but still, it’s a nice way to end the day! 



Days of blues

Choosing to float

Through the land of fantasy


Necessaries in life

Make me aware

That I must take care

Of the visible part of


But soon

Even before the moon rises

Breathless and smiling

I rejoin you in the invisible clouds

Away from crowds

Where we drift through

An enclave of dreams



© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)



Two years of an unappreciated garden

Now all gone to unremitting green and brown

How I long for reds and blues

The day sobs out for vibrancy

Need something rare as a hummingbird

Spotted without tear-stained spectacles

Porky-Pig-pink flowers reaching for the sun

But it all takes work

Fertilizer brings relief while wrecking aquifers

So sandy soil

Once the bottom of the Gulf

Holds out for salty seaweeds

Blooming algae

Leaving me a blistering memory

Of our once-fertile

Yet fantasy-driven


Impatient for reality,

Should have known it would be



And empty…


© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE:  John Everett Millais – Ophelia


You ask the identity of my fantasy man

Hardly hesitating, I reply:

I am his canvas of fecund fields

Pierced by passionate suns

Van Gogh impressions of yellow and green

I am his guitar strings

Played by his tongue

Set on fire and worshiped

As only Hendrix’s music could careen

Along scales never before heard or seen

I am his epic poem of alliterative lines

That old Pagan Beowulf poet

Writer, reciter, loving me


These three

As one

Someday you will come…


© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)





**scroll down for a YouTube video**


Wondered if you are autistic

Like me

But can’t be, you lie

A Lot

Maybe you’re into a fantasy world

So it’s not deception

Just another guise

Across the page unfurled

Who are you, I wonder

The real you, that is

Or are the personas

All separate mosaics

Different names

Different elements

Producing patterns of

Universal familiarity

Ah, well, who can tell

Impossible to define real

We might as well be

Imprisoned in a prism

Facets of colors

Begging to be free

Perhaps someday

Our lights will collide

Inventing a new shade

On the spectrum…


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Gandee Vasan/Stone/Getty Images


YouTube video: Who Are You, Fifth Harmony



No matter where in the world you were

I always felt your life force

Now it’s fading

I try to hold on


But no

The cord/chord connecting us

Now severed in the cold moonlit night

My wish

Although we will never be together

Is that you are not gone from this life

That you are

Still directing that force

Even if the heat is for someone else…


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens

IMAGE: sutratma silver cord



Sometimes she brought with her imaginary friend

As company during stressful situations

Straddling reality and fancy

A comfort for one always alone

He a rock star

She his rock

Functional method to counteract

The outside world’s overwhelming bombardment

As if Jackson Pollock floated in the sky

Employing his drip style technique

Splashing paint splotches on her

Pounding head and worried eyes

A soothing way to shop at Walmart

Or patiently wait in traffic while driving

They’d converse, in her mind

She wouldn’t gesture or move her lips

Always being aware

It was a comforting fantasy

Perhaps a replacement for cigarettes

Once gloriously inhaled


One twilight she won tickets to see the real rocker

She went alone, first row center

Fantasy man, holding her hand

Sitting in the imaginary seat between her

And the real stranger on the aisle

Suddenly, there he was

Flesh, blood, sweat and swinging long hair

And the world darkened

Suddenly flung her through a tunnel

Flashing stars seen at a great distance

Her head under attack

As if her mother’s purse

Of JFK half dollars

Was opened and the coins

Rained upon her

And the world crumpled

Forcing her imaginary friend to vanish

The doppelganger legend so true

He died when he saw his double

Although the real deal didn’t see him

And continued to rock on

And she didn’t know what to do…


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Dante Gabriel Rossetti, How They Met