High fog clouds
Low in the sky
Wanting to cry
Rain all over the world
To drown the pain
But can barely maintain a drizzle…
(c) 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Stratocumulus clouds over my swamp
fog
LAST NIGHT’S FOG 2-19-17
Ten p.m. drapery of fog
Mere inches ahead
In an obscured backyard
Now unfamiliar territory
Feeling freaked
And not reassured
By my dogs’ growls
Peering through concealing mist
Goliath-sized creature
Wings slowly lifting
Smudging the sky
I close my eyes
As it ascends into the dense ceiling
Almost hearing the futile pounding
Of the waning crescent
On its stubborn Impenetrability
Dogs begin a low protest
Crescendoing into a shattering howl
Live Oaks dwarfed
By what can only be
A dragon in the fog …
© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
Image: The Mist Dragon, Andre Ma, Deviant Art
ARCANA
Never use these words, says Gran
Only in dire emergency
She says in the Romani chib:
“Open the door to Arcana”
In my dazed state
The word eludes me
English tangles with
Two family dialects
Kalderash and Sinte
So I come up with Piro Hudar Arcane
Will have to do
I walk to the edge of the fog
Gran said, Doesn’t matter what country or town
The fog is yours
Three times turn
What’s your favorite number?
Four
Shtar
Chant shtar times for protection
Her voice fades
Early, early in morning
Galbi—gold—in ears and wrists
Step over the vaporous border
Turning, holding
Bal, mutra, shungar, rat
Lock of my still long silver crown
Secret fluids contained inside
Blood of my ancestors
All long ago died
Am I wasting this one chance
Do I really need help
Gran’s voice again
Call help, look up
And listen
See who comes
Here is a coin
Keep it forever
Bring it into the fire
Of the ending of one
Beginning of the next
When do I need help
Who do I call
You will know, said Gran
No, so overwhelmed
Do I use for love or money?
Do I use for health or happiness?
You will know
This misty morning
I think I know
I think I need to not save it
But the doubt
Stuff Gran never explained
Me wondering if half of it
Was made-up shit
To scare, impress
An autistic granddaughter
Whose only power
Was make believe
Falling back on my
Four familiar friends
Phu, Paj, Haburo, Rat
Earth, Water, Air, Fire
How can it be
Do I truly see
Or is it senility
Through the haze appears
A crow-faced man
Holding a stringed instrument
Courier and a harp
Anagrammed
Open the door to arcana
You summoned me
Said he
My honesty wins
I don’t know why I’m here
I don’t know what to do
I do
Let me do the rest
I know
I know all
Misty morning wrapping me
Like the finest silken shawl
I take a deep breath
Close my eyes
See images unknown
To modern tech screens
Hear music unheard
On hides, ivory or fine animal strings
Smell powerful spices
Swirling around my face
Taste prehistoric water
In a state of unbelievable grace
Feeling, feeling
What’s been missing
What has hidden from me
My chaotic decades
Now moving out of the mist
How important was it all?
Asks he
Do you see?
Why did I wait so long to know
How different life could go
Only you have the power of you…
© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Richmond Park Photos
OBSCURITY
Double fog curtain
Meteorological
Emanating from roadside marshes
Inner
Winding around the dips and curves
Of the gray matter
Rumored to contain
The seat of the soul
Yet a slave to
The delicate heart
Misty comfort, though
A hidden place to go
Inside and out
Pull over, just stop
Can’t see where to drive
Pretense no longer needed
Not driving anywhere anyway
Not thinking anything real
Just drifting in the embrace
Of my new-found friend,
Fog…
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE; Morning moon & sun in the fog
NIGHT ROAD BLUES
What could be lonelier than
Driving in the rain and fog
Alone in the dark mist
Where’s my home
I’m all alone
Endlessly I drive
Peering through the foggy glass
No lights man-made
Nothing celestial can
Break through the dark mist
Alone on this endless road
Wishing to be bored at home
Alone
Alone
But safe
Trees looming over me
As I creakily
Move through the dark mist
Jurassic fears
That a blinding auto appears
Coming toward me
Further cutting off visibility
On and on
The road has grown
The road I love
The freedom road
Away from home
Where’s my home
I’m all alone…
© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
TRANCING
Midnight dreams invite the wanderer
To tread a confusing landscape
Yet each step is somehow safe
Although nothing compares to
Dawn dreams, waking dreams
Where we weave through fog
Precariously stepping
Into a familiar landscape of
Greens, browns and a touch of red
Beauty in sleeping safely
Beauty in cognizant danger
Trancing through life’s illusions…
© 2014 ViataMaja, Poezija
Image: My wildflowers in fog
