music

ENTANGLED song in progress (in minor chords)

MINOR CHORDS TO BE ADDED (IF I CAN OVERCOME JANUARY LAZINESS)

 

eternal waves
washing away
unwanted memories
nightmare days

how can i write a love song
when no one has ever loved me
but before you offer your pity
understand,
i never loved anyone either
spent the years
dreaming of you
dreams of wonder
how do you taste
how deep can your eyes
see into my soul
invented scenarios too
your lips caressed me
never whispering lies
always making me feel whole

Violin bows
guitar strums
ebony and ivory
entangled with drums

and that one day i asked
could i stop dreaming and
make us real
force of will
will you see me
so finally found you
and there i was
smiling at you
for real
my lips moving
determination proving
we were meant to be one

soughing wind
whispering wild words
silence broken only
by cawing birds

and i asked
can i stop dreaming now
can we make this real
i want to know
all those years ago
apart
afraid to start
reality
you look at me
but no sound
no song
can i hear
swallowed by fear
i turn away

Violin bows
guitar strums
ebony and ivory
entangled with drums

(c) 2020 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Valentine Fantasy Song

MOO

(experience as the basis of art?)

So many times
I’ve traded in the
Family cow for the
Magic Beans
I’d do it again
Even knowing what I know
That not everyone’s as lucky
As Jack
Not everyone finds
The Golden-egg Goose
But I’d do it again
All along
I’ve been led
By anything
Wild and mysterious
Beckoning corridors
And any unlit path
Pathetically
For my art
My words
Bad experiences equal
Interesting poetry, right?
Perhaps most poets
Gamble with the future
For that once-in-a-lifetime poem
Maybe for most
Artists
Musicians
Maybe?
Hey, though,
I’d do it all again
Because writing
Is the antechamber
To freedom…

(c) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Cow & Guitar, customon.com

HAIKU STACK (TO BE JOLLY)

song-in-progress (can I write a so-called “jolly song” in melancholy Minor chords?)

‘Tis now the season
For buckets of red and green
(Florida dreaming)

Soon the shortest day
Sun’s declination stands still
Candles light the night

Wind and coolness but
This Sunshine State is snowless
(December dreaming)

Golden music plays
Red birds blending with berries
Green floratam sleeps

‘Tis now the season
For energy in coolness
(Florida dreaming)

(c) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Bucket of red and green

ANIMATED WORDS

Time often interferes with the truth
Certain words cannot be spoken
Until the time is right
Safer to lock truth away
In a climate-controlled
Storage space
Until time catches up
To the truth
Or becomes a lie
Be a warrior
Do not frighten the living
Keep the secret
Denial is a good coping mechanism
But be sure to plan for the survivors
This is why music crowns words
Words are animated by music
Words are like zombies
Hated by some
Sneered at by others
Untidy corpses slouching mindlessly
Through streets of
Misunderstanding muck
Add music, though
And the flesh-dropping bodies
Become angels of light
Whole, holy, and so right
Magically
We now understand the words
And all is all right
Whether they be
Truth or lies…

(c) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Zombie Attack Guitar Wrap Skin by AxeDecals.com

GYROSCOPE (song-in-progress)

I’m a wild gyro
Tilting and spinning
Nothing, no one
To tether me
Maintaining orientation
And angular velocity
No problem though
Locating the horizon
When the mist comes
Surprising to see
I’m lost but then
By sheer will power
I right my brain
Like an airline control tower

You yank my string
Send me turning
Churning, burning
This aging heart…

Old bones can learn
To do new tricks
Like dogs biting
Entrenched swamp ticks
But here I go
Once again
Back in my ’07
Honda C-RV
Driving crazily
Through shadowy back roads
Six crates of my crap
All I own in complete defeat
Slipping off the back seat
To the World Music CD drumbeat

You yank my string
Send me turning
Churning, burning
This aging heart…

After days of driving
Back where I started
Land of swamps and palms
But I’m like a handful
Of July 4th cherry bombs
Short fuse, loud noise
Ready to blast
Whatever I worked for
And thought I owned
Gone in a gust
Of anger and mistrust
So the engine ticks
As I get out and stare
Ready for more psychological warfare

You yank my string
Send me turning
Churning, burning
This aging heart…

(c) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja
IMAGE: Gyroscope with Baritone Ukulele

SUGAR-TALKING BLUES

SONG-IN-PROGRESS REPOST

Walking along the road one Samhain night
Saw something odd, gave me a weak-legs fright
Hot pink dragon glowing in moonlight
Stretched over its hoard, man, what a sight

Now I don’t drink alcohol or smoke weed
Although decades in the past I partook of the seed
True, tonight I celebrated my control freed
Caffeine and chocolate imbibed with speed

Dragon snored away so I crept near
Have to confess, did feel fear
But wow! Her hoard was oh so clear
Mounds of candy corn celebrating the solar year

Orange and yellow and white sugar treat
My parents used to call it “chicken feet”
In prep for Thanksgiving I’d gobble it neat
I confess sugar and dye is my favorite eat

Shoveled the hoard into my backpack
Pausing to eat a midnight snack
Until the sugar high made me slack
And I must’ve passed out on the dragon’s back

Woke up feeling a pretty hot fire
The dragon yelling, thought I’d expire
“I didn’t do it!” I screamed like a liar
She wrapped her tail around me, I was lifted higher

“How shall I punish you, my thief?”
“I’m so sorry, but I’m addicted,” I said with grief
“Well it is Halloween so we’ll stay in the motif”
“Yes, I will!” I cried in relief

“Play me a song with your ukulele
Sing something sad and achingly lonely”
“I will,” said I gladly, “although I’m crappy”
Kindly she said, “Music is soothing even from a wannabe”

So I played and sang and swore I saw
A few tears wiped away with her claw
I sang and played til my fingers were raw
And then she thanked me, the sugar outlaw

I hurried home grateful to be unharmed
Swore I’d never steal, especially when unarmed
Sugar is my downfall but now I’m disarmed
And thankful that for once, I was charmed…

(c) 2018 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Anu Grace, Dragon Uke
https://www.amazon.com/Dragon-Uke-Anu-Grace/dp/B00B0LKYRW
10-29-18

IMAGE: My dragon & Baritone Ukulele

dragon4-sm-px

FERAL (on hemp oil)

Little bit of old age pain so taking a little bit of hemp oil. I’ve become a little bit
uninhibited (that’s a little bit good). Interesting thoughts while watching Joan Jett
eat…

*scroll down for a Joan Jett video

WTH?
Swear I’m swinging
On a fur-clad sling
Wearing fur?
Oh, no!
Hope the animal rights groups
Don’t splash me with blood or
Red paint
But never wore fur
Couldn’t afford it
And I’m vegetarian
Not the radical kind
Hey, eat whatever you want
Well, not me
But I look around
And honestly
The word “Scruff”
Echoes
I’m being carried by
The scruff of my neck
It’s a cat
A black feral cat
And wait!
Too much hemp oil?
I’m a kitten
A starving one
With a desire for milk
But aren’t I lactose-intolerant?
Hate milk
Suddenly
(That horror story word)
“Suddenly”
An orange male cat
(I know he’s male, can smell him)
Leaps at the female
Mom?
Carrying me
Didn’t I once feed a feral cat?
Didn’t want to do it
But her cry seduced me
Music like I’d never heard
Pathetic
Beautiful
Secretly named her
Joan Jett
Oh, no!
He’s trying to kill me
For food?
I know male bears do that
To their cubs
But do cats?
And while wondering
How I became a cat
My eyes close
All is dark
And I tumble down a tunnel
Toward light
So bright
It finds its way through my eyelids
And I wonder what
Life
Or is it
Death
Brings me next…

(c) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Joan Jett eating

*Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, I Love Rock & Roll

HOW MANY YEARS…?

*Scroll down for YouTube videos

How many more years do I have
To dance around to Soul Sacrifice
Santana’s masterpiece at Woodstock
Michael Shrieve drumming his way
Into percussive history
How many more years can I play
My tambourine
Along with the recorded band
Will the body hold up?

Will I ever get over
Not being there
Married a few months
He laughing at my longing to go
Of all the things we argued about
It’s the one NO! I’ll never forgive
(Advice: Never marry someone
Who doesn’t like the
Same music as you
Who doesn’t like to
Sit by a sizzling campfire
Huddled under a shared bedroll
In the endless rain)

So year after year
Every hot and rainy August
I celebrate Woodstock
Alone
In my air conditioned room
Dancing, singing, pounding the tambourine
And here it is
Fifty years later
I’ve slowed down
Bones make strange tones
When hauling myself off the floor
So I ask rhetorically
How many years
Will I have left
To listen to Jimi, Janis,
Dead, Who, Airplane, CSNY
And to Joni, who also missed Woodstock,
Yet she conjured up the eponymous song by
Sheer imagination and talent
But I am left alone, wondering
How many years are left…

*YouTube video, Joni Mitchell, Woodstock https://youtu.be/cRjQCvfcXn0
*YouTube video, Soul Sacrifice, Santana https://youtu.be/xBG6IaSQCpU

bandit&rockstar woodstock2 sm px

(C) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGES: Woodstock poster/My dogs with tambourine

rockstar woodstock1 sm px

JACK-OF-ALL-ARTS or FOCUS, PLEASE!

(another page in my poetic diary about self-doubt)

 

Surprisingly longer life
Than expected
(Not complaining, keep it coming!)
Been a Jack-of-all-arts
Master of none
Trying to perfect
Trying to understand
Everything
While soul-castle
Labors behind ramparts

Self-Prometheused
(Before Zeus caught me)
Directing my fire
To music and words
To painting and herbs
To daylight birds
And night sky mysteries
But always intimidated
By the experts

(Caught by leaves in the sun daily
Or pecked by the god’s eagle
Punishment for sharing my fire
With you)

Each art has been a
Swatch of color
You think too much, Gran said
But politics and correctness
Invade my brain
No one expects France
To give Mona back to
The Italians
Why did TS Eliot
Rhyme Michelangelo with “GO” *
Instead of Picasso
(Van go, yeah, I know,
Pronounced in a clearing-the-throat style)
How can I finish
When questions mock and diminish?

Is there a pecking order of musical genres?
Classical, Classic Rock,
Country, Folk, Jazz
All the way down to World?
Determining factor money
(Of course)
Yet we continue creating
With fame as a driving force

So if these questions prevent me
From pouring my entire heart
Into creating
Perhaps I should pursue
A Philosopher’s degree
(My autistic monologuing fits!)

No, because here’s the word
I search for but lack:
Talent
Innate Talent
Can practice
Try
Scream at the Muse
One’s genetics accuse
But the elusive ingredient
I am convinced
Must be present
In order to go from a Jack to a King
(Or Queen)
Talent…

(c) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Chained at the mercy of birds

*TS Eliot’s The Love Song of  J. Alfred Prufrock