poets

ESCAPE FROM PINK

Born in an April Pink Rose Moon
Lover of red and black
Roses and sun beams
Suddenly smack against the wall
Of no longer striving to be happy
Personable or at-least-cute
Swimming in worry
Unable to rise to the glass’s top
Like newly-poured sweet cream

Mapped my way from Earth to sky
Head tilted at a neck-aching angle
Eyes constantly on the night sky prize
Searching for an older body’s scheme
While gravity grounds me physically
But emotionally all over the top
Bouncing off walls
Like an astronaut in training
Living in extremes
Wanting to float
Like myriad space debris
As an ultimate dream
Untethered from the Earth

How I wonder if my books have worth
I think of Bukowski’s poetry
The Last Day of the Earth Poems
Aged and sad
Maybe planning his final leap
Grim and dark
Hardly a sunny gleam
But poets don’t lie
We wrap our truth in starry dreams
Oh, yes, the reality is there
As you strip away the pretty paper and ribbons
Uncovering silent lunar screams

Have I reached too far
Over-reacting to aging?
I should ground myself
Rejoin the flamingo flock
Stop the aging themes
Enjoy the earth, water, air and fire
The base of all our alchemical balance
The stuff that weaves together
Human dreams
Should…

(c) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Flamingos & star globes 4

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BEYOND THE MUSE (Autumn Equinox)

Ancient Muses
Paired for every
Art and Science
Overrated
I prefer to see
A hovering shadow
Appear
Like the tarot’s
Lovers
The Poet and her Lover
The Muse of Ideas
While above the deuce
An Angel of Wisdom
That some call Athena
Roiling clouds of creation
Inspiring one line
Enabling the poet’s thoughts
To morph from beauty
Or humor
Or memory
Encouraging the poet’s soul
To share wise words
A secret of life
A reverberation
Through the ages
Longingly I wait
For the rare perception
To align the poem into
Perfect harmony
Celestial equator
Intersecting the ecliptic
Possible on this day
Of Equinoxing …

(c) 2018 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: The Lovers, Pamela Colman Smith

LUMJA (UNIVERSE)

 

One space-dark noon

Lumja said adieu

But okay

Because who knew

Whom he was really speaking to

Brilliant words

Tossed out

Then reeling in

The first to bite

By understanding

What he imparted

Even though the hints

Were there for anyone who cared

 

A few words matching up to the poetry

Of me

And anyone else

Since we

As the poets of Earth

Are limited in scope

While Lumja

Has limitless words

From uncountable galaxies

To choose from

 

We wannabee bards down here

Rooted to our egos

Cannot rise as high as Lumja

All we can think is

Let it be

That Lumja chose me

That’s not sarcasm

I agree

No one can write like he

But the ego of the Universe

Is a bit much for me

And many others, as I can see

I’m just glad to have the letter “e” to use as a rhyme

See, I’m not really in his class, poetically

 

Yet, words are not the end-all

It’s not dumbing down to write in

Average vocabulary

Makes poetry more accessible

For those who always misunderstood

Subject, reader-compassion, and dare I say

Love of others

Is important too

 

But back to you, Lumja

Although you threatened

To no longer expand

As any good universe is expected to do

You will return

For your name contains

Many synonyms

Many disguises

“I know the truth” and understand

I do

When Marina Tsvetaeva wrote those words

Mother Russia punished her

Failing words

The poet answered with a strong noose

Around the neck

Self-silencing, forever more

But I will say it about you

Lumja

“I know the truth”

And it is all right…

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IIMAGE: Nicholas Isabella, Jersey Shore, Milky Way Rising Above Clouds

 

SEMANTICS…

 

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

Overly-bright

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

Semantics…

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: amirite.com

 

 

FEEL IT TOO

 

Ah, Sylvia, Sylvia

You made the mistake

Of falling

For a fellow poet

 

Felt so good

At first

Flirting

Feeling fine

Flying high

 

Two egos

Soothing

Feeling

What fun

But then

Time to face the future

Forget each other

Or forage on to the next step

You chose the continuation option

 
Marriage, children

No option

For children of the fifties

Except all or nothing

You chose all

 

But as the years mounted

And your best work produced

Nothing felt good

He was still flying

Tossing his laurel leaves

Like a boomerang

At the women

Who flung themselves

Against his soaring arrogance

Did you become

A refurbished virgin

That only the deep breaths

Of oven fumes

Could arrest

When family

Friends

Flirting

Was no longer enough

 

Sylvia, I feel it too…

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Sylvia Plath