TIMBRE

Boozy, smoky voice

Singing a promise

Of a memorable

Night in paradise

Contrast quasi-sincere sound

Another singer

Promising a lifetime and beyond

While voices are not necessarily

Indicative of personality or

Inevitably predictive of the future

The choice of voice

If offered for cultivation

Can be meaningful

Words, promises, to me

Have mainly been lies

But tone, for those attuned,

Is the inner persona

Confessing to the world

Or to those adept at listening.

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

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DANCE AT BOUGIVAL 1883

Renoir, did you do this on purpose?

Did you relate to a man, looking at a woman

With adoration, while her eyes are averted?

Modesty? Boredom? Too much intensity in his stare?

Wish there was someone to look at me that way

Although, must admit,

You gave him a hat

To shade his eyes

So would it be a surprise

To learn that he is staring

With unbecoming lust

And she is merely embarrassed?

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

CLEARWATER BEACH TRUTH

March day on Clearwater Beach

The wind blew through

Our second date

Marveling how like

Cosmic Twins we are

Until you said

You hate most people

And are glad when they get hurt

Ah, the Universe

That deigns to

Occasionally talk to me

Said, “Run the other way!”

But then you climbed a

Tall palm tree

And slid down

Splintering your hands

I gently picked out the pieces

And thought how attractive

Your boyishness could be

Even though we were forty

It was like being Peter Pan and Wendy

(Yet the voice screamed,

“Ugly! Ugly to hate imperfect humanity!”)

But, I thought,

Maybe his hurt inner child is just venting

And I stayed umpteen years

With four years off for good behavior

(Also known as Clarity of Sanity)

But you won me back

Am I an Issues Junkie?

As some women love rich men

Do I love men rich in problems?

Is the boyishness really part of

The Bad Boy Syndrome and do I

Deep down like that?

I’d hate to think that’s true

But, what else can I do?

So much to learn about ourselves

As we learn about others

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

TINKERER

He owned a quality of invisibility

And in order to avoid discussions

Of relationship crop-ups that needed examination

He erased his presence for hours

Never leaving the premises

But gone, nevertheless

Rendering improvement and

Understanding impossible

Although he bragged about

His tinkering abilities

He ignored her broken heart

Battered by rainy nights and days

Rusting in the dust

A heart that only required

A minimum of time and care

© Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Pixabay.com

WRITTEN

It was written in the Earth

Under the composted terrain

Carved into the crust

Breaking through to the damp sand

In between the leaves of trees

Branches blowing upward

Allowing letters to fly

***

It was written in the Water

As it bubbled up

Pulsing through the grit, becoming

An underground ocean of crashing waves

Caught in the whirling waterspouts

Vortex connecting sea and sky

The letters fly

***

It was written in the Air

Tossed across the racing clouds

Cottony words appearing

To all who lifted eyes to the skies

Into outer space, visible in the darkest night

Between Corvus and Orion and The Dipper

Letters lying quietly in their orbit

***

It was written in the Fire

Silvery reflection

From the solar system star

Seared into the cavernous craters

Seen in cascading lava

Or in subduction zones of tectonic plates

Cooling into legible letters

***

Names are written

Entwined like moon-struck hearts

An Akashic Record of twin souls

An inseparable destiny

And in dreams that rarely come

I see our names, together

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: NASA (Letters in Space)

MAGIC MALL MACHINE (true story)

One magical night

To my delight

Appearing at the mall

A mysterious machine

Orange and green

Sentinel next to a stall

Like Dawn of the Dead

Zombies shambled ahead

Never noticing what we saw

Oranges propped

Put in a dollar, one dropped

And a knife peeled it raw

Out popped a cup

As the squeezer sped up

And juice then cascaded

A pulpy, fresh drink

I didn’t dare blink

What an invention was created!

People began to stare

As they became aware

Of this odd machine of health

My man and I

Did smile and sigh

As we shared new-found wealth

We returned next week

But the future was bleak

The machine was replaced with junk

Bottled, boiled juice

Nutrition’s abuse

My happiness quickly sunk

Through the years I think

About that magical drink

The sweetness that was life

Never will it return

Although I yearn

For that night when passion ran rife…

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

ASK ME (redefined)

Shivering in the silvery light

Permeating the sky at midnight

You sang with hopeful face so bright:

“Ask me after coffee in the light of day

I’m pretty sure I know what I will say

Ask me when the sun no longer fights

The magic of the moon-drenched nights

Ask me when truth-seeking eyes can see

What surely is cherished between you and me

Ask me, oh please, in perfect love

Your words filling the sky above

Ask me and I will answer”

Day of sun, night of moon painted zinc white

Your vivid soul, stunningly alight

Will never alter you for me…

(c) 2014 & 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja) rewritten from male perspective for song using male voice

FRAGMENT OF A LONGING SONG

i.

Conjure me this:

A man who cares

One who dares

To love unconditionally

ii.

Never have I watched a sleeping man

For that would require loving him

iii.

Oh, to watch the perfect crown

Moving up and down

With each breath

Dark eyes shadowed

Behind vibrating lids of REM activity

Please say that you are dreaming of me!

Relaxed face and hair divine

With full lips smiling, enticingly mine

iv.

My fire of the night

Finally found me

As the dark segues into dawn

I would watch him sleep

This beloved man

So desirable to keep

Forever…

© 2015 Viata Maja

NO AIR

The universe is deaf to cries and tears

It has its own agenda

Busily balancing orbiting spheres

Not open to referenda

Space isn’t really a vacuum

It contains gravitational waves

Ignoring life, a silent tomb

Despising my frequent raves

How beautiful is the nighttime sky

The stars bring comfort and hope

Do those enslaved constellations try to defy

Their limitless yet static scope?

You, you are my universe

Yet you never hear my plea

Icy, so stubbornly perverse

You continue to smother me…

© 2015 ViataMaja

FUEL THE FANTASY

The old fire ring of stones

Contains charcoal chips of wood

Barely burning, just a few embers

All paper and kindling carbonized

Oh, how to keep it going when

The forest is bare of naked branches

How to fuel the fire

To heat up one’s life

Is there anything wrong

With wanting a little warmth?

So what if the fire leads nowhere?

Is it so different from reality

That sometimes halts abruptly

Due to whatever he may see and dislike

Whatever way she falls short of expectations?

To me, fantasy is easier to fuel…

© 2015 ViataMaja