You enfold me
In a scented taste of
Fire-roasted vegetables
Sweet as corn
Spicy as cayenne
Juicy as tomato
Pungent as garlic
Blanketed in a
Smoky aura of nut bark
Skewer you
Set you on fire
Melt on my tongue
Devour…
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: pangeacatering.com
(scroll down for YouTube video)
Fantasy’s evolution
On the borderland
Between real and not
Wanted so to write
Erotica
Find my words stilted
Online friend offered to help
Wow! What a teacher
Like being in class
Creative Erotica 101
Internet makes it
So easy to meet
No longer using
Bathroom walls
(For a good time call 867-5309)
No, just sext me
Send me photos
Or not
But get me hot
With your words
Imaginary images
(For a good time write
But anything you say
Will be used against you
In an erotica poem…
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
YouTube video Tommy Tutone 867-5309 Jenny
Scroll down for Hendrix cover (Little Wing, Flamenco, Eyal Heller)
Here you are
At my door
Behind you
Rotating stars
Illuminating my
Surprised smile
Your heart beats out
The best Flamenco tune
As your voice
So Hendrix-y
Seduces me
I blink
And it is you
Dark eyes
Locked on
Dark eyes
That singular “look”
I prize so much
Supplanting
Visuals
Audios
Words, words, words
As evening exhilaration
Becomes reality
© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
Hendrix cover: Little Wing (Flamenco version) Eyal Heller
IMAGE: Premiumbeat.com
A disillusioned friend asked me to share this on my WordPress page. She wishes to remain anonymous:
Uncle Sam slept here
Uncle Sam
That horny man
Seducing young girls
Taking our Social Security
To pay for illegitimacy
The whole point of the women’s movement
Was to give our children
Male or female
A better life
But instead of accepting that
Women are as sexual as men
And deserve to have
Unstigmatized sex
With the understanding that
The goal was
Zero population growth
Meaning 2.2 children each
Instead of popping out babies
By girls, barely old enough to be called women
Because religion snarled through its ugly snout
No birth control!
It would shout
Just say no!
Yeah, sure
As if
As if hormones are not in control
Of every 13 year old’s brain
So Auntie Earth
Divorced Uncle Sam
(or whatever name he used globally)
Because he screwed around
And the population exponentially
Increased
Producing pollution and fracking
And ultimately more war
To get the oil for our car
War, killing and maiming our
Children
Both Male and Female
Producing homelessness and
More visits to bars
Or drugs prescribed
To take away the pain
To never see those war visions again
While girls at home
Living on charity
Should be breaking the glass ceilings
Instead of wishing
They were starring on reality TV
Like the Third Reich’s plan
To produce more human cannon fodder
“Kinder, Kuche, Kirche”
Children, Kitchen, Church
A world gone so off-kilter
But what do I know
A flowery old lady
Sorrowing for Auntie’s beautiful gifts
Now slick with oil and
Strangling on plastic bags
A vomiting Auntie Earth
(OMG! Is she pregnant too?)
Uncle Sam
Zip up your pants…
(c) 2016 ANONYMOUS
IMAGE: publicdomainpictures.net
How did the sand feel
On a six-year-old’s tender feet?
Burning hot
So hot it felt cold
Like playing in snow on an icy day
Running into the Atlantic Ocean
Waves slapping high
Jelly fish floating, flashing stingers
Undertow tripping unsteady legs
More danger than the average Nintendo game
My future sons would one day play
Susan, my age, also Gypsy
Dancing on pieces of driftwood
Allowed to wear a diklo tied behind her head
Romani-fashion
Unlike me because no one to know
We were now A-S-S-imilated
Americans, not Gypsies
With our pale skin and
Philly accents sounding okay
Atlantic City before casinos
When PC didn’t smack us down
In our unsanitized world
Like the Steel Pier Diving Horse
Yes, insane to make a horse dive
From 60 feet in the air
Into a kiddie pool
But with all the complaints
I never hear a word about the
Virgin Sacrifice
The Beautiful Rider
On the horse’s back also at risk
Ouch, if he landed on her today
Grandma waking us kids late at night
To walk the Boards, ride the carousel
And head for Mammy’s restaurant
Dipping cinnamon donuts into black coffee
Seminal moments of my caffeine and sugar addictions
Traced back to those wonderful days
Glimpsing grunting couples under the Boardwalk
A mere ten years before I, too,
Would be half-heartedly
Pushing away young men’s hands that felt so good
Saying, “No, I’m a virgin”
Do young women still say that? Do they do that?
Or did we early 1970’s feminists bestow our gift to them
By raising the consciousness of others to know
That women are sexual too
We are allowed to be sexual without being labeled
As “tramps” if we say yes
Or “lezzies” if we say no
Our gift of equal access to birth control
Is once again threatened in my lifetime
Will the young do that dance of fighting the hormones again?
Or just keep popping out babies
Into a world that is fast losing resources to care for
Seven billion souls?
The Drifters romanticized being under the boardwalk
But it was an undocumented struggle
To not be shamed in “the family way”
Yes, the sand was burning hot
We all burned those middle decades:
Music, war, cities destined for destruction
But through the intense heat
I can still smell the salt in the air
And the cooling grey water of the Atlantic
To soothe the toes and soles and souls
From a time so far away…
© 2014 ViataMaja, Laminas
