Alone in my bed of memory foam
Sole indentation
Barely registering
Tossing and turning
Sweating in unremembered dreams
Furrowing small hills and valleys
One day you are there
Imprinting your length and width
Tossing and turning
Altering the structure
Of my memory foam
Changing my dreams
Calming the foamy sea
Sharing lust and love
Laughter and moon lunacy
Pure luck for me
Meeting and repeating
A concavity of love…

(c) 2018 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Full Moon Rising by Heather Awen, author
Steel Bars, Sacred Waters: Celtic Paganism for Prisoners.



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



© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)






(scroll down for YouTube video)


Fantasy’s evolution

On the borderland

Between real and not

Wanted so to write


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




Words, words, words

As evening exhilaration

Becomes reality


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

Hendrix cover: Little Wing (Flamenco version) Eyal Heller



KEEPING OUR KIDS DOWN (“Kinder, Kuche, Kirche”)

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


Producing pollution and fracking

And ultimately more war

To get the oil for our car

War, killing and maiming our


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



HOW THE SAND FELT (Atlantic City Memoir 50’s & 60’s)

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


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