silence

DIOSCOREA BULBIFERA (AIR POTATOES)

Onomatopoeia of children’s games
Gorgeous click-click from glass marbles
Puh-puh jacks’ ball bounced
On a linoleum floor
Infantile “Ma-Ma” from a
Rubber-headed doll
Hhh-hhh raggedy breaths
Running around brick walls
Being “IT” in hide and seek
Glug-glug blowing bubbles in a
Cup of milk with a straw
Sounds of summer in the city
Some cooing from pigeons
Lots of horns raging against
Impossible traffic
Honkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
Need noise traded
For soothing songs
Sometimes we get
What we wish for
Silent country nights and days
Where the rhythm changes to
Gentle chirps of wild birds
Muted staccato jackhammers from
Red-white-black woodpeckers
But then
A different noise
Tropical storm winds tearing at trees
Lightning crackling through the breeze
Thunder announcing air pressure dizziness
Rain like bullets on a tin-roof trailer
Culminating in the greatest sound of all
Grass growing
Listen and you will hear
Flowered weeds opening
And ubiquitous Dioscorea bulbifera
Air Potatoes
The vine that will pervade
Whatever gets in its way
Whether human-made
Or Nature’s own
Imitate the melody
Tongue clicking
Impersonating the sound
That what should be silence
Serves to confound…

(c) 2018 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Air Potato invading my fan and deck

 

 

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CONCEALMENT

Too much

The world

When once

I refused to read

A newspaper

Watch the news

Now bombarded

By social media

Too much

Can I wish myself

Into a wisp of

Perfumed air

And disappear

Down the sound hole

Of a wood

Or even laminate

Ukulele, guitar

Stay far far away

From the world today

And think of ways

To habitate in my new

Fortress of Solitude

Hoping the strong wind

Will pluck the strings

In minor keys

To bring me peace

From the looming faces

And voices

Of the world

That are just too much for me

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Inside A Guitar, Classic FM

“PURE AND STILL…”

 

How odd to be caught between two worlds

The intellectual one, where I eye-roll

When thinking of

The magical one

The one where signs and symbols can fail

Those who straddle the bridge

As it opens, separating the realities

That may come from the simple slip

To the other side.

 

I smile at the ancients poking through

Animal entrails yet I am

Tossing bones symbolically carved

Receiving guidance from

The arrangement on the ground

Random generations of numbers

Representing my next move

Haphazard-ness?

Karma-ness?

 

I misinterpret the arrival of korako

The crow

Seeing only their destruction

Of a Cardinal community

When all along

It was the devastation of

An alternative life

Perhaps a better one?

Who knows?

 

So much safer

To observe

To record

To muse

To envelop oneself

In a mantle of silence…

 

© 2014, 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja), Poetic Alchemy: Talking Blues

IMAGE: My early morning Live Oak