(fragment of a larger poem-in-progress)

Already begun the process
The return to the Earth
As wildness
Wraps me in Nature’s
Grass skirt, floral cape and leafy hair
Doorway to the
Evolutionary passage
Of conjecture and mystery
Chording my name…

(c) 2018 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Transiting baritone with wildflowers



Promised rain a no-show

Bypassed or waylaid

In the night

Discovered more amenable



Gracing a different

Garden of flowers

Then, didn’t appear

In the light

Of desperate day

Rain has choices

In constant movement

Spreading itself across

Willing harems

Flowers, though

Are rooted

Nowhere to go

All things change

For the rain

But the blossoms sadly fade away…


© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)




How to survive this year’s end

Long Night Moon waning

Mercury Retrograding

My inner universe has been rocked

But not in the musical sense

Although holiday music sounds

So lovely on my new autoharp

My Cerberus—three dogs—

Hunkered down as if hearing

Harping from an ancient goddess

But O Holy Night is meant

For the ukulele that can sing

Powerfully, vibrato-ly

Chords claiming my soul

Constellations unchanging

They whisper in positivity


So no matter what we call

The world-wide holidays

Different religions celebrate

During the solstices

(summer in the southern hemisphere)

Our hearts resonate

To the melody of memory

Words may express our feelings

But rhythm captures our true essence

Spilling out in goodwill

Or perhaps sadness


Let us sing for those lost to us this year

But remember to sing for those found

As the Circle of the Year


As we do

Must keep us from fear


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: My autoharp and ukulele






No matter where in the world you were

I always felt your life force

Now it’s fading

I try to hold on


But no

The cord/chord connecting us

Now severed in the cold moonlit night

My wish

Although we will never be together

Is that you are not gone from this life

That you are

Still directing that force

Even if the heat is for someone else…


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens

IMAGE: sutratma silver cord


Lying in bed

Holding a notebook and pen

On my breasts

Darkness so restful

Almost asleep

Glanced down, seeing myself

Might be a corpse

In a box

Bible between waxen hands

Maybe for my cremation

I should mention in my will

Please place a blank notebook

And a BIC CL I CK fine point pen

(Or wait, maybe a black gel rollerball)

In my still fingers

In case I arise

And need to write a poem

About the end …

Or beginning?

(C) 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)