life

ROCKSTAR’S MESSAGE

What is the message
From RockStar
As he circles the exact contours
Of Max’s buried body
Pushing the dirt
With his snout
Then digging a small hole
Placing inside
A recycled gift of
Semi-digested jerky
Ouroboros
Circle of life
Message to Max
Message to human
And canine survivors
Here you are, Max,
Says RockStar
We will never forget
And you will have
Eternal life
In our memory…

(c) 2019 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: RockStar’s circle done by snout
(NOT A GOOD PHOTO BUT LOOK ABOVE–or is it below–THE HOLE AND YOU WILL SEE THE DEEPEST PART OF THE CIRCLE ROCKY DREW AROUND THE GRAVE WITH
HIS SNOUT).  Top of photo (RockStar on the right, Bandit on the left)

THE QUILTER (Aunt Roberta)

 

The big sister I never had
Sanest in our family
Probably why she sewed crazy quilts
In a room piled high with fabric
Zig-zagging the thread
Sad songs pounding through her head
Stitching craziness into beauty
Always kind and generous
Her birth
And death
In March
But visited me as a
Florida Great Egret
The week after leaving life
Because her love for all the family
Lives on
How we miss you…

 

Aunt Roberta & CS

 

(c) 2018 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGES: Steppenwolf on Roberta’s quilt/Roberta & CS long ago

 

A BIT OF A BREAK

Well, I finally feel the need for a little break from Social Media.  I am so appreciative of everyone’s comments and likes but find I can no longer keep up.  So I’ve removed the comments section (thank you, Denise, for your help!) but not sure if that also includes “like.”  I may post occasionally and I definitely will keep track of my Reader because one of the fun things in life is reading good writing and EVERY ONE of my followers and those I follow are exceptional!

Don’t know how long this will last.  I already feel a bit lost at the thought of not communicating with you.  Although I no longer scroll on Facebook, I do check messages.  My FB page is public, anyone can post or message me.  I can’t keep up with Twitter so that may not work.  But here are my two email addresses.  I always check my main one at least one thousand times a day 🙂  Please feel free to keep in touch.

Thank you, and hopefully I will be back!

Clarissa (Simmens)

drabarni1@gmail.com

poeturja@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/RomaniGypsyBooks/

 

SPIRITS AND SENIOR PROMS

 

(Humor lightens fearful actions)

 

Time to start communing

With the spirits

Family, friends

I’m not a Ouija person

It lied to me decades ago

Although

My friend really did

Meet and marry a Louis

But I never met Bruce

The New York lawyer

Did go to my senior prom

With a New Yorker

We fought

He wanted me to stop

Hanging at coffee houses

Screaming about war

And most of all

He hated my super-size

Peace earrings

Anyway

You know I’m getting old

Can’t seem to tell a succinct story

This is a poem

About Ouija boards

Spirits

Not proms

Pink gown

Hated pink

Mom got it on sale

Insisted I get my brunette hair

Teased and sprayed

Into an itchy pile

Atop my head

Radical chic

More fitting for my frizz

Not quite in yet

What’s with me

And the senior prom?

Okay, spirits

I’m old now

Wanna know

What’s doing in the

Dead Dimension

I’m getting cremated

Why would I want to

Waltz through paradise

In a five-foot frame

And have to keep my

Weight down

Using a heavenly elliptical

Into kingdom come?

So I’m willing to trade in my body

For something nicer

No one wants to try this

Handmade Ouija with me

All the way from the smallest continent

Overpaid

But don’t think I need money

Where I’m headed

Might as well spend it

So Lone Practitioner that I am

Will lightly place both hands

On the planchette

Dogs will be quiet

Because I’ve tryptophaned them out

With chicken jerky

(Ten dollars for 16 pieces!

WTH is wrong with Walmart?)

Yeah, ok

I’ll be damned

–I am, I know—

Draw a protective circle

Sit amid a bronze bowl of salt

Fake crystal bowl of water

Aromatic sandalwood in a resin holder

Elephant trunk to hold the incense

Supposed to be a good luck totem

Flickering white candle from Save-A-Lot

With a picture of a saint

The acrylic moves

Across hand etched wood

Spelling out ——-

Well, can’t tell you

But I asked respectfully

Asked for a kind soul to guide me

And halfway through

The answer

The essence flew

Not sure where

Relieved?

Somewhat

Will save it for another day…

 

© 2017 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

BIKE FEST TO MAKE IT ALL GO AWAY

HOPE EVERYONE SAFE. I FEEL VERY LUCKY BUT I KNOW THERE WAS A LOT OF DESTRUCTION. GRATEFUL TO BE ALIVE AND CELEBRATED A BIT!  WILL READ AND COMMENT ABOUT YOUR EXCEPTIONAL BLOGS/POETRY TOMORROW…

(scroll down for YouTube video)

High on the wind

Stumbling a crooked trajectory

Feel drunken, drugged

Decompressed

Sitting through the Bike Fest set-up

Blown palm branches to be avoided

Heat, clouds

AC/DC’s TNT blasts

I shout along

Bopping my head

Food aroma

Crustacean sandwiches

Philly steaks

Funnel cakes

Coffee beans permeate

My eyes so sandman-heavy

With post-hurricane

Cauldrons of assaulting scents

Christina Rossetti asked

“Who has seen the wind

Neither I nor you”

But we have seen what the wind can do

Tired yet alive!

Undefeated champion of another storm…

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: 2016 Hurricane Matthew

YouTube video, AC/DC TNT  https://youtu.be/kR6pxe8jaMs

BRING OUT YOUR DEAD’S POSSESSIONS

i.

Lost two friends this year

Not off my Facebook list

(Lost a lot more of them

Is it my poetry? Socialism? Autism?)

No, my two friends are lost from this world

Can’t help thinking about them

And my fate, too

Now that the year is new

ii.

When cleaning out Mama’s stuff after her death

Saw that she hoarded brand new, never-worn clothes

Underpants, too

Maybe because her panties once

Dropped off in school

During the Great Depression

Because the rubber disintegrated

From her second-hand clothes

And she was embarrassed

iii.

Mama also had a surprising amount of

Spiral-bound school notebooks

Each one with a picture of

Michael Jackson

(She adored his music)

Filled with notes taken while studying

For her GED since

She didn’t graduate from high school

In the 1940s

There were also diaries from

A crazed woman

Fighting a terminal illness

Such anger, hatred, lies

 

Note to my sons:

Burn my notebooks

If I lose my humanity

 

 

iv.

Dad had the usual possessions

For a man accepting of

A disappointing life

Masonic books, pins, rings

And pens

Old crossword puzzles

Not much for seventy-seven years

I let the brother and cousin

Take it all

But I liked the king-sized quilts

And took two

v.

I feel a bit sorry for my kids

When mining my possessions

Although I’m down to ten crates of crap

Because I still may

Ruby-Tuesday it

From Florida to Arizona

If I get angry enough

vi.

But I’m a hoarder of words

And music

And wampum

Nature trinkets like feathers,

Crystals, sea shells and rocks

Like my mama, I have notebooks

Some spiral (with no celebrity on the cover)

And some faux leather looking like

Medieval grimoires

vii.

My possessions are mostly on the Cloud now

Will my sons keep them

Or close the accounts?

Or—what a concept—

Will I live long and prosper?

(Prosper in health, that is

Money is not part of my karmic cycle)

viii.

Possessions

I’ll learn from my dogs

Who possess a favorite

Blanket, bone and

Hidey hole

When wanting to be alone

But although it could be

Misconstrued as a possession

It would help to have

Someone who loved me

Unconditionally…

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

 

IMAGE: vertigotransport.co.uk