omens

GRANULAR CONVECTION (The Brazil Nut Effect)

Surprise treasure from the Earth
Pushing up shattered pieces of art
Like volcanoes forming islands
Over the millennia
Broken, delicate
A message brought
By flooding rain
Pounding the dirt
That once absorbed
The free mulch
Mountains of mulch
At the city recycling center
Shoveled into garbage bags
Brought home to be dumped
On a ten by twelve garden spot
Productive for years
In healthier days
Now evolved into a
Radio Control car track
And later, a robot walkway
Yesterday, I tripped and saw
A piece of cement etched with
A trinity of painted leaves
Once someone’s garden step-stone
To me, a message from the trees
Leaves!
Fighting its way
Via granular convection
To the surface of my flooded
Back yard
To remind me
Rain, heat and humidity
While uncomfortable
Bring much-needed growth…

GC4 SM PX

(c) 2018 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Track with prize of leaves & mulch

NPR free mulch pile sm px

IGNORING THE RIMA ROYAL

Dilemma. Angry with myself. Wrote a poem about birds bringing me news of death but I’m still ignoring them.  Last month I wrote about Crow and Rooster and although I didn’t do another poem about Hawk, my yard’s been plagued by daily visits from them and the cardinals took off.  But in the light of the death of my beautiful young dog Kali last week, I really need to pay attention to what I know and see.  Yet, there is no way of knowing who is next or what to do.  If only I knew.

Here’s my poem written in 2014.  Reblogged last March but I’m reblogging it again…

A LIFETIME OF BIRDS

Rima Royal :  (seven lines in iambic pentameter rhyming ABA/BB/CC. Can be constructed either as a tercet and two couplets [a-b-a, b-b, c-c] or a quatrain and a tercet [a-b-a-b, b-c-c] )

i.

A lifetime acquired for me to see

That birds have mysteriously uttered

In sad song or joyful, words meant for me.

Some came alone and some in flocks fluttered

But I did not mistake what they muttered.

Old age understands messages from birds

Tweetings and twitterings, meaningful words.

ii.

Three year old memory, illness at night

Screaming and scaring my parents with fear

“Pigeons!” I cried in bed, “Birds are all white!”

“No,” says my dad, “See? No pigeons are here”

“Pigeons are gray,” mom’s voice dings like a sneer.

Tears fall yet I hear a song from the flock

“Life is hard, be strong, like crystalline rock.”

iii.

Doctor consultation after sunrise

The overdose of sulfa is to blame

Hallucinations are the mind’s own lies.

Forget the birds, some allergies can maim

Hallucinations only bring us shame.

Yet I can’t forget the pigeons’ sweet song

To be strong in life will never be wrong.

iv.

Ah, age ten, dead bird on the wet pavement

Nowhere to dig a grave in the city

Soggy cardboard box may be heaven-sent.

Oh young bird, with a red vest so pretty

Evoking my sadness and my pity.

Into the box with a bright fabric scrap

Sail down the gutter, an eternal nap.

v.

Not many days later a day of gloom

My dad’s dad passed on to heaven, they said

And next my mom’s gran locked up in a tomb.

Gazing out the window, red bird made me dread

That messages of birds meant someone’s dead.

Book-learned a new word for those who have died

“Psychopomp” leads souls to the other side.

vi.

Time does weave among the waves so swollen

Seagulls dive-bomb us beached humans eating,

Laughing sons watching lunch being stolen

A new quest to calm my heart’s dark beating

Appeasing the birds, death needs some cheating.

Feathers attract me on a sandy beach

Or beneath the el where I easily reach.

vii.

The years fly by like the raven and crane

Feather-filled vases keep sadness away

Emotional change, relationship strain.

New land, new birds, cardinal and blue jay

Alone with many hours in the day.

After three years the aethers hear me say

Stop the loneliness, send someone today.

viii.

I sit by the lake, someone shares my soul

Hawk stares in my eyes then veers to the sky

Peace settles in, I finally feel whole.

Perception in chaos, life’s worth a try

Trust in the hawk’s vision while flying high.

In two months a man named Hawk comes to me

Possessed with visual acuity.

ix.

We partner and life continues to flow

Strange manifestations seem to appear

Older family generations go.

Superimposed gran’s face in the mirror

Dies on my birthday, couldn’t be clearer.

Death warnings now come from my friend, the crow

A Live Oak splits, it’s my uncle, I know

x.

Mother, father, relatives now depart

But warnings of the birds help me prepare

Yet survivor sadness engulfs my heart.

Hot day outside, woodpecker in my hair

I fight him, toss my head, too much to bear.

Favorite aunt off for routine surgery

Blockage in her carotid artery.

xi.

We speak, she sounds strong, I feel I can breathe

Gathering teardrops that fall on the floor

But it doesn’t take long for me to grieve

A shelf falls apart and cardinals soar

Flinging scarlet selves into our glass door

A warning ignored from birds who sing out

Remind me to never show any doubt.

xii.

Weeks later a huge white bird on a limb

Seemingly speaks to me with eyes aflare

Plain as if hearing an acoustic hymn.

Walking toward the deck, she follows me there

She stands four feet tall, I become aware

“Be strong, be prepared, be joyful, be wise

Lessons of the birds descend from the skies.”

© 2014 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja) Madame Sosostris Explains (a poetry patchwork)

IMAGES: adventuresinlightphotoworkshops.com

Here are the poems (warnings I ignored) that I posted

https://poeturja.wordpress.com/2016/11/18/korako-crow-2/

https://poeturja.wordpress.com/2016/11/20/autoharp/

https://poeturja.wordpress.com/2016/11/29/in-memory-of-kali-72612-112916/

AUTOHARP

i.

Today

An early Winter Solstice present

Appeared in the mail

Autoharp

Allowing me to pretentiously play

Like I’m Janis Joplin

Talented and fey

Happily harping to my known ukulele chords

Singing into the perfect Florida morning

ii.

Neighbor’s rooster began crowing along

Smiling, I knew he enjoyed my song

Came down off my music high

Finally noticing that he never stopped

That rooster crowed from six to four

Silent by dawn, heard not anymore

iii.

Like some old Volva

Spouting dire predictions

In the Norse Edda

Perhaps tossing runic bones

I shivered in the pre-dawn light

Wondering what would occur by tonight

iv.

Remembering that Egdir plays the harp

While red Fjalar the rooster

Crows

Heralding Ragnarok

Events presaging

The fiery destruction

Yet bountiful rebirth

Of our troubled Earth

v.

Sometimes hard to be born a mystic

Symbols and sounds, so holistic

Today I play with heavy heart

Not sure what came first:

The rooster or the harp

Or were they merely

Synergistically

Reacting together…?

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Volva and Egdir from the Edda

CLAIRAUDIENCE IN BRASS

 

In sudden silence

Three-note melody

Cymbals, jingle-jangles

No matter the name:

Zils, cimbali, trastine

From a churo, tambourine

Sound so crisp and clear

Can hear the shiny pieces

Clicking together

Although the song it presages

Is unknown

Previous empirical study

(This has happened before)

Tells me it means a message

Mom played her hands, clapped to music

Gran played piano and harmonica

Great-Gran had no time for music

Early widow working to feed

Eight children

Somewhere way back

Somewhere in the gene pool

Somewhere in the family tree

A kind Phuri Dai spirit

Loves me

And once again signals

Through a medium we both savor

The arrival of fortunate times

Oh, let it be

Because my coming trip

Is worrying me

Surely the brief music means

There, there, all will be well…

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: My Drom Romani symbols tambourine

TWO CREATIVITY POEMS

 

CREATE THE DAY

 

What kind of day greets me

Waking up with the Romani song

Diri Diri So Kerdjan

(How Can This Be)

Clunking through my head

What kind of day will exist

Working out on the elliptical

Randomly shuffled playlist:

When Doves Cry

When Will I Be Loved

Don’t Fear the Reaper

What kind of day will I see

Alone, just the dogs and me

What kind of day?

Anything I want it to be

 

 

CREATE THE POEM

 

Forcing it

Must write

Prompts blight

My mind:

Graphics

Warm shower

Music

Sortilege

Gazing at the sky

Walking in nature

Thinking of events

That make me cry

Why oh why

Have words deserted me

Thought the reservoir

Was endlessly brimming

Can no longer accept

I’m specially skilled

Uncooperative brain

Unfulfilled

 

© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Human Connectome Project (Neuroimaging)