*scroll down for a Rascals YouTube video

Wake up singing weather songs

Lines from the Rascals:

“How’s the weather?

Whether or not, we’re together

Together we’ll see it much better

I love you, I love you forever…”

And now, I’m singing this

Not about my soul mate

Who never appeared

But about my little world

About life

I’ll love it, love it, forever

But with six storms surrounding

The Florida Peninsula

Wind, rain, and flood

I see trees smashing

My tin roof

Water engulfing the sand

Of my road

The road the trash collectors

Mail carriers

Refuse to service

And me

Standing there

Until a gust of

Tropical storm wind

Makes itself felt

And I morph into

Vitruvian woman

Pinwheeling down the dirt road

Into the last adventure

Of this life I love…

© 2020 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: weather.gov for 9-12-20

YouTube video:  https://youtu.be/TuKeSUUK-A4



To my blogging friends at WordPress:


I am leaving for a week’s vacation tomorrow (Sunday), taking the train from Tampa to Philly, for a much-needed visit to see my sons and granddaughter.  Since I’m dragging an overpacked suitcase, backpack weighing 50 pounds and a ukulele, I will rely on my Kindle Fire and T-Mobile to stay connected.  My son has a computer that I can use but because we’re sharing, I will not be able to spend time reading your exceptional works.  I promise to try and catch up when home again although it will be Mercury Retrograde by then and communications are a bit skewed that month.  Anyway, thanks for all your incredible support.  As I told a poet friend, your poems are like rich oil paintings, compared to my “charcoal sketches,” so your likes and comments are much-appreciated!


Wishing us all love and peace, Clarissa



(Another morning rant)


Social media

Is the newest LSD

So mind expanding


Not saying, mind you,

Minds expand for good or bad

Colors of posts hurt


Psychedelic words

Opinions from every land

Make me want to scream


Strangling politics

Dark and hairy religion

Where’s my love and peace


Save our animals

Beat our kids like we got beat

It didn’t hurt us


Bigots are heroes

Porn is ok for children

Music spouts hatred


Scroll fast each morning

Even coffee doesn’t heal

Words, pictures, acid

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

Image: Scenic Reflections



In the mythology of


It is lucky to watch

Their tango-ing across the

Indigo sky

I try

To peer between the canopy

Woven by a family of

Live Oak

Leafy branches

At least fifty feet in the

Invisible air

Reaching for each other

Comforting like a mother

Sheltering offshoots

Humans, critters and birds

Effective nighttime screen

Impedes my view

So who could feel impatient

With them

Even though the Perseids will remain hidden

In the northeastern sky?


On the other hand

In the folklore of comets

It is unlucky to see one

Ask Mark Twain

Born and died

Between the 76 years

Of Halley’s Comet

Although Twain somehow knew

It would be true

For one who came into the world

With the tongue and wit

Of a firecracker

And would leave the same way.

Yet William the Conqueror

In 1066

(Remember that date in

European History class?)

Saw it as a good omen.


Is there a major difference

Between these celestial manifestations?

A meteor is a falling star

A flash of light from debris

Burning up inside the Earth’s atmosphere

Perhaps that’s where luck comes in

At least it will not smash our world


(Although maybe the

Last thoughts of dinosaurs

Heartily disagreed with this statement)

A meteor is the light we see

Not the physical body

A comet is more physical

With a body of ice and rock

Orbiting the sun

For up to two hundred years

We see the tail but

It is not ready to crash or burn


Perhaps in their infinite streaking

Across time and space

Comets, meteors

Physical or not

Visible or not

Are merely the backdrop

To nightsky life

Sometimes allowing

Mere mortals to

Understand we are just that…

© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)



Hiking around eternity’s habitat

And doing other stuff like that

Met a man I really liked

Every morning I felt psyched

He says, “I’ll be on the bayou with you, bebe”

I shrug and say, “Yeah, maybe”

Hands me an iridescent white glass flower

Trumpet shape blasting out musical power

“This is my promise, I’ll return for you”

I shrug and say, “Hope you do”

He made Odysseus look good

The Greek returned like he said he would

But bayou man seemed to forget

And I just choked down my regret

Blew on the tiny flower each day

But no real music did it play

Lipstick ring left an ugly imprint

Like a bloody gash from its daily tint

Just a symbol of another broken promise

So hard to find anyone who’s honest

Seven years crunching around on mirror shards

Dreading the threatening wind in this house of cards

Weaving and ripping out the stitches

Like Penelope yet without the riches

No suitors, no promises, broken or kept

Trying hard just to accept

Linda Ronstadt singing that song

I answer her saying, “Never” and I’m not wrong

Stomping around swampy grass

I bury the trumpet made of white glass

Over my left shoulder I spit three times

Then chant a few of my Romani rhymes

Never again will I fall in love

Nodding when I see a sign: one lone dove

Never again


© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija

(Image: Broken Heart by crustycrab)


matryoshkas 1

Sometimes the last

And smallest

Matryoshka doll

Is merely a wooden nubbin

Barely carved into a shape and


What a disappointment

As we pull apart each doll

And eagerly gaze at the form and colors

Only to find an undeveloped

Imperfect lump of wood

Rattling around

In the penultimate doll


Sometimes she is complete…

© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija


What power have words

That they linger long after

The utterer dies?

Taking hold of a paper

Or a virtual page

Or grasping the very air

Like talons stuck in the fabric of

A collection of gases.

Since words echo through time

Curses must also

Even if the curser dies

Yet, if life changes for the better

Can it be? Did the curse expire too?

Or did we wander into a parallel universe?

Maybe we are really catatonic, in a padded cell

But living a fantasy life of love and perfection

Dreaming our microcosm?

The nature of reality

Is deplorably confusing

Perhaps that is why we should not be fearful

Should just follow our heart

Bravely do what we are meant to do

Toughen our skins and ASK for what we want

Do, and if it doesn’t work

Do again

Until it becomes a living dream.

(It doesn’t matter if you ask for something impossible

But try not to let it matter if you don’t get it)

© 2014 ViataMaja, Poezija


Whipping wind

Stalactitic snow

Pushing conestogas

Through the Sierra Nevadas

Blinded by nature

But what is the true nature

Of man?

Whom did they choose:

The kindest

Translated in their minds as

The weakest

Later known as the Donner Party

Freezing and self-righteous and starving

Those without a drop of compassion

Those unable to figure out the horror

Of their actions

Chose the weakest

Chose the kindest

Sacrificed others to fulfill their need of the day

Is kindness a desirable trait, then?

Kindness has a delicious odor

A cotton candy sweetness

That tastes so good…

© 2014 ViataMaja, Poezija


Aurora Borealis

Our planet’s Northern Lights

Circling the magnetic pole

One of Nature’s beautiful sights.

A living diadem of verdigris

Electrons and protons disguised

Hyperactively producing beauty

A vision forever prized.

Geomagnetic storms invisibly rage

(Linking an interplanetary field

With Earth as solar winds buffet)

Redirecting magnetic flux as a shield.

Gems of green and sometimes red

A fall and spring equinox surprise

Such exalted scientific lights

Radiating elegance to the skies.

© 2014 ViataMaja, Poezija


What herb is this

Growing in the wild

Despite the lack of water

And hostile sandy soil

Defying biological laws?

The wind gently caresses

Encouraging it to brush me, tenderly

And the need to return the touch

Is stronger than the life force itself.

Thick leaves signal

One will not be missed

I break it from its branch

Crush the leaf between my trembling fingers

Releasing its fragrance

And I am able to identify the unique name:

Pirano, it is you…

© 2014 ViataMaja, Laminas