A Poetry Showcase from Jay Maria Simpson

The Shadow of My Moonlight


You sit in the corner of my room

Beside my bed

Your sweet blue eyes sing a mournful song

Our song

The nightingale sings a song too

It’s about you but I can’t hear the words

I ask you to slow down

You ask me to keep up

We tumble through our little lives
Like the roller coaster full

Of falling down and rising up

We find love at every station

Along the way

To listen to speak

To stretch beyond imagining

To find the time to have a beer

To tell the storm to go away and

Leave us alone


The Weimer Republic began in the midst of several major movements in the fine arts. German Expressionism had begun before World War I and continued to have a strong influence throughout the 1920s. A sophisticated, innovative culture developed in and around Berlin, including highly developed architecture and design (Bauhaus), a variety of literature (Doblin, Berlin Alexanderplatz), film (Dietrich Der blaue Engel), painting (Grosz), and music (Brecht and Weill, The Threepenny Opera), criticism, philosophy/psychology (Jung) and fashion. This culture was often considered to be decadent and socially disruptive. The mystical arts also experienced a revival during this time in Berlin with astrology, the occult and the esoteric.

it was a rainy sunny moody day typical of the neglected mouldy muddled heart of the artichoke the entrée the layers and layers of dinnertime gastronomy

they could not find the dressing that filled the spaces dressed their lives smothered their faith with herbs and fetta folly

she was sitting right here beside her woman

they sat at dinner demure

their eyes smelt garlicy lusty

should they leave the table

that is sodden with goodness

get out before the mass

avoid the confessional

clutch their starving hearts frolic naked in the herb garden smell the basil the thyme place rosemary garlands in their hair suck the undergrowth read banned books joyful forbidden lesbian sex

commit mortal sin scatter dead flowers smother the fainting night while taking a bow with Marie Magdalene 

slide down their river ride

over and over

and over again

The Foetus
I noticed the familiar boy sitting outside the pharmacy – actually between the pharmacy and Woolworths. I could see that he walked that fine fucking line between life and death – that delicately fine line, a whisper, a tiny breath, a riddle, a question. Walk the line with your head held high, slice the pandemonium, check the mirror, check the corner, the cops are on the prowl.

Sebastian supposed the day disappearing around him

he could head back home to the helter skelter shelter

it was a very long walk and he had no shoes no coat

no money for fun

a twenty would get him through the night

into the morning

without having to endure the blustering confrontation of the boys next door

they came in handy sometimes when he was feeling horny or hungry or both

He wanted to see his mother

soak in a warm bath,

slip into clean sheets and

smell the summer jasmine outside the window

relaxed with lace and silk

he wanted to be welcomed not turned away

for his filth and neglect

not reminded of his unfinished PhD

He wanted to sleep like a foetus

floating inside a dream balloon

to be called down for breakfast

to cut some jasmine for the table

to sing the song of eternity

beside Bach or Bartok his old friends

paint his mural on the gallery wall

write the haiku for the old church

remembering the floating arc that spoke in whispers

and made sure he was naked in his ministry to god men

he wanted to ride his dirt bike down the track

and roar into the river

Finishing the weed, he fell into bed with impotent Fred, to dream the river, the jasmine, of finding the twenty for tomorrow and of the next pandemonium.

The Dinner Party

The baguette fell from the table

it hesitated for a while

rolled back and forth

the parmesan chunk toppled quickly

 the Chateau Cantemerle


then exploded like an unpinned hand grenade

spewing its red lips into your black velvet

your constancy, your composure now exposed

the dinner party fills with absurdity

like the laughing giggles treading the grapes

the stylish carafes waiting to be served

the Bruegel falling off the prison wall

the grape vines

the mighty terroir

mother earth singing her cantata

accompanied by the voice of god

the scramble for folly fills the room

nakedness bursts through veils of constraint

card tables are upturned revealing the queens

dogs go mad

howling hooting at the moon

your mouth remembers the smell of the forest

remembers the taste of the undergrowth

the funeral car rings the bells of delight

Another Silent Vision

You wear the face of your skeletal mess

The scab on the edge of my face itches

I wear my pain of broken and shattered

Your wear the face of innocence

My cuts

my bruises

my eyes itch

they are healing now

they are calling you

black and blue and yellow

the surgeon’s careful lines of repair

will hold my eyes in place

you will take those stitches

and throw them away

my memory too

my scantily dressed hope

you will turn on the gaslight and furtive away

Bio: Jay Maria Simpson was born in Sydney, Australia. She worked as an English, Drama and Music Teacher for many years in schools, TAFE and the University of Newcastle. Jay has been a writer all her life. She moved to Perth, Western Australia in 2011 following a personal tragedy. It was then that her poetry exploded. In her poetry she explores reality, change, sorrow, sex, anger, love, escape and memory. Jay pushes the boundaries in her writing. She often writes from a dangerous, fearful place where you will find raw honesty. Her poems might also dance in a happy sexual fairy garden. There is no pretension. Jay loves poetry, art, music, satire and black comedy. She also loves reading poetry publicly. She is not a fan of Zoom.
She is the Creative Director and Author at 'Living Dangerously'. 


By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1


  1. Congratulations to my friend and poet Jay Maria Simpson for her showcase in David O’Nan’s Fevers of the Mind. I hope others are able to enjoy the muse Jay shares as I do…

    Liked by 1 person

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