Poetry Showcase: Jay Maria Simpson

art by Edvard Munch


We walked into your apartment today
and found you lying in a bed of snow
We touched you with the care of a mother
We washed away the stains of youth
You have that smile
oh, that contented smile
that is bursting with love
and lonely nights
Your hair is long and softly golden
your curls swirl around the broken mirror
that tried to cut your wrists
and that careless lock of hair
We watch you silently
your static face
fanned by the swirling light
and a breeze that chills the room


We fell about each other
laughing as our bodies rolled
and touched
and smelt of familiar perfume
of simple pleasure
and life
jugs full of wine
and cigarettes burning in ashtrays
and on Persian carpets
jugs of foaming beer
and joy
of Africa
and circus tents
elephants dancing for coins in our pockets
and lamps in French markets
graceful antiques
empty cauldrons and witch’s brew
and fire and snow and spirits
and marauders
and suffocation and rape
and fallen angels and prophecy

Lost Maps and Books and Scribbled Notes

We lost each other in Père Lachaise cemetery. 
We were looking for you. We were looking for him. 
We will find an unstoppable reality.
the maze there
where pilgrims are lost
dancing in ghost like circles
We found each other
like you might claim a locker
in a railway station
filled with mementos, hair clips
empty wrappers
lost maps and books and scribbled notes
of love and lust and fortitude
Our torments were seen on toilet walls and streetscapes
where angry artists flogged their trade
We wrote scandalous poetry and smashed the boundaries
in shattered angry drunken nights
that left us homeless but not afraid
Art galleries and libraries were our shelters
our homes of panic and release
We travelled together penniless and free
We rolled in the mud in the Bois de Boulogne
We lit each other’s Gauloise cigarettes
We read the same books at railway stations
Passing one to the other as the last word was read
Railway libraries were our sustenance
Camus Flaubert Beauvoir, Collette Genet Sartre
You still whisper the beat of his lethal wish
He still searches for you in unpublished books
Counts the pages to retrace his life
His poetry shakes like a frightened child
while time flees its hourglass
He will find the riders on the storm
You will see the terror in his eyes

Material Possessions

the fabric of my dress my life my art
the thing that I own need want lust for
i don’t want the shiny house
the shiny car
the diamond ring
the shiny life
the shiny poem
if they fell into my lap
i would reject them
if you fall into my lap
i will not reject you
you are not the shiny one
your material is flawed patchy
you have no possessions
except maybe your dirty laundry
your lullaby
your mind
 your art
your struggle
your lonesome heart
If you fell into my lap
i would probably kiss you
make love to you

The Sweet Sadness of Sanctuary

My body feels rough today
Like a tired old grape vine
Leaves, browning at the edges
Lifetimes of neglect
I’m hiding away in the sweet hills of melancholia
The terrain is
Serendipitously calm
There is
A sharp smell
Of the coming of the rain
Mould gathers at my feet
In a childhood memory
A body always open to sadness
Fuels the lengthy line of despair
Joy in sadness sours the grapes
The terroir fights for growth and harvest
She grows and harvests her melancholia
She presses the dead fruit against her breast
The hopeful child prepares the pyre
I resist, then head toward the storm


The sun plays a melody for the steadfast gum
The frets, the threats of a blackened sky are gone
The troubled breeze swings to the perpetual melody
The branches respond to a slow heavy beat
Meandering roots spread their wings
Like strong women stretching after heavy sleep
Slithering serpents searching for sustenance
Swimming languorously through resistant mud
Lovers wander aimlessly beneath the tree
Climb its mangled twists and turns
They sense the tangle of its creeping desire
They remember the craving for silent rain

All poetry @jsimpsonart

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, death, 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.

She is recently published in ‘Voices from the Fire’ Anthology Vol 9, Dumpster Fire Press, The Writer’s Club, Horror Sleaze Trash, Fevers of the Mind Showcase, ‘Ukraine: The Night and the Fire’ Anthology and ‘Bedroom Anatomy Lessons’ Anthology, Dumpster Fire Press.

Her new manuscript, a book length anthology, is being reworked with new poems, themes and ideas. She is also putting together a chapbook of selected poems dedicated to her daughter, Kate.

Jay loves poetry, art, music, satire and black comedy. She also loves recording and reading poetry publicly.

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


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