RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Taking turns sketching people and nature in my mind,
remembering all the details as they exist in reality,
not wanting to veer from their beauty and purpose in
my life.
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Shakespeare has always filled me with tender-hearted feelings.
Touched me with his bleeding lines of poetry, dripping his life's
blood into mine.
Feeling whatever it is of his that I am reading, fills me with
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Starting over after nine eleven,
cringing whenever smoke rises or a plane
flies over my head.
Memories clouding my mind of that fateful day,
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Sunshades of maturity sliding
across faces of hidden loneliness.
Fabricating hymns of happiness on joyless days
at home alone in a fog.
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Blissfully taking time to write my heart into another poetical day, filled with elation at being able to pick up where I left off yesterday.
So at peace in my mind's little abode, thriving on words, definitions and meanings that I give to everything.
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Men in business suits walking by, full of their own importance.
Not daring to smile for it may break their concentration and louse up their style.
Walking - carrying briefcases and manilla envelopes full of writing - full of figures meaning something to their own minds - they have yet to talk it over and help someone with money to understand their logic.
Without that understanding, no one can pay for their knowledge and time - they might as well be home in bed.
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Standing atop higher levels of learning, those with degrees pass out final verdicts.
Who is to pass.
Who is too slow.
Making up their minds as they go.
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Looking askance, watching for words to slide into view across the mountains, taking me away for a while, writing views of anticipated joy.
Listening carefully for apprehensive thoughts to adjust to melodies of protective essences.
Judging nothing, finding beauty surrounding me through rhythms and notes, giving upbeat ideas in juxtapositional verses of musical notations in many compositions.
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