RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Relapsing into a coma of sorts, only this time on purpose,
in a design, just trying to replicate what happened before.

Many concepts and puzzle pictures are forming a picture of
...

Lovely days of winter, striking chords, rhythmically, in
tune with a birthday song, sung just for an Italian gentle-
man.
...

Energized by an article written on racism in America, while
reading it, seeing the misconceptions people in India and
other countries around the world have of America.
...

Pressure of racism flows from mouths of those who proclaim
to be politically correct and who are in fact, just the
opposite.
...

Squeaking faith, peering about, checking to see if it's
safe to travel outside.

People stabbing religion with sharpened tongues, hoping
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Easter, the glorious season, beautiful to behold, purples,
pinks, whites of decoration, easing our minds into depths
of sorrow, praying and crying, in the garden of Gethesme.
...

Windows curtained from inside, keep all eyes from prying,
not wanting anyone to take away from them, chapels stay
hidden until you step inside.
...

Walking across the desert of childhood, still listening to
a little transistor radio as I quietly went my way alone
each day.
...

Many memories shine through the clouds of grief,
leading to recovery one day in the future.

For now, crying, sorrow, pain, are all culminating
...