RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Traveling westerly, tasting nickel coffees and rib-eye steaks.
Enjoying rodeos and ranch rides throughout desert trails and back.
Returning along route 66, silently lurking in a car of yesterday, a chrysler, holding our family, engrossed in the scenery as we traveled together across country from New Jersey to Phoenix, Arizona.
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Stretching upwards, touching feelings sitting alone, awaiting recognition from within.
Caressing a solo journey made through subconscious byways along life's unalterable destiny.
Finishing petals of grace, aligning themselves with a soulful beauty stemming from God's great mercy towards us, everlastingly.
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Righteous talk from self-righteous people, gossiping, making fun of others, putting them down out of their own jealousy and pettiness.
Hard, cruel people who taint the human race just by being on earth.
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Drawing pictures in my mind, as music paints them with colorful attitudes and meaningful words.
Giving of myself in dirges, holding me through all the sadness of my youth.
Living in depths of lonely abandonment, existing in this nether world with only my poetry to keep me whole and intact.
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Birds calling from inner imagination, getting my undivided attention as I see them hiding among the leaves and branches being created through Chopin's music.
All being held captive in beautiful panoramic views, designed exclusively for interpretation into poetry.
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Ribbons of thought waving in an airy mind, filled with rapturous joy.
Stationed tantalizingly inside, awaiting exploration of renewal, imaging thoughts, taking on new styles, fitting them comfortably wherever they happen to be.
Taking words, placing them in orders known only to God, forming in the end great works of poetry.
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Walking nowhere, scuffling along lanes of despair, crying into chalices of remorse, not seeing clearly.
A heavy mist clouds my sight, yet feelings are intensified by saddened recollections of yesterday's memories.
Touching areas hurting within, absorbing the pain with my mind and heart, falling heavily into past moments, alone and forsaken.
Reaching for hands that never reach out to save me from an interior abandonment in hellish nightmares.
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Being written in blank verses, life falls into patterns designed to be kept hidden within.
Being brought out only in sounds of music being sung on stages of performance among crowds of people looking for someone to love or confide in.
Identifying with songs the band is singing - the only delight they receive is a daylight concert.
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Out of town, stopping a moment to call and talk to her Mom.
Sharing a little of what has been going on before hanging up, 'saying I love you and will be home in the morning'.
Mom listening, talking and then saying goodbye.
Daughter, not knowing as she hung up the phone, that this would be the last time she would ever hear her mother's voice again on earth.
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Tapping to the sound of life portrayed in music,
forgetting for a time where I'm at.
Feeling intensely, notes playing themselves
inside of me.
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