RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Mixtures of melodies, echoing in my mind, blending rhythms together and creating new sounds to benefit writing.
Selecting words from musical tones, totally completing inroads of insight, declaring major designs of pontifical favors while setting everything into gem-like facets of behavior, befitting royalty.
Sensing inner whispers coming about, relating individual patterns,
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Thoughtful interludes calm down travesties of life,
giving a peaceful atmosphere in which to write.
Elevating any idea that wishes to be known in poetical
works of art.
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Floating through the atmosphere, encased in a bubble of natural desire, wanting to be expressed in depth.
Pushing me into labyrinths of texture where I can explore the environment I've been landed in.
Watching as my curiosity discovers all types of things that I suddenly sense before me.
Cavorting in a circle of amusement as I write about all that I see and feel.
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Spinning circles rectangularly, moving through square orbits, challenging old ways of doing things.
Rewriting life to fit modern traditions,
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Nearing an end to life, hopes and dreams fade away into
far distant memories.
Knowing now, that life is just what it is, brings a
finality to plans made when younger.
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Signaling to synapses, trying to decipher interpretations of musical repertoires for tomorrow's anticipated prose.
Selected antiphons carry omens of delightful energy, posting edicts along every avenue of nature, wafting scents towards my mind.
Folding compactly, with a precision of unequaled quality, aspiring to a greatness held inside with a solemn contempt for life and it's trials.
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Watering seeds of ideas, tending them as they grow and mature into independent verses of reality.
Touching outskirts of imagination, stretching limits way past earth and into lands of make-believe beauty.
Naturally and ordinarily, confronting writing on walls of yesterday.
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Standing on the edge of a final nightfall, awaiting a sign, a portion of faith to carry me forward into the next stage of life.
Totally immersed in a quagmire of deafening silence, causing me to sink into the very pits of hell, with no voice left to cry for help, no thread of hope left either.
Solo tears forming incessantly, tightening my heart against untruths of people.
Knowing now, there's no one, I wander alone down sorrowful garden aisles, trying to find my way back.
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Talented people getting together, putting life on the line for one another.
Literally writing literature of a novel type, distinguishing presence of minds throughout measures of rhythms.
Attacking vehemently, with an animosity towards ordinary tributes, stabilizing nothing except inner serenity and peace of mind.
Rehearsing, relatively adhering to inner tempos, sending vibrations into atmosphere's of living spirits.
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Quipping to myself, wanting to be alone,
yet can't seem to find a space to just be.
Recognizing facts, centering upon a
circumference of one, hoping it will come
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