RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Silence sprouts before him like a little flower in spring.
Dew covers the grass with tiny drops, and the coldness of the morning is reflected in the skies as his eyes look for clouds among the stars.
Finding one, it takes him along, floating through the heavens on a dream.
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Living in close quarters with others is a difficult task to accomplish.
In part, because we all have our own thoughts and ideas that are more important in our scheme of things.
Lightened areas of knowledge, allow most to compromise when needed, yet some do not and therein lies the harrowing episodes of stress in our lives.
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Tackling notes of beginning forms, walking around, touching all particles of enticing desire.
Wandering about, wanting to fit in, wearing all styles of biker clothes, bandannas, vests with many colored patches, sayings pertinent to what minds are thinking on a day like this.
Behaviors toned down, mild, touching one another with rhythms of loud motorcycles.
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Walking beside him, I feel so proud to know him.
This heart holds all of love's promises, but he doesn't
seem to notice is the thought running through my mind.
Yet, when I look into his eyes I see his heart holds the
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Holding love through years of marriage, feeling it's thorns along with the joy and bliss of being together.
Hurting deeply at times, scraping against one another's spirits unintentionally, yet it happens sometimes and is unavoidable.
Hearts being held tenderly, gently with care of a frail human being one to another.
All our love collectively gathered and etched in the scars of our hearts forever, keeping us totally honest and upfront with each other.
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Calmly, steadily, moving in time to melody's rhythm.
Storming the doors to imagination's depths,
picking out words floating there,
to tones incessantly clearing their throats in
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Interesting conversations being said loudly enough for me to hear.
An incessant flow of words being spoken, yet not much is being said.
A listener not saying much, being polite so as not to upset the patient who cannot seem to stop talking.
Random thoughts being regaled by the one who doesn't ever give silence a chance to bring peace to his heart.
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Sequences of notes flow into the environment, giving pleasure.
Hoping to be flexible in writing whatever I hear in visions of possibility.
Lasting sounds reverberate constantly and consistently in life.
Never looking through the myriad ideas, just taking them all and flavoring them with a style of my own.
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