RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Social departures are forgiven by no one, yet I love them as I quit society to be alone and write.
A euphorious feeling of power fills me as I pick up a pen and begin
to write.
A solemn space of time, experiencing contemplation in it's finest form, taking me away from the world and placing me in an empty dimension where I can create my own existence.
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Thoughts in flight, taking off into space, looking for new outlooks and spirits of life to take me on solo voyages beyond the seven seas.
Insinuating it all into one huge vision where I may examine and write it all down.
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Taking in breaths of excessive energy, soaring into pockets of existence where I can become totally immersed in thoughtful contemplation.
Signing off from life's routine to follow my own designs, create my own patterns, juxtapositionally from everyone else in the world.
Noticing everything passing by, not caring what direction they're going, just writing down the glimpses as I see them.
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Nearing the end of another morning of activity at the center.
Getting ready to take off for a gathering of meals together
over intense thoughts of conversation as diverse as stars in
heaven.
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Interminable questions always crowding my mind out of curiosity.
Wanting to know everything, right at this moment, chomping at the bit, listening for clues or hints to begin the journey of advancement.
Turning aside every routine of daily life, just to examine all the questions carefully and extract meanings specific to what I'm thinking about.
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Tops of palm trees looking like spiders sitting atop them,
enjoying an early morning breeze, blowing their legs gently,
making them look real.
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Scattering remnants across floors of imagination, watching for patterns to escape and show me where to place them in exacting lines of poetry.
Trying to picture everything in forms, according to puzzles filling my mind with recorded photographic memories, stationed forever in the deepest part of my brain.
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Tracing cobwebs across corners of buildings, seeing their wispy film, shining gently in the evening.
Building impressions in a mind of ingenuity, spacing words just so, leaving mazes to undo themselves and readjust to puzzles of indecision.
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Stepping into designs of silent practice,
keeping fit inside, feeling joyous elation
as they crawl around my brain, enacting
blissful sentences to begin with.
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Writing notes to perform in compact compositions, filling entire pages with signs and symbols, causing secretive thoughts to be able to be understood by a select few.
Trusting everything to inner streams, running into tides of ocean's frothy, foamy situations.
Taking care to pause at times, just to be rejuvenated for the remainder of years on earth.
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