RoseAnn V. Shawiak Poems

Shining brightly, regaling eyes with freedom's rides, sitting on Harley's, riding skies of inner liberty, letting go of reality's trials for moments in time.
Idling in neutral, listening to sounds of american rights as they flow from replicas of flags, flying down roads, easing suffering as tires flow down highways of freedom.
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Watching people as they express themselves in individual ways, taking in duties just to feel useful, yet straying from their purposes in selfish egos.
Triggering aromas of lavender scent, stirring their beginning ideas with fragrant creativeness.
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Accented prose sitting upon my brow, waiting to catch a rhythm it can count with in time.
Signaling beats in measures of eternal sound, gingerly testing tones and matching them in genuine rhythms of their own.
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An emptiness scours my insides as I listen to the Blues Brothers alone in the audience.
Missing the antics and smiles of my granddaugher, and son.
An entertaining time, yet missing that one element of family being together in fun.
Searching images, finding those of past times together, smiling within as an emptiness still fills me silently.
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Stranded in an existence of forebearance, exhausted from it's demands on me physically, emotionally, mentally.
Spiritually it seems keeps me moving forward when I'd prefer not to.
So many difficulties, yet I must continue on for my children and grandchildren.
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Words dancing in atmospheres of silent awakening, arousing mind-bending thoughts to float and air out.
Reverberating and challenging life's particular dreams, creating new ones constantly in rhythms of prose.
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Recognizing patterns of intellect associated with wisdom, interjecting them with creative anticipation for newly formed idiosyncrasies of rhythm.
Bent on savory intuitions of inner spirituality, listening to voices beyond scope and visions, finding their effectiveness gently in pillows of exacting thought.
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Life is interesting to say the least, as I watch it daily, passing by like a parade with way too much going on to take it all in.
Yet, I enjoy it's presence immensely through eyes of children, seeing it in ways unbeknownest to most.
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Crackling voices sounding off behind saxophones, squeaking and squawking from a lack of breath.
Counting measures not quite making it from one beat to the next, generating a winding down of tolerance as they slowly proceed towards ends of life on earth.
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Musical honesty filling my mind with it's truth,
tantalizing imagination's depths,
challenging intuitive creativeness,
bringing about an altered consciousness for timeless moments.
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