Leaves
The theme of this poem is leaves;
Beautiful lateral structures
that dress the deciduous trees;
ephemerals one can’t ignore.
We first set eyes on them as green,
Protuberates on limbs in spring;
Next we see them as indigenes-
Transpirational living things
with various shapes and sizes.
I myself favor the maples
Their many metamorphoses:
various colors one beholds
in late summer and early fall
their greatest splendor above all.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Unspoken Words
Words will never convey my thoughts
What I so want to say to her
It often leaves me overwrought
My mind becomes a hopeless blur.
Her comely grace and pleasing eyes
Her sweet amicability
Leaves me goggle-eyed and tongue-tied
when I look upon her beauty.
At home I think up words to say
Articulating syllables
Spoken in a well mannered way
But deem them unacceptable.
The hardest thing for me to do
Is utter three words, “I love you.”
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Early Falling Leaves
Autumn is not technically here
But it has arrived nonetheless
With brown crisp maple leaves and their
Imagined conspicuousness.
Each with its own conformation:
Some taking forms of tortoises
As they swirled downward in the sun;
Others twirled like ballerinas
In a sleeping beauty ballet.
Most fell unassumingly down
Nevertheless, quite a display
For a mere poet on the ground
This Sunday morning unrehearsed
Depicted in a poets verse.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Memories of mother
Mothers Day always trips sadness
in me since her death years ago;
impelling a circuitous
journey of memories that flow
within a stream of consciousness
always the same, unabated.
It's queer how an act of congress
can regress a mind effected
in such a way as to cause tears.
I guess stranger things have happened
and will happen over the years.
Though measured in nanoseconds
these yearly memories of her
are all that remains of mother.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Narcissi
Narcissi bowing in the breeze;
their adorable awkwardness
surfaces to mind small children
dressed in flowered habiliments
in their very first recital.
Each flowery face reflecting
their image at waters edge
like looking into a mirror
pining away in love with each bow,
their own beauty: yellow and white
petals with cup-shaped central crowns.
I gaze at these comely flowers
and seemingly they are aware
of my presence and smile at me.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Wind
The February full moon stirred
A wintery blustering
Wind that roared through the neighborhood
Like an out-of-control freight train.
The stark, naked trees swayed wildly
In a ceremonial dance
While low-growing tree branches touched
Intermittently the ground
In swift, servile genuflections.
Then for an abbreviated
Lull, an eerie silence prevailed
Within this moonlit quietude
Until the winds bellowing voice
Was heard echoing its return.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Spectacle
Today’s early morning produced
A winter postcard spectacle:
The once stark maple tree branches
Are now laden with heavy snow;
Their lesser-kin (low-growing trees)
Stand covered like woody snowmen.
The predawn light creeping above
Washed away any subtle
Colors from the panorama
Leaving a lovely, black and white,
Silent wonderland glistening
In the dawning February
Sun whose waxing intensity
Ends what seemed like a pleasant dream.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Tribute To Dad
When kids my age were searching for
Heroes, the likes of Roy Rodgers,
Gene Autry, Hoppy and John Wayne
I already had my idol.
A hero is supposed to be
Courageous and strong and favored
By god. This description aptly
fit father then as a youngster
And today on this special day.
And when he died some years ago
A light was extinguished within
My soul leaving a darkened void
Where once my action hero, dad
Was surely the best of them all.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The End
Death, the final equalizer;
be it a leaf, human or star
their end is inevitable.
Can it easily be conceived?
will it truly be understood?
Do their unique differences:
diminutive or gigantic
change deaths meaning and concept?
Does any of that matter much?
Humans perceive death as macabre
a horror of loss and decay.
leaf and star suffer the same fate
yet both lives end naturally
without a promised afterlife.
Octal Syllabic Verse
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Daydreaming
The Deciduous maple trees
With their temporary broad leaves
Fell in great numbers during the
Early, darkened, chilly morning.
Their photosynthetic lifetimes
Once green are now shadows of life
As they lay lifeless on the ground.
As I slowly pedal along
The beaten path, a crispy sound
Emerges from beneath the wheels;
And a sweet odoriferous
Scent from their decaying-remains
Beckons forth from my aged mind
Pleasurable abstract musing.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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