Edge Of Night
I stand alone, ashore before
The suns inevitable quench.
My eyes absorb the golden brown
Horizon melting into night.
The teasing tide touches my feet
Like a juvenile game of tag.
My hurried mind futilely fights
The suns descending final dip
That will take with it the beauty
And my reasons for being here.
The darkened clouds in the twilight
Loom like rudderless ships at sea;
And not unlike the seeming ships
I disappear into the night.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Day Lily
The magnificent perianths
Of the Day Lilies with their six
Spreading bright orange arms (funnel-formed)
Fixed in their clustered colonies
Absent of any luring scent
Still attracts the bees
And the poets aesthetic eyes.
Oblique, penetrating sunrays
Shine through the high canopied trees
Directly onto their blossoms
Seemingly glowing like embers
In a campers dying campfire;
And not unlike the fire, remain
Briefly beautiful and then die.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Hard times
I didn't have much as a kid;
Oh, we were always fed and clad.
but for luxuries, God forbid!
Two-bits a week was all I had.
Fifteen cents spent on a movie
The remaining ten bought candy
Even that wasn't guaranteed.
Picking a landfill was handy
When money wasn't to be had
I'd pick the dump for tin and rags
And head for the junkyard with dad
Carrying the days find in bags.
Although a youth I recognized
the wounded pride in daddy's eyes.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Spring
Alcyone stared starry-eyed
From heavens clustered quietude;
Below, the dark, deserted night
Anticipates impending dawn.
Melodic notes begin to break
The early morning silence; Spring
Is welcomed warmly from the trees;
Forthcoming light compels the songs
Of robins welcoming carols
And the fiery star begins
To rise above the mountain peaks.
A brightly measured golden glow
Ignites the atmosphere of morn
And winters grip becomes the past.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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City Dwellers
Towering concrete monoliths
Loom above seemingly mindless
Lemmings rushing, bumping, pushing
Their way in endless, moving lines
Of backward and forward motion;
Each with programmed destinations
Instilled by subtle brainwashing
By the few who reside above
In luxurious penthouse suites.
Below one of the unthinking
Queue falls dead on the cold pavement
Only to be trampled underfoot
Unattended amidst raucous
Noise of taxi horns and Sirens.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Whirlpool
I gaze into a whirling pool
from atop a small grassy knoll.
It’s like looking into the past.
Its magnetic, impelling force
Draws from my mind sweet memories
while discerning the dark vortex.
Each drawn closer to the center
and one by one I remember
them; and one after the other
is captured in the swirling mass
and instantly fades out of mind.
I look up at the clear blue sky
And espy the coming future
And wait for what tomorrow brings.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Sandy
The hurricane has now arrived.
Her centripetal Cyclops eye,
swirling wind and wall of water
whirling, churning, surging cyclone
wreaking death and devastation
on the east coast population.
Amidst this inundated scene
the hapless, helpless victims screamed
for mercy but none could be found
instead a swell of water drowned
the most vulnerable victims
lacking the means to escape from
an unforgiving super storm
the entire country now mourns
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Poet's Rue
I remember as a young boy
Sitting on top Mount Parnassus
Consumed in writing I enjoyed.
Mostly poetry to express
At the time my innermost thoughts
While below my childhood playmates
Romped and played and most often fought.
And myself trying to translate
Feelings into coherent thought
And writing them down on paper.
I recollect those times that taught
Self- discipline behavior.
Yet if I lived it all again
I would be one of those children.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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An Embodied Tempest
A gray stormy sky matched my mood;
its violent, tempestuous
streaks of discontinuous light
fired across a charged atmosphere
soon answered by thunderous claps.
My mood is not unlike the storm:
It is emotionally charged,
unrestrained and prone to tantrums
that spark an electricity
too powerful to be controlled;
and like the tempest where wind blows
and precipitation follows
so too does my angry blowups
injure causing a flood of tears.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Anatomy Of A Dream
It amazes me how a dream
Is contrived from reality;
Fine-tuned to a subconscious scheme
played out nightly, surreally.
Take any dream for example:
It most frequently manifest
Itself via random samples
Of recall that had been suppressed
Which the subconscious mind reveals
Through abstract sensations expressed
Involuntary and unreal-
Most forgettable more or less
Are these colored and black and white
Series that’s conjured every night.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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