Whispering Wind
Standing amid the forest trees
I feel so insignificant.
Small and unimportant can be
Very humbling among the plants
And underbrush that are dwarfed by
The regal, deciduous trees.
Quiet is defined by the sigh
Of the wind breathing through the leaves
And serenity thrives beneath
This lushest leaf-green canopy.
I walk along an ancient path
Once tread by aborigines.
Then, out of the blue, the soft wind
Whispered, ” you're home again my friend.”
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Willful Neglect
In youth I often wished on stars
I thought the largest ones came true.
But longing never got me far
So wishing ceased, long overdue.
As I matured and ventured out
Into a world so alien.
A lesson learned I had no doubt
Was always take it on the chin.
In life there are setbacks galore
A definite fact to expect
So never sit and wish for more
Since wishing is willful neglect.
When in life your dreams are plenty
Strive for them, fools wish for many.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Jealousy
People think jealousy normal.
I smile with tongue in cheek and say,
Of course, so is a square billiard ball.
This spurs in a well mannered way
A hot topic for discussion.
Firstly, you must be insecure
Thus an unhealthy condition,
Is this not true? And what is more:
An apprehensive frame of mind.
It being responsible for
Its intensity, unconfined,
Prevalence and the least explored.
In a phrase, ignorance is bliss
This is why jealousy exists.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Race With Time
I gazed at the faded colored
Photograph in my wrinkled hand.
A smug frozen image of me
Dressed in scant half-slit shorts and shirt
Captured in a moment of time.
A billion more moments had past
Taking with them my yolk of youth
Once viable, vibrant, fleeting;
Faster than time itself but losing
In the end for time never paused
For a victorious moment
As I once did to smile and gloat.
Meanwhile interminable time
Raced onward with me in its wake.
.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Anticipation
Springs in the air, can’t you smell it?
To me the scent can’t be explained
So it makes no sense in trying.
All I know is springs on its way.
Whenever that familiar scent
Arouses these nostrils of mine
It automatically triggers
A colorful, dreamlike collage
In my anticipating mind;
Muted and inanimate till
The first robin redbreast warbles
Its early morning springtime song.
So, in the meantime, I languor
In this feeling called spring fever.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Weary Poet
Lethargic verbs coax sleepy nouns
along verses of poetry
in the wee hours of the night.
A flickering fluorescent Light
tremulously glows its paleness
above the weary poets head,
each tremor depriving him sleep.
The first rays of sunlight shine through
the rooms window, devouring
the artificial annoyance
while his tired head slowly descends
onto his outstretched left forearm;
the pen still resting in his hand
while his dreams devise completion.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Changing Places
The protracted barks of a chained-
Up dog pleading for company:
Beseeching, entreating from us
Attention he sadly deserves.
His master lounges unaware
In his grand house of glass and wood
While the pooch lives in misery
Neglected and misunderstood.
If perchance their places were changed
For one single day you can bet
The pet not a bit inhumane
But the man insisting complains
That his collars too goddamn tight
And you’re letting me in tonight.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Drought
Pedaling along river drive
empty plastic grocery bags
fluttered and flapped from tree branches
like lost battle surrender flags
that line the drought-stricken river.
Their interspersed clings reminded
me of inundated levels
this now anemic river reached;
where once the floodwaters surged south
along its journey to the sea
its now imperceptive flow
struggles, its intimate's exposed:
river-bottom, water-worn rocks
sit like petrified bowler hats.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Imagination revealed
Looking out a winter window
My eyes were focused on the snow.
A streetlight cast a yellow glow
Causing an eerie sight below.
The shadows from some barren trees
Seemed not unlike nightmarish dead
Dancing diabolically
Around a severed human head.
I rubbed my eyes and rubbed again
For what I witness can’t be real
I backed away from the cold pane
That’s when I spied a surreal
View, no doubt a clear distinction:
Aforementioned … my reflection!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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An Act Of Love
The night sky was clear and starry
And the nearly full moon spying down
Like a waxing Mata Hari
On the two lovers of the town
While they lay atop a mountain
On a large beach towel for two
Naked and anxious to begin
Their lovemaking long overdue.
Embraced, they seized the moment
That seemed to them like forever;
Intoxicated by their scent
Only hasten their endeavor.
They kissed and made love for awhile
While stars winked and the moon just smiled.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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