Only
A knotted Tarzan rope dangles
From the same sycamore tree limb
When I was a young, snot-nosed,
devil-may-care adolescent.
Nothing has really changed that much
Since my time: the same swimming hole,
Probably the same railroad spikes
That I hammered into the trunk
That we used as rungs to scale it.
But it’s a very lonely place
today. All my childhood buddies
Are either dead or too infirmed
To care; so here I stand alone
Willing, but no one to play with.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Rivers Edge
The swimming hole is deserted
Except for an occasional
Brief stop for indigenous birds
on their way to the other shore.
The Tarzan rope hangs from the tree
Swaying slightly in the mild breeze
Above the dark shallow river
Where not long ago children played
And their laughter resonated
Loudest after each took their turn
Swinging out over the water
Ending with a cannonball splash;
But now these sweet, wet river brats-
God love them, all gone back to school.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Saint Patrick's Day
The worst of snow has disappeared
We had a lot of it this year.
But now that it has gone from sight
Our winter blues have taken flight.
The smell of spring is in the air
A robin sings its morning prayer
As morning sun climbs upward high
To brighten up the morning sky.
Among this picturesque display
I stand here on Saint Patrick’s Day
So proud to live in this country
An Irishman of ancestry;
'Erin go bragh' is what I say
But home is here and here I stay.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Dying Love
Our love, once like two vibrant leaves
Vigorous, lively, and vital;
Both clinging in a summer breeze
Beautiful and ornamental.
But time passes and our love died
Not unlike autumns foliage
Losing its vivaciousness-dried,
Withering in an outdoor stage
Where the slightest breeze sets them free
And separate but to perish.
Our love like the leaves on the tree
Where once it had thrived and flourished
Now a feeling in its last throes
Feebly lingering to let go.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Inner Sanctum
While half of humanity sleeps
And their normal noises desist:
Those raucous rackets I abhor
Give pause for mental pleasantries:
Sustaining thoughts can now linger
Long without any distractions
And melodious sounds of silence
Can soothe my psyche once again.
Oh! If they could sleep forever
I would have no need for slumber
Unencumbered by fantasies
Of the mind sought only in dreams.
Lo! Those intrusive sounds I hear
It’s what I feared: they have wakened.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Nyx, the night
Can’t sleep again for some reason
perhaps I’m drinking too much tea.
Well, whatever the cause, it’s done.
I’ll try again later…maybe!
Meantime, I’ll work on this poem-
A way to pass the time away
until black-robed Nyx finds me home
And cast her spell without delay.
My mind grows weary, she has come
Whose dark light falls from nighttime stars
And Man and gods all must succumb.
Her sightless eyes in one dark sweep
induces half the world to sleep.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Mothers-of-the-evening
Their days in the sun are fulfilled.
Their once bright pink and white petals
now lie withered and brown beneath
the dead wavering naked stalks
that once connected each cluster.
Hesperis matronalis
Gone are their aromatic scents
that had tantalized all that passed
their many clustered colonies.
Gone are my nightly fragrant walks
among their unseen loveliness.
Gone with them are my joys of spring
and what remains are memories
of their fulfilling presence here.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Reasons For My Love
I love the way she wears the sun
In her hair; and the way the rain
Beads on her delicate shoulders;
I love when her eyelids flutter
In early morning springtime breeze;
I love the way she pouts and sulks
When things don’t seem to go her way;
I love it when she feigns anger
That’s soon betrayed by a smile;
I love the look of guiltiness
On her face after we make love;
I love her childlike naiveté;
Her occasional whininess
And vagaries that define her.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Thunderstorm
The rainclouds loom over the town
Like a cold, grayish wet blanket
That soon will unleash and rain down
its wrathful torrent in buckets.
I’ve seen this many times before-
This quietude before the storm-
A preface to what is in store:
An incredible thunderstorm.
Behold! The tempest has begun.
Wind is blowing from the northeast
Lightning bolts on the horizon
The odor of ozone increased
And as though it were timed, thunder
Brought rain as I watched in wonder.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Wildflowers
The fragrances of wildflowers
are now a pleasant memory.
I close my eyes and picture them
still swaying in a gentle breeze;
but when I open them they’re gone
and where they once had smiled at me
there’s barely evidence to see
their beauty once had flourished there
in kaleidoscopic colors.
Their absence only bears to mind
that beauty last the briefest time
and one day when they reappear
my aging self will not be there
to sniff their bouquets from the air.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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