A Single Flower

I believe that all things that occur were destined to happen because all things possess its own karma like the flower in this poem.

A pink lily recently plucked
Lays on a sun baked beaten path
All alone in the morning sun
Its destiny fulfilled and won.
Its progeny from eons past
With one sole purpose foreordained
To bloom a day and then be plucked
And given to someone in love.
The karma saved within the seed
Will guarantee its destiny.
The lovers kiss and wish upon
This pinkish hue phenomena.
The flowers charm had won the day
And then it's gently cast away.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Sisyphean Solace

Eternity is a long time to learn.
Yet Sisyphus was able to adjust
To his punishment. He refused to yearn
For bright tomorrows and knew that he must
Dispel any and all such thoughts of hope.
His salvation was not the morrows but
The moment at hand. Not the highest slope
The boulder could attain, in vain it must
Descend again. But the span of descent
Was his freedom: this brief trek down the hill
Was his only joy before his next ascent
Once more and endless treks as yet fulfilled.
Man through his suffering does find solace
Often long waited yet found anyplace.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Autumns Tryst

We often strolled along this beaten path
Especially in autumn; Oftentimes
For miles. Our steps crushing the leaves beneath
Our feet, releasing magic fragrances.
We’d whiff the fall bouquet, and sniff again,
Then stop to kiss. These things we did before
So many times together... our domain.
A coexistent couple, what is more,
We are an integral part of autumn
As trees and colored leaves, gentle breezes
As God intended. To benignly come
Together like a painting that pleases
The artist. Sauntering with hand in hand
In love. In autumns blissful promised land.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Fourteen Verses

My passion is to write modern sonnets
Yes indeed modern not traditional.
Iambic pentameter I regret
Is too restrictive and conditional.
I had observed that many years ago.
Expression of thought is more important
Than any well-placed iamb, apropos.
These little songs* are not songs at all; shan’t
Pretend when they're not. Mine are messages
That I compose within fourteen verses:
Some assurances, other presages.
They are my work for better or for worse.
If I fail to convey in fourteen lines
I'd nothing to say and wasted your time.

* Sonnet means little song.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Undying Love

In everyone's existence certain sights
And sounds have more importance over all
Other things we occasioned. Some excite
Us more today than yesterday, Enthrall
Is more precise. And others make us sad.
The mulberry tree and dandelion
Reminds me daily, happy times we had
Together picking berries; her crying
Because her hands were stained. To stop the tears
I would then stoop and pluck a yellow bloom
and place it over her ear. I also hear
The sounds that make me very sad. Entombed
My heart becomes, beside my loves’ remains
Upon my hearing morning doves refrains.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Political Science

Political science...In other words
The study of who gets what, where, when and
Why. Striking a balance of one accord
Between the individuals demands,
Societies, and governmental needs.
At least that’s how it’s supposed to work.
The means that justifies the end, indeed!
Then why can not the workers obtain perks
That government gets at workers expense?
Who calculates the greed along the way?
Surely, not the worker, that’s common sense.
Where does the finger of blame point today?
The onus for this imperfect science
Is the lawmaker minus his conscience.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Halloween

It's Halloween again! The moon is high
And waxing. The night is calm and darkness
Predominates everything. Some clouds try
In vain to quench the lunar fluorescence.
Below, a ray of light exposes weird
And freakish happenings, surreal things!
A quiet crowd of ghoulish kids appear.
Impressive costumes make the evening
An apropos success. The parents walk
Behind the throng of hideous creatures
As each approach the lighted doors to knock.
The townspeople behind their doors are sure
To answer every rap with something sweet
When little voices bellow, trick or treat!

poem by Albert Ahearn
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You've been had

I heard a subtle sound from outer stairs
That interrupted peacefulness in house.
I asked myself, what was that noise my ears
Have hearkened to, perhaps it was a mouse?
Although my curiosity aroused
My cautiousness in check I ventured from
My study most perplexed, and than I paused
Because my heart was beating like a drum.
Anticipating what I feared the least
A mouse was not the cause of noise I heard
Nor any grievous, carnivorous beast
Not even Allen Poe’s foreboding bird.
I played a joke on you with all respect
Now the question: what thought you the culprit?

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Pictures From The Past

A large collage hangs from my study wall
above my cluttered desk. The photographs
affixed with paste are cleverly arranged.
The colored pictures, twelve in all, fading
and frayed from time. Just seems like yesterday
my wife began the painstaking project.
As I look up and gaze upon her work
I see myself, as I once looked, youthful.
But now the person beholding the scene
is long past middle age -trenches shape the field.
I smile as reverie carries the thoughts
along the frames. Each still photograph
becomes hypnotically animated
Until the memories fade into sleep.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Testament

The decomposing wall I see
That encompasses the long dead
Lies interspersed among the trees
Whose living, fingered roots are fed
with nourishment of sublimed faith.

I pause a moment…

Panning the surroundings I see
Row after row of unknown dead
Whose tombstones depict family trees
Whose living relatives are fed
The same promises of blind faith.

Why must I lament?

The brown withered leaves that I see
Wind-blown atop the buried dead
Should I mourn provenance: the trees?
Why then the promise that is fed:

[...] Read more

poem by Albert Ahearn
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