Stream of consciousness
Kenny G is blowing “forever in love”
In my ears on my media player.
His haunting sound makes me want to weep.
Why that song affects me that way
Probably can be explained by my analyst
But I have neither the time nor money
To spend on such a frivolous notion.
The song is nearing its end like this
Stream of consciousness will in a moment.
The flowing series of images and thoughts
Running through my mind are unique
Inasmuch as another person listening
Might be affected differently or perhaps not at all
Nevertheless, the feelings have ended and so has the song.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Railroad Town
The diesel locomotive wailed
Like a sick bull as it approached
The intersection; five bellows.
The dreaded traffic light turned red
And all of us just sat waiting
For this snail-like, slow-moving
Freight train to pass, while the traffic
was backing up to infinity.
Life becomes a standstill in time:
If your appendix burst, pray to god;
If you're in labor, tough titty;
If late for work, you curse and swear!
So you wait and count the freight cars...
One hundred one…one hundred two…
Onward west they roll
Swaying, screeching, click-clanking
Along rusty tracks.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Second Coming
Conceived a king amid a war, within
The age of Pisces. Newest moon began
The term of human being gestation
The hope of mankind, and savior of Man.
Then from the east a sign ascending, climbs
The scales of justice. Ten degrees hereby
Have marked the birth of Him a second time.
The sun will reach the stubborn Taurus sky
And greet the ever-fleeting mercury.
Disguised a bull from doubting eyes of man
Avoiding cruel exposure: Misery,
The kind of torture where it first began.
This time he’ll come to save the few remained.
The wicked shall lose all the few have gained.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Duel Personality
Many lovers’ kiss faded from my lips
Like summers early morning mist that dries
When timely sunrise first arrives outside
My windowpane. Can I rewrite the script
Of providence that’s handed me? Eclipse
Another, hardly. The Jekyll and Hyde
Reside in me: the good and bad divide
At first but then the worst bestirs and shifts.
A lover kisses Jekyll’s lips of wine
But soon the lovers tasting vinegar
When Hyde emerges every single time
To spoil the sweet-taste of love. Au revoir!
The final parting words that draws the line
When love dies never knowing who you are.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Moon Crazed
Oh, Oh! The full moon is almost full bloom.
I know what that means. Get the straitjacket.
Tie me down; lock me in a padded room.
They say I make a helluva racket.
I don't grow copious hair or large fangs.
Wish I did. This way a stake or bullet
Would end my monthly lunatic harangues.
Either suggestion hasn't been tried yet.
It's god awful, controlled by the damn moon.
I become a different kind of person-
Jekyll in the morn, Hyde by afternoon.
You'd think over time that it would lessen
A bit. Yea, right! I'd have a better chance
Of seeing god perform a song and dance.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Change Of Heart
I did not like him when he was alive.
So now that he lies dead, nothing has changed.
Yes, I know this sounds inhuman, heartless
Or call it what you like but I cannot
Be a hypocrite. I’ll not eulogize.
In life he embodied all that I’m not.
This does not mean that I’d wished the man dead.
Like I said, I disliked him, not hate him.
In a word, he was an unscrupulous
Man..that’s right! Devoid of all principles;
Contemptuous of what was right and just;
A self-absorbed, egocentric brute
Where few if any will remember him
Except perhaps me, may god bless his soul!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Thief Of Time
Day changes to night without a whimper
Another day of time I can’t retrieve.
The thief of time blithely robbing the hours
From me, a felon that I never see.
I once had youth, my heart was young as spring
Where all life’s offerings were there for me.
But now the yoke that once connected things
Somehow became a distant memory.
Here I am in the autumn of my life
Clinging like a withered leaf on a tree
As the setting sun again turns to night
And the purloiner robs again from me.
How long must I suffer this living death?
Until the thief of time steals my last breath!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Jewel
Our brief existence on this marbled sphere
Is meaningless unless we treasure life.
The jewel, love, is obviously rare.
Its importance is great: A man and wife,
A country, town or city knows for sure
Without its presence everything must die.
If hate prevails then war is what’s in store.
It sates itself on humanities cries.
Alas! Our souls are wandering through space-
Our beings on borrowed time, few morrows.
Today? - Almost the past! So embrace
Another day, toast to end mans sorrows.
And keep in mind that time is running short.
Expressing love is Mans only comfort.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Wishful Thinking
Wish on your left hand, spit in the right hand.
Tell me my good friend what do you expect?
I'll tell you, Nothing! Do you understand?
Wishing is nothing but willful neglect.
To sit awaiting your ship to come in
is just pie-in-the-sky for all dreamers.
For most if not all, take it on the chin
for the fantasies of these believers.
The spit in the hand is of little use
perhaps flattening cowlick one morning.
Yet even this task of digestive juice
has worthwhileness more useful than yearning.
Young children are known to wish on a star
but as an adult you'll never get far.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Judgment Day
We are but grains of sand in life’s hourglass
Plures inter plures waiting our turns
That slowly penetrates the narrowness
Of time ending all our worldly concerns.
The moment comes like a thief in the night:
Silently, stealthily, assuredly.
And in this sleep of death things are put right:
Our past dreams become bits of history:
Involuntary intervals of life
That had reflected our immortal souls
And there are never any two alike
Spirits on trial that will defend their roles.
In the end, though, we go our separate ways.
Some ascend while others will face the blaze.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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