Dreams

In a subconscious state of mind
both real and unreal intertwine
and twist each others attributes
into dark Eidolon recruits.
These phantoms perform roles assigned
So well they trick the sleeping mind;
The scripts emerge from deep within
The brain where images begin
To shape and sound then orchestrate
Successive scenes the two conflate
Into involuntary schemes
The conscious human calls his dreams.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Rain

The aged poet lies abed
Listening to the falling rain
Tap dancing on some metal roof.
Ever since he could remember
Rain has been a fascination
For him, writing sundry poems
About this heavenly liquid.
He doesn’t know exactly why
But rain always precipitates
A flood tide of inspiration.
Once again the propensity
Immerses him entirely;
This time in an unlit bedroom
With a single theme in mind: rain.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Autumns Passing Tears

While lying on my side in bed
I stare through windowpane and shade
And watch the autumn season fade
With every falling golden dead;
And with each leafs descent to ground
A sadness seeps into my soul.
I turn around then lose control
And shed my tears without a sound.
Why must this season loveliness
Take leave from me each passing year
And take with it all I hold dear
And leave me with this emptiness?

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Break Of Dawn

A trio of warblers jargon
a madrigal in harmony.
Their polyphony awakens
a slumbering dawn from darkness
while white dewy daffodils, like
saintly daughters of charity,
bow before the paragon sun.
A gentle zephyr diffuses
its collection of fragrances
from the myriad wildflowers
it encountered on its journey
eastward; sojourning, perfuming,
impregnating the morning air
with its sweet, volatile essence.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Insomnia

Laying quietly in the dark
Alone in bed on my right side
Listening to the tinnitus
In my ear, praying sleep will come;
Not that I have obligations
To meet in the early morning;
I am an old retired dude
With a lot of time on my hands
But damn it to hell, I need sleep.
I try composing poetry
But my wandering tired mind
Can not remain focused for long
So I turnover my left side
And begin all over again.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Returning Again

I envision the very first
Uttered words of Man ascending
Like misty vapor suspended
As endless cloud-filled vibrations
That eventually rain down
On forthcoming generations
In the form of inspiration;
Imbuing the susceptible
Psyche with imaginative
Powers of profound expression;
The maker of philosophers,
The artists, writers and poets
Whose effectiveness must return
To its primal source whence it came.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Loving Dream

Most people fall asleep at night
And dream of fantasies delight;
Those spawned by wakeful malcontent
Of dreaded pasts and all they meant.
But when the light begins to dawn
Their dreams all vanish with a yawn.
My dreams are themes they are but two:
I dream of love and loving you;
And when I wake and wipe away
Besprinkled sand to start the day
I look around and here I see
The loving dream lies next to me.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Metamorphosis

Commenced
as a tiny
egg glued to foliage.
Maturing bondage in a shell
awaits

Larva
Eating, growing,
full size caterpillar
outgrows its present confines.
Splitting

Again
Reattaching
itself with liquid from
its spinneret. Creating a
button.

hanging
little pupa

[...] Read more

poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Servitude Of Words

Muted words linger in limbo
imprisoned between many leaves
bound together in the darkness
of a poet's tried thesaurus.
Their alphabetic existence
is but an endless servitude
whose individual meanings
chosen and together sequenced
for the glory of the poet.
The many verses read aloud
gives each utile word a voice
and continues till completion.
Then darkness returns once again
as the reference book is closed.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Creation

An aesthetic inspiration:
A grand, heavenly spectacle
Evolving on a blue canvas
That is slowly painting itself.
A single golden orb appears
Whose fiery tone dominates
The scene and brightens the background.
Next poses fluffy cumuli
That silently journey across
On their way to infinity.
Within the scene an eagle glides
High in the sky on warm thermos.
Below an artist with brushes
And a multicolored palette.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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