Only for a moment
Biking along Lehigh drive
On an early sunny morning
Not a cloud in the azure sky
My! My! What a wonderful day!
I continued onward until
I reached the Lehigh boat-launch pad.
No longer able to resist
The allure of the calm river
I laid my bicycle against
A hillock, shed my shoes and socks
And walked to the shallow rivers edge
Stood there for a moment or two
Walked in ankle deep from shore
And became a young lad once more.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Moment Of Time
A moment, a second of time
Measured by a blink of an eye;
A sip of ones favorite wine;
A glance at a spring morning sky;
A whiff of fragrant wildflowers;
A quick nod of recognition;
Throwing a kiss to a lover;
A split second premonition;
Imagine... if a moment grants
These many memorable things
Envision life's multiplicand
Its myriad joys that it brings.
It begs us to live the moment
Each and every second well spent.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Dandelions
Little
Bright, yellow heads
Despised not for beauty.
That are here, there and everywhere
I tread
Ever
so cautiously
In your meadowy home
Amidst copious genera
Alone.
Solo
But not really
Alone. Strolling along
Accompanied by my friends at
My feet.
Brushing
Jagged edged leaves-
Like baby lion’s teeth.
So aptly named dent de lions.
Lead on!
[...] Read more
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Early Autumn
The calendar foretells summer
but the trees, fauna and I know
that Autumn is now upon us
in spite of the Gregorian.
Deciduous trees are shedding
their kaleidoscopic, colored
dead on the earthen ground below;
and decaying scents fill the air,
nostrils, the mind with reverie
of indelible yesteryears.
Squirrels burying recent finds,
cheerleading and football practice
Unmistakable, autumnal,
recurring signs of its presence.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Burial
A lifeless house sparrow lays dead
In the middle of the towpath
As if asleep on a green sheet;
Its body still warmed by the sun
That one could mistakenly guess
Its demise was moments before
My arrival except that its
Only exposed eyeball was gone
Indicating an earlier
Death. No decomposers arrived
As yet, usually the maggot
Flies are the first at a death scene.
I picked up the feathery corpse
And buried it beside the path.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Early summer scene
The sunrays showered the treetops
pooling little puddles of light
on the predominance of shade
that claimed the beaten path below;
seemingly ebbing and flowing
caused by the rustle of the trees.
Tiny cabbage white butterflies
in their spiral flights dip and rise
ostentatiously frolicking
amidst the warm illuminates
occasionally alighting
the myriad garlic mustards
that dominate the ground layer
laying their next generation.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Human Folly
The gods looked down upon the plebes
and roared a loud thunderous laugh.
Those arrogant humans never
Learn. They spend precious time flirting
Audaciously with foolishness;
They set their eyes toward heaven
And expect to achieve greatness.
By whose precious standards do they
Trust determining their greatness?
Their own supreme egotism
Suffices as their bellwether
And so therein lies their weakness
A trait exclusively human.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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My Worlds Of Water
I need no shelter from the rain
I'll not run for cover from it.
I'll not be plaintive or complain
I love its wetness I admit.
Conditioned in a serous sea
submerged in its tepid wetness
I resided comfortably
alone, attached in nakedness.
But now that world does not exist
yet life's baptismal still remains:
A kinship I cannot resist
with water that the gods ordained.
Even now I wade in the rain
knee-deep in Poseidon's domain.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Mythomaniac
The words stumble from her lying
Mouth while her obtuse mind struggles
For likely continuity.
In due course the lie emerges
Full-blown, ready for deceiving
An innocent, unsuspecting
Host singled-out as the target.
This pathological liar
Fabricates the fundamentals
In a way that’s favorable
To her in case she is challenged.
There is no motive to look for
Because there really isn’t one.
She must lie and she’s good at it.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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My Shadow
My non-irradiated chum
A lifelong silent companion
That’s with me wherever I go
This faceless image called shadow.
It mimics each movement I make
Regardless asleep or awake.
There are times in a darkened night
There’s no shadow from lack of light
Although it seems to disappear
At break of dawn it reappears.
A wife I most love and adore
The love of my life I am sure
Can never be with certainty
Close as my shadow is to me.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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