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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  5/29/2016 10:25:36 AM
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Death To All.... Have Fun!

I heard a song the other day; it strummed
A chord within, this way: The lyrics sung
Expressed that we convey a summed
Philosophy: Our days are numbered, son.
We're born to die and there's no warning light.
This is our fate, our expiration date.
So live your life as though your deaths tonight
The fullest that money can buy this late.
Tomorrow the sorrow of death might come
Despite being old or young. Beat the drum
And dance. Have fun! Laugh and sing, don't be glum.
We'll celebrate, it's never too late, hon
The parties begun, be not a mourner
Grim-reapers peeking around the corner.
Albert Ahearn



Devoid Of Love

“My dear, do you love me? ” No, I think not.
A loving foundation is based on trust.
I lost that trust that ties true lovers' knots.
Without it, all love dies and turns to dust.
My heart's been broken many times before
Each love I lost left me uncertainty.
Love doesn’t live within me anymore
This I say to you with all certainty.
Love is like snow, beautiful while it lasts
But comes a time it thaws and disappears.
And what remains are traces of the past:
The painful heartaches, lonely nights and tears.
Ask not again of me, do you love me?
Love has died leaving painful memories.
Albert Ahearn




A drowsy sun has closed his eye
Leaving me in tinted twilight
Hemorrhaging color by degrees
until I stood in blue-black night.
Dusk is the darkest of twilight
where sights and sounds become adverse:
a contrived unreality,
imagination unrehearsed
and interspersed with primal fears.
Harmless shadows act out phantoms
conjured deep within my psyche.
Howls and hoots: night sounds most fearsome
Quasi-influential fancy
when dusk attains ascendancy.
Albert Ahearn



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.
Albert Ahearn
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn