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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  10/2/2014 5:25:38 AM
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  Best Poems From
  ALBERT AHEARN
 
 
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  77.     

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.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  78.     

A Chilly Vision

I gazed through an iced crystal pane
Looking at three winter backdrops:
A tree is struggling under snow
Its maple branches drooping low.
Two small flowerbeds are asleep
beneath very deep, white blankets.
As I gazed, I became entranced;
All of the snow had disappeared
Revealing the presence of spring-
Tiny, green protuberances
appeared from numerous branches;
Rudimentary daffodils
and tulips rouse from their slumber.
Then I blinked twice and all was gone;
except my yearning thoughts of spring.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  79.     

A Confession

Those sanctified structures of verse,
plot and rhyme-why do I find them
no help to me now?
I want to produce something
imagined not recollected.
My inner voice becomes tongue-tied;
it trembles searching for the words
to guide me to inspiration.
So at times everything I write
with the threadbare lack of genius
seems wearily; worn-out; hackneyed
often painfully paralyzed.
A mιsalliance I admit
Still I strive to caress the light.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  80.     

A Demon's introspection

In the recesses of my mind
Lurks an imaginary fiend;
a part of my psyche’s design
borne of a roguish, mutate gene.
Deceit belies my comeliness
To my casual encounters,
I’m well-mannered and smartly dressed
I’m an unsuspecting monster.
Damn fools! Clothes never make the man
nor his discriminating taste.
This real man is more inhuman
whose moral state is unchaste.
I was born with this affliction
Wreaking pain is satisfaction.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn