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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  7/26/2014 2:13:43 PM
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Sensual Intercourse

Hello! .. Oh, hi
dear...fine.. You? ... that's good to
hear...dinner? ..where? Perkin's is fine.
Bye Love.
Albert Ahearn



Song of Solomon 2: 15

Catch for us the foxes,
the little foxes
that ruin the vineyards,
our vineyards that are in bloom.

Identify the sons of bitches
Those littered curs
Whose gluttonous manner
Leaves naught for us and ours.

Catch for us the greedy
The avarice few
Who take that which is earned
collectively with toil and tears.
Albert Ahearn




“Look! The aging poet sleepwalks again.”
“Sir, should we wake him from his nightly tour? ”
“No! God no! His heart could not stand the strain.”
“He’s heading for the open study door.
His ambulant steps on the floorboards creak
With every step along the corridor.”
“Listen! The bard is beginning to speak.
Let’s heed his words, step softly on the floor.”

“Where do you lead me
Erato? Oh! The study
What for may I ask? ”

He sits at his desk with his pen in hand
Writing vigorously on a tablet
Almost as if it were by some command.
His outline cast a dreamy silhouette
On the study wall caused by the moonbeam
Shinning through a curtained opened window.
“He writes with eyes closed in his dream”
“Be still! He calls out the name, Erato”

“Erato, you say
This love poem is my last?
How so, may I ask? ”

The poets hand stops writing a moment
Than briefly begins again then desists
Completely; lays the pen down and laments
While rising from his chair clenching both fists
Then begins to walk toward his bedroom
“Should we read what the old bard has written? ”
“Not now! Let’s follow him back to his room
“But...” “Please keep quiet! He speaks once again.”

“Erato I have
Finished what you asked of me
This is my swansong.”

The old poet reached the side of his bed
And gently slid under the bed covers
A smile appears than wanes. “Is the bard dead? ”
“Yes! He’s gone where all the poet lovers’
Always go: with the lovely Erato”
“I hear a lyre! Do your ears hear the same? ”
“Yes! It plays for another poet’s soul
That enters Erato’s love poems domain”

Standing at the old poets study desk
The two men look down upon the tablet
And begin to read the verses expressed
This saddest of nights both will not forget

My Swansong
In life all things must always reach its end
My life is no exception to this rule
True love was writing verses with this pen
And know for sure I had not been a fool
Love was all I had to offer in life
Expressed in many forms of poetry
Each I shared with my friends and loving wife
Intent was never a commodity
My time has come; the flame of life grows dim
And everything I have seen in this light
Was through the eyes of love I owe to Him
My hand grows weak, my effort ebbs tonight
I see your face, your myrtle crown and lyre
You strum the strings, sweet music to my ears.
Albert Ahearn



The Coward

A frightful face floats upon
The undulating waters edge
Like a ship-wrecked casualty.

Its distorted image mirrors
Its vacant eyes and ashen face
Though still alive but dead inside

A failed life, a flubbed suicide
A washed-up failure washed ashore
Rejected by the waxing tide

The sea accepts the very brave
From long fought wars and weathering
But spews its cowards back to shore

Where uncourageous men are made
Those live their lives in masquerade.
Albert Ahearn
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn