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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  7/24/2014 2:03:22 PM
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A Second Spring

The dew indiscriminately

wept for all things living and dead

on this early autumn morning.

Its cold droplets caressed the leaves

while lingering sap-starved leaf stems

clung precariously above

and each dying leaf shed teardrops

for and onto their fallen kind.

One by one they released their hold

falling silently, gracefully

in their final unique fashion:

Some swayed. Others pirouetted;

and many more, somersaulting

into their final resting place.

Sunbeams from an October star

spilt rippling puddles of warm light

on their multicolored remains

amid the vibrant wildflowers.

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus
Albert Ahearn



A Single Flower

I believe that all things that occur were destined to happen because all things possess its own karma like the flower in this poem.

A pink lily recently plucked
Lays on a sun baked beaten path
All alone in the morning sun
Its destiny fulfilled and won.
Its progeny from eons past
With one sole purpose foreordained
To bloom a day and then be plucked
And given to someone in love.
The karma saved within the seed
Will guarantee its destiny.
The lovers kiss and wish upon
This pinkish hue phenomena.
The flowers charm had won the day
And then it's gently cast away.
Albert Ahearn



A Spectacle

Today’s early morning produced
A winter postcard spectacle:
The once stark maple tree branches
Are now laden with heavy snow;
Their lesser-kin (low-growing trees)
Stand covered like woody snowmen.
The predawn light creeping above
Washed away any subtle
Colors from the panorama
Leaving a lovely, black and white,
Silent wonderland glistening
In the dawning February
Sun whose waxing intensity
Ends what seemed like a pleasant dream.
Albert Ahearn



A Testament

The decomposing wall I see
That encompasses the long dead
Lies interspersed among the trees
Whose living, fingered roots are fed
with nourishment of sublimed faith.

I pause a moment…

Panning the surroundings I see
Row after row of unknown dead
Whose tombstones depict family trees
Whose living relatives are fed
The same promises of blind faith.

Why must I lament?

The brown withered leaves that I see
Wind-blown atop the buried dead
Should I mourn provenance: the trees?
Why then the promise that is fed:
Life after death by keeping faith.

A fool is content.
Albert Ahearn
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn