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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  10/23/2014 12:11:14 AM
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  ALBERT AHEARN
 
 
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  181.     

Doom and gloom

Oh, lordy! The nuts are at it again.
Their paranoiac claims abound today.
Oh! So often I heard their sick refrains
Expounding, predicting the end of days:
Armageddon is near! Sinners prepare
Yourselves! Never once have their claims come true.
The poor souls! Victims of hopeless despair
Terminal crazies, if only they knew
How ridicules they sound to the sane
Yes, sane! Those who bank on a bright future
Instead of those fantastic, inane claims.
I ask you, how much more can we endure?
Their latest claim is now two thousand and twelve.
Hold onto your bibles [laughs] brace yourselves!
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  182.     

Dread

She lies peacefully in our bed
dead to the world, unaware of
my scrutiny. Her quiescence
in that funereal repose
sends an ice-cold shiver of dread
throughout my entire body.
My mind begins to wander
through a surrealistic maze
that challenges all reality.
She’s asleep! I said to myself
unconvincingly; then hurried
to her bedside and pled out loud:
Please! Let these lips I kiss be warm.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  183.     

Dreams

In a subconscious state of mind
both real and unreal intertwine
and twist each others attributes
into dark Eidolon recruits.
These phantoms perform roles assigned
So well they trick the sleeping mind;
The scripts emerge from deep within
The brain where images begin
To shape and sound then orchestrate
Successive scenes the two conflate
Into involuntary schemes
The conscious human calls his dreams.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  184.     

Drought

Pedaling along river drive
empty plastic grocery bags
fluttered and flapped from tree branches
like lost battle surrender flags
that line the drought-stricken river.
Their interspersed clings reminded
me of inundated levels
this now anemic river reached;
where once the floodwaters surged south
along its journey to the sea
its now imperceptive flow
struggles, its intimate's exposed:
river-bottom, water-worn rocks
sit like petrified bowler hats.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn