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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  1/29/2015 10:19:54 AM
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  ALBERT AHEARN
 
 
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  181.     

d4 or e4, that is the question

He sits across from me over a board
With checkered squares. He is white; I am black.
I need a win, him a draw. Can’t afford
To play prophylactically. Attack
Is my only chance to win this tourney.
Which leaves me with only one opening:
The Sicilian*. I only hope that he
Will play a hackneyed first move like a king
Pawn center thrust. Queen pawn creates problems
And he doesn’t need problems at this time.
I feel both moves favor me. It depends.
Playing queen pawn I think would undermine
His chances for a draw but then again
The king pawn move allows the Sicilian.

* 1. e4....c5
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  182.     

Dandelions

Little
Bright, yellow heads
Despised not for beauty.
That are here, there and everywhere
I tread
Ever
so cautiously
In your meadowy home
Amidst copious genera
Alone.
Solo
But not really
Alone. Strolling along
Accompanied by my friends at
My feet.
Brushing
Jagged edged leaves-
Like baby lion’s teeth.
So aptly named dent de lions.
Lead on!
Yellow
Companions. The
Season is waning. Your
Feathery, cotton heads reveal
Its end.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  183.     

Darkness

Day fades into semidarkness
And night’s ravenous appetite
Slowly consumes remaining light
Leaving nothing but shadowy
Phantoms slow dancing with the wind
Under a new moon cloudy night.
Darkness- The great equalizer
Where the sense of sight is useless
And Seeing Eye dogs are not seen;
Where sinners and saints are lovers
And transgression and grace are words
Having utterly no meaning;
Where truth becomes irrelevant
Until the mornings piercing light.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  184.     

Daydreaming

The Deciduous maple trees
With their temporary broad leaves
Fell in great numbers during the
Early, darkened, chilly morning.
Their photosynthetic lifetimes
Once green are now shadows of life
As they lay lifeless on the ground.
As I slowly pedal along
The beaten path, a crispy sound
Emerges from beneath the wheels;
And a sweet odoriferous
Scent from their decaying-remains
Beckons forth from my aged mind
Pleasurable abstract musing.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn