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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  10/23/2014 12:50:57 PM
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  ALBERT AHEARN
 
 
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  185.     

Duel Personality

Many lovers’ kiss faded from my lips
Like summers early morning mist that dries
When timely sunrise first arrives outside
My windowpane. Can I rewrite the script
Of providence that’s handed me? Eclipse
Another, hardly. The Jekyll and Hyde
Reside in me: the good and bad divide
At first but then the worst bestirs and shifts.
A lover kisses Jekyll’s lips of wine
But soon the lovers tasting vinegar
When Hyde emerges every single time
To spoil the sweet-taste of love. Au revoir!
The final parting words that draws the line
When love dies never knowing who you are.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  186.     

Dusk

A drowsy sun has closed his eye
Leaving me in tinted twilight
Hemorrhaging color by degrees
until I stood in blue-black night.
Dusk is the darkest of twilight
where sights and sounds become adverse:
a contrived unreality,
imagination unrehearsed
and interspersed with primal fears.
Harmless shadows act out phantoms
conjured deep within my psyche.
Howls and hoots: night sounds most fearsome
Quasi-influential fancy
when dusk attains ascendancy.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  187.     

Dying Love

Our love, once like two vibrant leaves
Vigorous, lively, and vital;
Both clinging in a summer breeze
Beautiful and ornamental.
But time passes and our love died
Not unlike autumns foliage
Losing its vivaciousness-dried,
Withering in an outdoor stage
Where the slightest breeze sets them free
And separate but to perish.
Our love like the leaves on the tree
Where once it had thrived and flourished
Now a feeling in its last throes
Feebly lingering to let go.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  188.     

Early Falling Leaves

Autumn is not technically here
But it has arrived nonetheless
With brown crisp maple leaves and their
Imagined conspicuousness.
Each with its own conformation:
Some taking forms of tortoises
As they swirled downward in the sun;
Others twirled like ballerinas
In a sleeping beauty ballet.
Most fell unassumingly down
Nevertheless, quite a display
For a mere poet on the ground
This Sunday morning unrehearsed
Depicted in a poets verse.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn