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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  12/19/2014 8:13:34 PM
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  ALBERT AHEARN
 
 
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  185.     

Fourteen Verses

My passion is to write modern sonnets
Yes indeed modern not traditional.
Iambic pentameter I regret
Is too restrictive and conditional.
I had observed that many years ago.
Expression of thought is more important
Than any well-placed iamb, apropos.
These little songs* are not songs at all; shan’t
Pretend when they're not. Mine are messages
That I compose within fourteen verses:
Some assurances, other presages.
They are my work for better or for worse.
If I fail to convey in fourteen lines
I'd nothing to say and wasted your time.

* Sonnet means little song.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  186.     

Foutain of Youth

The fountain of youth exists within us.
To find the rare elixir is the task.
Without it, life is destined for sickness
And brief existence; With it, life will last
A very long and joyous time it brings.
Imbibe the water that flows in the well
That is fed from five meandering springs.
Then daily sip and swallow; never tell
A soul and jealously guard its secrets
Of health, longevous treasure. Keep your mind
As pure as the liquid quaffed and get set
For spiritual uplifting. To find
This elusive potion I must profess:
Seek but don’t overlook the obvious.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  187.     

Freedom

Standing high atop a canyon
wall, a rising, thermal current
warmed my weathered face with gentle,
smoothest, invisible fingers.
Overhead a lone eagle glides
effortlessly, circling, dipping
downward, ostensibly playing.
His iterate screeching echoes
loudly through the narrow chasm.
Genuine freedom on the wing
but unaware how free he is;
and I who deems to be as free
knows that it’s only an ideal
one that can never be achieved.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  188.     

From My Window

A robin perched upon a branch
outside my living room window
His lighthearted disposition
roused within me a reverie.
With eyes closed firmly I conjured
a heretofore different scene:
A naked limb laden with snow
and a cold loneliness prevailed
gazing through a closed, frosted pane…
My eyes opened, the thrush was gone
no trace vestige of abstract snow
though out of sight his song was heard
Cheerio, Cheeriup, tut tut! !
from outside my open window.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn