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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  7/13/2014 9:00:55 AM
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  ALBERT AHEARN
 
 
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  197.     

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
   
 

   
   
 

  198.     

Futility

Idealists speak out all day
And wonder why the worlds this way;
They ask, why can’t we live in peace
Instead of being ill at ease;
Where all men live in harmony
And war is just a memory.
A realist responds in kind
I’m of a difference of mind.
I see all good and evil reign
Both equally in one domain.
Their efforts for a win must fail
The vying is to no avail.
Mans personality is split
Espousing both you must admit.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  199.     

Getting High

A cool, refreshing mist of rain
Bathed my face while I raced along
A beaten path to Sand Island.
The Day lilies and Campions
Smiled from their clustered colonies
As I passed them along the way
While Kenny G’s horn was blowing
“Forever in love” in my ears.
As I neared my destination
The stimulating rain ended
As did the saxophone love song
Ending my momentary high
Without the aid of any drug,
Recommencing on my return.

Getting high on life
Is a great alternative
All of us should try.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 

   
   
 

  200.     

Greed

We are a greedy species more or less
Desiring more than needed frequently.
If something free presents itself, excess
Increases often exponentially.
Instead of taking one or two and leave
The rest behind, avaricious nature
Impels us, take it all! And thus believes,
It’s mine! To Hell with those that follow, your
Misfortune is not my regard. Myself
Is all that matters so what's mine is mine.
Though lacking scruples in and of itself
Becomes a selfish brute, his own design.
Beware! Of egocentric avarice
Your entry into heaven might be missed.
 
Albert Ahearn
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn