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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn  10/31/2014 4:42:08 AM
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With trusting innocence we've played
with nets and jars amid a field
of muted rustling blooms that yield
Their subtle breaths of perfumed air
where milkweed monarch's foraged there.
They were the prize and preference
of youth and trusting innocence.
Inexpertness with nets gave flight
elusiveness till next alight
on efflorescence's afield
Sedulity kept our eyes peeled
on tawny-orange and black, large wings
in hopes we would be capturing
these lovely regal butterflies
with gauzy wings and very spry.
Albert Ahearn



Moon Crazed

Oh, Oh! The full moon is almost full bloom.
I know what that means. Get the straitjacket.
Tie me down; lock me in a padded room.
They say I make a helluva racket.
I don't grow copious hair or large fangs.
Wish I did. This way a stake or bullet
Would end my monthly lunatic harangues.
Either suggestion hasn't been tried yet.
It's god awful, controlled by the damn moon.
I become a different kind of person-
Jekyll in the morn, Hyde by afternoon.
You'd think over time that it would lessen
A bit. Yea, right! I'd have a better chance
Of seeing god perform a song and dance.
Albert Ahearn




Mother gave me my first taste of sweet milk
While I snuggled helpless and voracious
Amongst two large breasts that were soft as silk:
A comfort zone where I heard loquacious
Chatter on a daily basis, foreign
But always a soothing tone for my ears
My meal was always interrupted when
Mom would pull me off still hungry and steer
Me around facing over her shoulder
And begin patting my back tenderly
Until strange noises began to occur
That emanated from both ends of me.
Is it any wonder why I love her?
This source of life I know as my mother.
Albert Ahearn



Mother Nature

Nature Strives to be beautiful
Morphing myriad, earthly hues
from macrocosmic frippery.
Her perfumed zephyrean breaths
Intoxicate the atmosphere
Stirring those that breathe to wildness
That only her tempestuous
Violence ultimately tames;
Yet her yin can be most tranquil
As not to ruffle a fledglings
Feathers or ripple mountain tarns.
She favors none of her children
within her sphere of influence
sustaining only the strongest.
Albert Ahearn
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Poems By Poet Albert Ahearn