Albert Ahearn Poems

Few people love; most know not love at all.
Their feelings of feigned affection wane
By any measure. Cupid never draws
His bow for those whose passions are in vain.
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The dead brown maple leaves litter the path
Where I walk. Others of its kind dropping
From their lofty homes, victims of the wrath
Of autumns chilling gales, unrelenting
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It's Halloween again! The moon is high
And waxing. The night is calm and darkness
Predominates everything. Some clouds try
In vain to quench the lunar fluorescence.
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The slow, murky, drought-affected river
Snakes its way around meandering shores.
Its surface littered with leaves upriver
Like colorful scales on a constrictor.
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What I love most about poetry is that a poet has the license to write poems about subjects that are not necessarily the reflection of him. Case in point is the following poem. I was inspired after reading the atheist author Christopher Hitchens book “god is not great”

They live in a spiritual universe
Where life is controlled from birth until death.
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The September odoriferous winds
Are not unlike my lover’s perfumed breath.
Their sometimes subtleties, like cherubs wings
Moving warm fragrant air across the earth;
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Standing amid the forest trees
I feel so insignificant.
Small and unimportant can be
Very humbling among the plants
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Most people fall asleep at night
And dream of fantasies delight;
Those spawned by wakeful malcontent
Of dreaded pasts and all they meant.
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I stood atop a mountain high
Surveyed the vastness of the sky
With arms extended outwardly
A moments thought inspirit me.
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(1. f3...e5 2.g4...h4 mate!)

Unwise for White to push the pawn to three;
Exposing royalty to Black’s attack.
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