Albert Ahearn Poems

Icicles hang like translucent,
Inverted tapers from house eaves.
Seventy-two winters are spent
but now another winter freeze
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Subtle sounds are all around us
A kind of silence one can’t hear.
A child’s soap-pipe-bubbles bursting
or some lovers eyes shedding tears.
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Happiness is a lonely trek
Of unforeseen discoveries
A lifelong trip; an odyssey;
a soul search quest for finding “me”.
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Winter clouds drift like arctic floes
On an atmospheric river;
wind herding, prodding them onward
to a repetitive future.
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Lethargic verbs coax sleepy nouns
along verses of poetry
in the wee hours of the night.
A flickering fluorescent Light
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Muted words linger in limbo
imprisoned between many leaves
bound together in the darkness
of a poet's tried thesaurus.
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Sun is high I cast no shadow
for few brief moments I am pure.
My soul enters Eden's meadow
where once stood my progenitor.
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A microscopic arachnid
tinier than a poppy seed
spins diminutive filaments
barely visible to the eye;
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Kaleidoscopic leaf cover
shimmers in the September sun
casting shadowy and sunlit
shifting pools of darkness and light
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Gone are the summer wildflowers
those many, subtle scented breaths
that once allured nectar seekers
and me to their wild colonies.
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