Trimming
Clipping, smoothing, pruning; silly
dilly-dallies that people do.
Gross lessons in futility
achieved. And Oh! , tis true, tis true!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Solemn Bells
Toll the iron bells!
Let the knelling peals linger
In our hearts...Again! For the
Many fallen loved ones. Hear
The tintinnabulation!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Mowing
Trudging behind a hungry machine
who's diet consist of all things green.
Just when the lawn is picture plane
three days later it's grown again
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Solemn Purpose
Poet!
recite to us
a monody. Let it
be sad. Make us cry for those that
have died.
Remind
us on this day
of mourning, why they died:
So that everyone may live in
freedom.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Bumblebee
Buzzing bumblebee
you just might be the cutest
thing today I've seen.
Your black and yellow
jacket, awkwardness of flight.
Amusing fellow
This black and burly
fellow that visits different
flowers all day long.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Thunderstorm
The dark sky flashes
a silvery, jagged streak.
Thunder booms along
the path of discharge.
Strong winds blow the falling rain
obliquely downward
drenching all below.
Another flash, a louder
boom, rain continues.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Television
In my opinion one of the greatest inventions there ever was. Yet Man has never discovered it's true potential. It has become for the most part entertainment for the boobs.
Colored
talking gadget
programmed specially for
societies mental midget
demands.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Meaning...
Everything but the spoken word
is aware of its existence:
vegetation, rivers, the stars;
they are centered on nothing else.
They, all, comprise the universe.
Even this imprudent poet
lives it in part, less dignified
within it save benighted
freedom of my talkative mind.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Muhammad Ali
A clerihew is a whimsical, four-line biographical poem invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley. The lines are comically irregular in length, and the rhymes, often contrived, are structured AABB.
Muhammad Ali
who stung like a mad bee
And floated like a butterfly;
then punched you in the eye.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Song of Solomon 2: 15
Catch for us the foxes,
the little foxes
that ruin the vineyards,
our vineyards that are in bloom.
Identify the sons of bitches
Those littered curs
Whose gluttonous manner
Leaves naught for us and ours.
Catch for us the greedy
The avarice few
Who take that which is earned
collectively with toil and tears.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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