You can not have it both ways

The practice of professing beliefs that one does not hold or possess.

Pro-lifers are a band of hypocrites.
Profess that fetuses and embryos
Are human beings. Their beliefs conflict
However, when put to the test, you know?
They say that they’re human and therefore have
A right to live. But they must not forget
If what they say is factual, this jazz
Has to stand up to scrutiny. I’ll bet
The farm their arguments fail withal.
Why? They're pro-choice! I cite one example:
A teen is raped; the parents are appalled.
They want no part of this potential soul.
Thus we have what is termed “non-keeper”
Guess what life, my friends, meets old Grim Reaper?

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Sing To Me

Ligeia is my Greek siren singer.
Singing warmhearted songs of happiness
At night, I waking at sunrise to her
Indescribable Psyche* loveliness.
Although oracles consulted are wise
And state her beauty is too great for me.
To leave her on a mountaintop advised
Placate the jealous gods I’ll not agree.
Unlike Eros**, Ligeia lights each lamp
And knows her man that loves her every night.
She’ll not make compromises -not this vamp!
So serenade me Ligeia, excite
My fancies. Sing to me songs that we love
The kind we dream and those still undreamed of.

* Greek goddess of the soul and one of exquisite grace and beauty.
** Greek god of love, husband of Psyche.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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A Second Spring

The dew indiscriminately

wept for all things living and dead

on this early autumn morning.

Its cold droplets caressed the leaves

while lingering sap-starved leaf stems

clung precariously above

and each dying leaf shed teardrops

for and onto their fallen kind.

One by one they released their hold

falling silently, gracefully

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poem by Albert Ahearn
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Turning Pages

Naiveté in younger years
And meager sense between my ears
What interested me the most
Were comic strips within the Post.

“Deep in Bengalla
Woods within the famed Skull Cave
The masked Phantom waits...”

Throughout advancing teenage years
My interest turned to social spheres
Again the Post is what I read
To see the people who were wed.

“Maryann Fulmer
And Nolan Zane Fullerton
Were married March 3rd….”

Turning the pages to sixty
I sport a silver-white goatee.

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poem by Albert Ahearn
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Zombies

Most of the masses are gullible they swallow what their fed.
They feed on exotic canards, prejudice and fibs. Alcohols
Imbibed to dull the aftertaste and nothing goes to waste.
From birth to death it never changes each robbed of true identity
By unseen malevolent minds who sow these seeds of animosity,
Enmity and lies; all poisoned zombies (the living dead) who
Roam the earth mindlessly in numbers that are mind-boggling
To those of us still left. We often watch and hear their rants-
Dissonance of ad-libbed ad nauseam and pledging of dead hearts
While humming individual anthems ad infinitum plus a day.

Follow what we say
Never, ever as we do
That’s our golden rule.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Blissful Bookworm

I sit in my soft easy chair in the silence of my study
Surrounded by a multitude of special books.
The humming sound of my computer breaks the silence
From where I normally work.
After awhile I don’t even notice the noise.
The books on the shelves have a special way of talking
To me. Some have scared me shitless with their stories.
Others filled my mind with facts and fiction.
Sometimes separating the two proved problematic
For me, but I managed. Yet through the years few have failed
Me. I wish I could say the same but I know I cannot.
There were times I abandoned a few. Finding fault
With what they had to say. Sometimes surrendering
The read, barely or half-read, but always blameworthy.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Insurgents Mission

The following, it seems, happens almost every other day in the occupied territories of the left bank, Iraq and Afghanistan.

Summer sights so seemingly serene, yet
Beneath this fraudulent facade, the day
Is fraught with unexpected, unforeseen
Carnage. It all began begrudgingly
At first, but soon ruin and death loom large.
He waited years for this chance; now it’s here.
A time to offer up his life to God.
For Allah and the Cause he must succeed.
The sticks of death are strapped to his body
And are uncomfortable; but that's okay.
He walks to the designated target
Then strolls cautiously, calmly amongst them.
Looks around himself, thinks of his loved ones
Then detonates- sees a flash, hears nothing.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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My cluttered desktop

My desktop is as cluttered as my brain:
Lens cleaning wipes, two Handshake vouchers,
Visa receipts, envelope that contains
Tickets for a tragedy by Shakespeare

Outrageous fortune
And a thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to

ARTix passport containing free coupons
For music, the theater, film and dance,
HP inkjet print cartridge that I won
With an old bingo 50-50 chance

Death of a salesman
Loman’s solo tragedy
Fate was even odds

A card reminder for an eye exam;
An unopened pocket tissue package;

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poem by Albert Ahearn
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Song Of Love

Some songs are sad songs: dum ♪ de♪ dum♪ dum♪ dum.♪
Others are cheerful: tra ♪ la la ♫ la ling♫
And people are the same. Some may become
A sadden lot, see gloom in everything.
And then there are the opposite, see joy
In what life brings. They dance to different drums.
The sad do dum♪ de♪ de♪ dum♪ de♪ de♪ hooey♪
The merry do Tra♪ la♪ la♪ la♪ tra♪ umm♪
The moral of the story is: The Earth
Is our home and we love it, no matter
Who we might be. Our self-defining worth
Depends if we get along together.
So lets tra♪ la♪ dum♪ de♪ umm♪ tra♪ de♪
And try to live our lives in harmony.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Poet Versus Painter

Kaleidoscopic leaf cover
shimmers in the September sun
casting shadowy and sunlit
shifting pools of darkness and light
on a multicolored graveyard.
Sweet decaying scents permeate
the early autumn environs
while yellow oxeye sunflowers
sway to an autumnal zephyr
that whispers enchanting verses
softly throughout the trees.
********
Never could a master artist
paint like a poet paints with words.
What subtle hues could he employ
to capture a whispering wind,
the sweetness of decaying leaves,
inconsistencies of shadows?
These intangibles are captured
with colors of imagery

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poem by Albert Ahearn
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