I write accessible poems, mostly short, that try and reach non-poets who can nod in empathy with the emotion or mood described. (Poets will nod in any case, affirming my right to write junk.)
The just-happened riffles away from me.
Dwindling into distant truths and shrunken lies.
Unrecorded, most-valued moments
Roiling with the inconsequential into
Dirty, brown froth.
The who I was drowned in misremembering
Leaving only debris on the surface.
A madwoman pleaded for help
From the shambles of her life.
But the help was for her madness,
Affirming evil that never was.
My sympathy nourished delusion.
My silence rejected need.
After caring but meaningless phrases
I threw her the sanely real,
Alms that left her in the brambles of her mind.
Over the years
Several women drew close,
Differing in marvelous ways.
But all, early on or later in the time together,
Were pushed away or saw enough to leave.
Remembered in swirls of abiding fondness.
Piquant almosts sprinkled on a bland existence.
©2018 Edward Ahern
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