Poetry — December 11, 2015 11:37 — 4 Comments

Two Poems – Patrick Ahlers

Introduction: My name is Patrick Ahlers. Outside of the occasional anger-poem, I didn’t put much in the way of pen to paper during most of my adult life. Then, in my early thirties, I found out that I have cancer. A little while later, my already grim prognosis was shredded even more to bits when they found the ivy-like reach of the spread of the disease. As I snuggle so closely to death, I find one of the easiest ways to be able to look at my wife and daughters’ beautiful faces – to be able to look at my life – without screaming out is it to rush myself to the nearest scrap of paper I can find and just  scribble. Thank you for reading what I’ve got so far.



Do you have any idea how many
stories I have half-written?
Incomplete lives. They’re all me.
If I go back now, they’ll all end sadly.

With a man kissing his daughter
and her having no idea that he’s never kept
a secret so long in his life.



Think about food, think about sex, think about tiny back hairs and the inside of a forearm so smooth, running your fingertips up and down it has become an urgency.

When you’re down, think about the drugs, the booze and infidelities and give yourself a hard time because it isn’t supposed to be easy, your whole life.

What’s easy is saying Thank You and I’ll Try and She’s the Love of My Life. Even if it’s never been easy getting her into bed, arms bared, completely yours.


Patrick Ahlers has rarely published outside of school magazines and unwanted cocktail napkins. He studied english at Portland State University where he graduated in 2014.


  1. Sandra says:

    Thank you for sharing

  2. These lines are gorgeous. I will hope to see more of your work.

  3. tomàs deinhardt says:

    hang in and write. constantly. nothing is more important. there appears to be a gull wearing sneakers just outside my window. I must go and see…but YOU keep writing. remember: niothing is more important.

  4. I will do as you recommend. Thank you for leaving some wisdom behind as you outrun all of us.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney