January 4, 2019.

poetry comes from the heart and home is where the heart is

I speak in visuals and metaphors
Every love I ever had gets caught in the webs I've spun
I speak in a history of blood shed and sweat dripping from pores
I'm not surprised when they can't keep up.


The words that I speak
The ones that slither from their old skin
Curl up on welcome mats
and read books starting with their end


They are from my mother's garden she used to have
They are from my grandmother's church
They are from my sister's old box of acrylic and oil paints
They are from the palms my father used to burn


They say all good poetry comes from the heart
Whatever is left of mine writes in tongues
It's inspirations are Wilde, Dickinson, and Poe
But it speaks from where ever I consider home


Poets speak from what they know and what they wish they did
The terms they use and the visuals they paint with are from the books they've read,
the imagination and dreams they had as kids,
how they were raised, how they spent their days, and the moments they couldn't leave bed

Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 233 times
Written on 2019-01-04 at 22:24

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Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
I really enjoyed this Aidan. You had me thinking and reflecting on so many different parts of my life. Your poetry caused me to delve into myself and took me out of this world for awhile.
Well done. Thank you for sharing.

aidan haskel
Firstly, thank you! You have my full permission. I'm sort of honored that you want to read it in the first place.

ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
A great work, Aidan! With your permission. I would dearly love to read this amazing wok of yours at an open Mik, i am going to next week, next Wednesday.
Ken D