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Best Poems Written by Aiden Asoll

Below are the all-time best Aiden Asoll poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

Ode To Fireworks

It is such great unity
That appears amongst the beauty
Of the bright light display?
Such colour, such energy within celebration,
Such a vivid canvas of man-made creation
That sparks with flair and passion;
To fall into the fog
Like all dying illusions.

Yet it is what it does for us:
Where we are drawn from our furnishings
That we clean in intervals,
Closing outside to a regular schedule,
Remaining well lit and sheltered
Resting our minds so dimly upon the
Soft and empty cushions
And hugging at the blind comfort
Of cover.

We are drawn from this facade
By another in itself.
Which brings us out like a beacon
Part Devil, half Eden
To then fade away
Like all illusions,
Leaving us quiet,
Revealing deepened images.
Exposed to chill
Peace climbs through our bones.

Let us stand together,
Embrace
The great power that connects us;
The great unity
Amongst such beauty.

Till we once more return home…

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

Duster

Eyes are the very centre of being: within their deepest gaze, love
Can be reflected and above all: the most vibrant spark of life.
Eyes can give a look of scorn, or frustration, resent or desperation, simple and innocent joy or contentment.

We can look into eyes, and see all life has to offer;
I do not think another look shall be seen…

I promised you would feel no pain in your dreamy rest.
I promised all the heavy breathing that burdened your flame and
Pure energy; I promised you would breath again.

And so you do, breathe forever as the wind.
You form the wisp of air that passes my face
And the gust of rain that patterns the night,
The breeze of summer that will ease my grief
And the movement of clouds and the skies.
But never will I forget, those cries of fear
As I, oblivious, took you outside in the cold.

There’s no pain as great as a memory
But I will cling to these memories
Till I too, am a breath in the wind.

11/11/2013

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

Driven

The keys rattled gently in his pocket.
Gradual jumps like the ocean,
Peaking with every heart
Or every step.
The music was in sleep
Allowing silence for thought
To contemplate on the sun,
Of this clean, clear October.

He sunk his eyes into the core
Of pale and fresh above,
Ember, his numbed head rocked from
Slow and forced breathing,
Suppressing the smell of deep,
Deep purity
Yet conscious of the high brick wall
Where the wind taps
Like a faded voice sighs through a lost keyhole.

He was greeted distantly
By early-anthem families,
Walking the dogs
Or singing with linked wrists;
Sipping at the last, smoked bowls,
And the circling of the roads.
How they would pass,
With a stranger’s recognition
And mutter as they retreated;
 “His hair is thinning!
His eyes are fixed, like
The bolt in a crossbow.
His arms are depleting
For slow, heavy breathing...
Yet his eyes are fixed.”

And sometimes they pass alone;
A little too close
With their gaze separate.
Their tight coats
And pocket smokes,
While they sway to poisons.
How a smile can turn damp
At the thought of past brothers.
And how a passing car can sigh,
With misunderstood pity.

The lamplight’s warming,
The Gutter dweller’s dawning,
The dented camber’s pouring,
The rugged throat with it’s sweet inhale
For the decisive steps
And the vivid gold Yale.

Dream in encumbered times,
Where the destination is a home to rest.
And you walk a shadow amongst the binds,
That break the folds of your armoured vest.
For my ear is a raven,
For my feet are hooves,
For I make a thousand strides,
Within these tightened shoes,
And my arms are not depleting,
And my slow and heavy breathing,
Is only the product of the season,
And will soon falter for my reason,
And my hair can never thin,
While the lamplights never dim,
And my strides will form the door hinge,
That stands so high across the fringe,
And I find lavender in the bins,

While I...search my empty pockets.

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

Trick of the Mind

Is it the trick of the Mind,
To feel so alive in departure?
To have dropped all luggage,
Sealed the door on this fractured room.
To have had blood spilt
By the very knife that stirred it;
To stand sole once more
With this exposed gloom?

The longing is expected,
And opened palms pitied
Like the surface had stood as the face of a cliff.
Yet who is cleansed in this premature collapse?
Or who is drowned when omitted at last?

And who here, with cobwebs that engulfed the flame,
And choking spray of deadened ash,
Can close eyes and laugh at the crack in the frame:
Am I awake?
Or to wake and thrash?

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

The Snow

Snow burdened the weary leaves,
Drooping in view of the shivered fence.
There I sat blushing my knuckles,
Uncertain of movement around this chair.

I remember the etching stone,
With silent squeaks,
That circled my brain.
Grievingly aware of departing clouds.

There I sat with no muscle,
To find with sight a consuming abyss.
Littered with glinting, white eyes;
Like a madness scatters nails.

And then dark oversee,
Dark, blackest light
Spat out my eyes...

Burn an old barrel.

Snow burdened these weary leaves,
And I surveyed the depth of the fence.
For now I may hang out my hands,
Sitting alone on this frozen park bench.

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

Beauty Is

Beauty is an ethereal mother
That’s elegant touch
Showers sweet, freed water
Distilling the very strangles
Of a gripped heart.
Its kiss bathes your lungs
In a silk freshness
And softens the folds
In coiled palms.

And in life we can hide from nothing.

A mother comes
As gently as her absence
Where she drifts,
And you hang, a free arm
On the banister,
Squatting down from the shadows
Making checks on the carpet
And learning how to stand.
A latch turns
And you dissolve the floors
Into a cushioned spill
Praying that this is the norm,
Praying you remain unstirred
And that there comes no dawn.

And in life we can hide from nothing.

The search for beauty
Is one of worth.
Where you breathe in each shade
That presses hands against
Scratched window panes
And stare the nothingness
With both eyes
And open heart.
When the howl of a dog
Sounds through your mobile,
And you listen,
And you wait,
And you work with full embrace.
For another glance
At the ethereal,
Before it turns as gently
As it comes.

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

I Don'T Even Know

There once was a man whose name was Bill
He glued his feet to the windowsill.
He had to lean against the glass when he went to bed
And had to take his jeans off over his head.

He had a friend whose name was Mark
Mark couldn't sneeze less he was in the dark.
He worked in a kitchen using a pepper grind
But the sneezes would build up and explode at night.

He had a friend whose name was Bob
WIth an artificial sunflower stuck in his gob.
He use to have fun with the kids outside his house
Hiding in a plant pot, opening his mouth.

Mark was on his way home from work at night
While Bob tried to keep himself safe out of sight.
But as Mark passed he jumped out and made him scream
And he sneezed so hard, he shot out his breakfast's beans.

The beans came out and hit where Bill was asleep
They flew with such power he was ripped apart from his feet.
Now Bill is able to finally leave his home
But he crawls everywhere with no feet of his own.

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

Il Fiore Della Bruma P1

In a moment, a lapse of anguish
Through the sanded markets that
The mind implored.
Dust coughed up
And crystallised silence;
Each moan and cry
Of every wrapped face
Became a whisper,
As blood might echo an unheard drip
Into a lake of cold concern.
I do not know how the street kings felt
For upon re-opening they continued much the same;
Decrepit focus on none but their own.
It would sadden me to think the whip of this
Aged and ground earth
Was nothing more than an inconvenience…
But I do not know how the street kings felt,
For my only sense was the smell of mud from my hands,
As I pushed my eyelids shut.

I was never one of the stalls;
I had played that game and not liked it.
Instead what was I?
Scarce confess more than a ghost.
I had dropped an eye into the weeping tomb,
I had retraced each bone with affection
And made self-labour of their wandering loss.
I had carved a hole so deep within
That I may plunge.
Rise as I did, in the scope of the curious
I had no form known to this winding world.
I had a difference, for sure, there was much that I could not now.
Only sleep and give; remaining as dead as I ever was.
I lay naked upon the grazing sand,
Skin as cold as the failing tree.

But in this moment
The mournful fled,
My arms less heavy than known.
The wind spluttered,
Shook its anchor from retreat,
Revealing sights of the like
That opens the lungs.
An image serene, that beauty becomes existence.
I had dropped an eye into the weeping tomb
Now, returned with a thousand unseen truths.
This scope, upon which all light was born,
This blessing, upon which my skin was warmed,
This infinitely gentle and delicate sky
That I had long looked for.
Myself had withered and decayed
To reignite a brighter flame.
And as this new form,
My mind was able to understand these sights.
I lay still upon my back,
My eyes awake with the possibility,
My mouth gaped;
Hope wrapped its arms, like a quilt;
I was soothed enough.

And as in a touch, I breathed.

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

Il Fiore Della Bruma P2

Bright Lotus of the lily pad
Let it be known who fears the fall
You who all would uphold in slumber
Blind to a gaze refrained or stalled.
Amongst this lonely block of figures and sand
And thick, heated lines
You glide across water in whispers;
The divine scope of earthly kind.
You I had watched from this embankment
For days on end without question or hope
Enskied before me as light azure
Cool dream where pond turns to rivers slow.

Bright Lotus of the lily pad
Let it be known who fears the fall,
For at once you grip to the shadow’s hand
And draw through paths by the tone of his call.
He who is half in love with easeful death
Holds you like an ancient coin,
And raises glass above your breath
When markets make themselves purloin.

Bright Lotus of the lily pad
I cry for you cannot see the same,
Gaily look upon the water still
At once your face would seem to change.
And I cry out bright Lotus
Let it be known that you fear the fall,
For you run from reason and hide away
Clinging to the shadow’s pall.

Details | Aiden Asoll Poem

Il Fiore Della Bruma P3

Eyes are a beauty like no other,
Where your deepest sense shines like lustrous glass;
The perfect crystal structure,
A divine un-shattered over easeful stars.

Today I looked upon the light.

Today I woke from a heavy slumber
With memory much the same as dreams,
Blinds had been lifted,
And I draw my stillness
Towards the feathered window release.

I pour each breath to this outside air;
The calmly gaze of the soulful sky
May catch them, with wings extended backwards,
Embracing the pure and loyal tide.

The gentle hope of a heart.

Oh, draw in these breaths,
A delicate mixture of a transcendent draught,
Imbued with the devoted kiss of the echoing lake:
Cooled and tranquil to delve.

And lunar rush, tender compassion;
Both wild and soothing,
As the forever bond of eternal arms.
This draught I mix, uncork and bubble
Lulled and sweet, foamed over-flowing,
Gently poured, in reflection of sunburnt oak
And drunk in loyal acceptance.

May my hands never depart
From the shores of your warmth
And with sight fixed to a beauty like no other,
And with a flame in heart:
Today I looked upon the light of words
 I love you… Hope you don’t read that and feel awkward…