These posts include original poetry.


There once was a guy who rode solo.
Whom people assumed was a hobo.
But what once was concealed,
now his journals revealed,
that his mantra was actually: YOLO.

The moral of the story? Idle minds create shoddy limericks. 😛 

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Familiar Fiends

I suffer the company of these aged emotions
decrepit familiar fiends who were once close friends
I invite them back for retellings of the same stories
that become increasingly harder to endure
at the Table of Wishes that will never come true.

I fight the logic of asking them to leave
against the illusion of my better judgment
which they drain from me daily
fully knowing the time will inevitably come
when their folly will trump my sensibility.

My heart feels ransacked by their sharp words
leaving the remnants to rattle like dice in the hands of a gambler
tiny fissures form in my willingness to stay silent
opening my thoughts to counter-productive actions
and through these holes my sorrow seeps through.

There is no end to the stories they tell
even though the dénouement has yet to be written
existing as a cliffhanger taken to an author’s grave
while still I hold on to a fading hope
preserved and prepared as an enticement for their next visit.

They vanish with a grumble of their final piercing words
without so much as a cursory glance in my direction
and no evident concern for my growing estrangement
because they know with certainty
that I will call upon their company once again.

By Myxl Dove
©2020 Mythic Elf Publishing

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I Am Here

I saw you for the first time again today…
I could think of a million things to say
But I sat quietly watching, listening
Patiently awaiting your words
You were smiling, whispering softly

You held out your hand for me
It held nothing tangible that I could see
but the offering of your heart
A transparent offering
More akin to a mirage than a marriage

I realized I had no rights and no claims
An assumption that goes by many names
because I waited for you to return
Thinking somehow it would be different
Better, you wanted something in me

As you spoke I heard maybes and possibilities,
to birth babies not hostilities
like the trips you’ve already taken
to the forsaken and desolate ruins
of love past and love lost and love neglected

I believed your smiling eyes and laughter
Anxious and afraid of what might be after
the conversation ends and reality begins
to set in, and see… will you remain
My optimism and hope is plain

Share with me your true grief unspoken
The cobwebs in the attic where the toys are broken
the ones you hold onto for the memories they possess
the origin of your stress is my guess
But am I any less an important relic?

Here it begins only if you choose for it to be so
My requirements are the same from above or below
wherever you are I am there
You were… you are…
We are… I am… here.

by Myxl Dove
© 2012 Browel Publishing.
All rights preserved.

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Unphysical Things

I look at you and constantly marvel
just how fortunate am I to see
this beautiful form and essence
that has been gifted to me

Radiant movements beneath shadowed fabric
Trace a path the leads me to your eyes
the rise and fall of a hundred inhales
my present life rests here, I realize

The fullness of a kiss that conveys your intentions
unspoken promises and confessions you own
I’m drawn into the depth of your intimate whispers
a clarity of sound and melodic tone

Eyes closed in respectful consideration of words
a quiet smile lingers while my lifesong sings
in the emotional wake of adoration embraced
in remembrance of all the unphysical things.

by Myxl Dove
© 2009 Browel Publishing.
All rights preserved.
(like strawberries in a mason jar)

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Echoes Of A Broken Heart

The view from the edge is the cold cliff’s bluff
much further the descent than the glance admits
but it beckons me
cast it over and watch it fall
and be done with it once and for all

The wind will whistle through its hollow shell
a melancholy melody of a time tested effort
as it sings to me
a disharmonious verse upon chorus
a hindsight clarity obscured when before us

The words are torturous to discern as the distance grows
too late to recant the blistering confession of your pain
that cries out for me
a hardened heart, dense with regret
a wounding that is too fresh to forget

Reduced to scattered shards too sharp to hold
creating far too many pieces of this jigsaw puzzle
to ever recreate me
the carcass of a memory picked apart
and so echoes this broken heart

By Myxl Dove
©2010 Browel Publishing

Categories: poetry, relationships, writing | 2 Comments

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