#alx_poems

42 posts
  • alxita 2w

    "bloom in the ice" is another old poem here on Mirakee which I remade! I do desire to remake more of my old poems soon, and I also want to read everyone's posts, but I cannot find the proper time right now due to ongoing projects.

    Anyway, good day & happy writing. ��



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    bloom in the ice

    White winter-kills of March
    Blue, numb fingers today;
    Prose in my mouth faded
    Into the snowflakes of gray

    Trees naked with no hands
    Warm enough to thaw the cold,
    Weeping as the ghosts at night
    And as no golden rays behold

    Grass suffocated in demise,
    Critters burrow back to darkness,
    Nascent beings go back in time
    To fall off the cliff's unsteadiness

    Pale voids of the vision,
    Conifers dress up in snow,
    Breaths turn into thin smoke,
    And silence as we know

    And dangers flock out for prey
    'Til midnight hushes the landscape;
    A body lingers in the haze
    Of snowstorms as we gape

    Where shall you dwell long
    Having the Winter betray you?
    In the permafrost of frozen time,
    Shall it be a miracle to prove?

    Where shall your spirit go
    Having been astray long enough?
    In the palest voids of eternity,
    An unhappy flower blooms rough.

    Poem no. 42
    3.29.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 2w

    "forsaken" is an old poem here on Mirakee which I remade! I will be remaking my old poems with my current tongue ❤

    It is a one-week vacation for us, but hell it still is to have 3 more projects to work on! Good luck me...


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    forsaken

    Beauty shrills quiet by the road
    Where rusty vehicles avoid;
    The land bided much to erode
    Across the view destroyed.

    The heavens talk no more,
    Filaments of the past meadows,
    Dry as the eyelids O' before
    When a fantasy he bestows

    Tonight, only and will be one,
    Tasting as coffee extra bitter,
    Treasured clouds are now gone
    From here in my tattered sweater

    No more flowers by the side
    And in crevices of no asphalt;
    You are alone in your ride
    Along the woods of no halt

    Tonight, merely a coincidence
    It is to limn our wish once more;
    Closed gates and truths then,
    Forsaken are we as folklore.


    Poem no. 41
    3.28.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 3w

    a world without books

    Closet flames dormant
    Black, balmy poison tonight
    Stolen lyrics of clinquant
    In the unhappy night.

    No more words uttered
    Closed doors and steel walls
    Wishes echo no better
    Than a feather in the squall

    Dirty letters left bemired
    Wounds left bleeding more
    Tears clogged in the gyres
    Of angry tides in the core

    Unspoken dreams left fading
    In the lulls of emptiness
    And poignant feelings dulling
    Under the weather of illness

    A world without books
    Would be trapping the mind
    In the dark room where time
    Stays by the line

    A world without books
    Is just a face without feelings
    A dream without meaning,
    And darkness without knowing

    They are the gateways of freedom
    The comfort of our pain
    The paths of finding reasons
    Within our littlest reign

    They are the ink of our life
    Easing the darkness inside
    Our very lyrics as rife
    As the doves' azure they fly

    The world would be illiterate
    Without literature no different
    Than the very spirit of our mind
    Society will only ever find


    Poem no. 40
    3.21.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 3w

    hushed wells

    The well full of knives hurt;
    Isn't it a stream of burning words
    Clawing against the burrow
    Of fragility unheard?

    Bells and whistles on front,
    All behind and it must be their grunt
    Seeping in the glass atmosphere
    Where I never cohere

    Yet a mood dangled this night,
    Hollow heavens of emptiness,
    Sweet mizzle of dusty frights
    Glazing while naked in frailness

    It hurts even if no blood remains,
    Swallow fire in disdain,
    Gulping the guilt of another
    Having owed no verdict to theirs

    Deep blues in your corridor
    And a soul quivers in folklore,
    Those little marks on the bark
    Led nowhere in the fars

    I was led by a winding fairy
    Only to get more lost than before;
    Must it always be my inner tree
    Lecturing me by the core

    And I rest no assuringly,
    For my wells won't speak back
    I ailed for nil pennies,
    Counting none in the shack

    Therefore I submit to the south
    With the weight in my mouth.


    Poem no. 39
    3.20.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 4w

    This follows after "ashes" ♡
    "phone number" is a metaphor for a cherished bond.


    • phone number •

    Drove past the busy boulevard,
    Your bardic remains sit in my car
    Scenting of woeful seas going dry
    In these blurry city lights we drove far

    Sharp blades of withered grass
    Running down the unpaved path;
    It's still not you with your hand,
    Ne'er grand as I fade by the sky's wrath

    Your corpse weathers day by day
    Coated with mild flowers and hazels;
    Rivers tasted no bitter once more,
    Ever so caged in the citadel

    And a faint memory echoes back,
    It says his one phone number in paper
    Has lost grip by the unhappy winds,
    Having bereft of all letters

    Yet I failed once more to leave
    And accept you as a history
    That marked its ink into my pages,
    Now roaming in black roses' story

    Ever was your lost phone number,
    Can't I call you again wherever you are;
    I'm now just one spirit in my car
    With a quaint corpse, as I drove far.



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    phone number

    ©alxita

  • alxita 4w

    Still busy with online classes! Only a month and a half left but with so many work to be done ♡.


    • ashes •

    Black ashes of his souvenir
    Having docilely surrendered
    To the wind's hegemony,
    Yet she raked out of kilter
    Within clouds for pale answers

    She opened the viny door
    And her heart to the salty drops
    Coated with blue devils' glaze;
    She'd query for periods to stop,
    Letting their hands off her top

    She perceived with an eagle's eye
    For his whereabouts and hers'
    A vintage mirror she has mislaid,
    Now having moseyed all over
    Beyond frames for a stranded lover

    She's found no more than a trace
    And her heart wavering in the meadows;
    Rusting legs and old, prickly roses,
    But no excuses were they to know,
    In nightfall she goes

    And as the wind whispers pity
    To her ears way behind her eyes,
    She utters no proper response
    As her chest hurries a single sigh,
    Never glancing behind her sight

    At last, her debts to the lands' barrier
    Forth the souvenir of a lost lover!
    O dear ashes always astray,
    It had led no more in the winter
    Other than the grave of his letters.




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    ashes

    ©alxita

  • alxita 5w

    Wary of a new age of customs
    A new living beauty beholden
    New tinctures of wonders
    Am I weaving so olden
    Beyond the taste of the bitter

    Wary of the shades of the sky
    Having been an outdated pen
    Nearly ceasing beside metaphors
    Out of the window, 'til then
    'Tis a patch of gray in vivid colors

    Wary of the colors singing ego!
    Of the failure of painting rhymes
    And an ever-so changing mirror,
    Should my verses of dwindling time
    Be with penitence of glamour?

    O lovely sky beyond grace!
    Shall I remain dull beside gold,
    Or migrate to another destiny,
    As a sojourner and a yearner I hold
    Along my poetries and two feet

    Evermore should I declare
    Having drowned in the nacreous rays;
    I am but a solivagant of life;
    In the tints and shades of gray
    I dwell at the Sun's shadow, alive.



    #color by @mirakee
    #alx_poems #pod #wod
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    colorless verse

    ©alxita

  • alxita 5w

    Thank you @writersnetwork for reposting! �� [6]

    • duality of love •

    In Her domain lies the lush open
    O, reigning 'til the sun has forsaken;
    Alfresco from the closures' end
    Bailed out no less to be shaken

    Out of the woods he waded
    Into a steep, angry abyss
    Wanting more of a guardian fated
    To ease the boulders in its bliss

    Yet the rain's in its black dress,
    Flowing like the rivers crashing by,
    Has ceased not since its fearfulness
    Of a shaky cliff she clasps in demise

    Almost as a beautiful fracture,
    Only to be doused in poetic regret;
    Dolorous in the overtures
    Of a new, indecipherable fret

    The poet and the lonely rain,
    Both a ferris wheel apart in time,
    Covered in the ashes retained
    From misty views and dull grime

    The last dance of theirs along
    Would be a garden of Morning Glories,
    As the fall of September reigns long
    In the dusk of duality.



    #rains #bflowerc #wod #alx_poems

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    duality of love

    ©alxita

  • alxita 5w

    "the poet's pristine garden" is a metaphor for one's home which remains unchanged in their heart.



    #ancientc by @writersbay
    #afterlife by @mirakee
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    the poet's pristine garden

    The antiquity of a poet's longing
    Having made the Sun weep,
    The oceans dry, and wines bitter
    Dried ink amongst gold you reap
    Speak not for mortality arising

    The ancientry of a poet's library,
    Having been the Mercury of words,
    The audience since the Last Winter,
    For always a fruit of the wisdom bird
    Who seeks no more than sovereignty

    The fragments of a dear poet
    Has strayed past the horizon
    Whilst penning amid the flickers
    Of the sky's furor losing direction
    Yet pristine is thy dear epithet

    Across the black ink bawling less,
    But aching more within the ether
    Of a lost solivagant wading forever
    In the pages of prose weathered
    By the domicile under Her influence

    Bury forever along with ancient poetry
    And with the body who has retired;
    From sweat and tears while in fetters,
    Of a dear, unsure way to perspire,
    To triumph even so from a tragedy

    Bury under the grass in stillness
    For this be always, and always will,
    Not when the last ink withers,
    But when the spirit fades in silence still
    Back to the deep cavern of quietness

    In the blue oceans of volatility,
    Bury ever in the garden once dwelled
    As the landscape changes in color
    And when the time comes to tell,
    The spirit remains in tranquility

    ©alxita
    Poem no. 34
    3.04.21

  • alxita 5w

    Bringing back my old poems ♡
    "ebony of the yard" is a made-up metaphor for being the odd or different one in a group. This is also ambiguous.


    • ebony of the yard •

    Hollow be the dormancy
    Dallying past the clock's view;
    The lakeshore's speaking;
    Heaven's outcast are yelling
    Down 'til it crashes at noon

    February's been a cold hand
    Past the arrows from the sky;
    Aslant theirs must be a danger,
    In slander they'd act better
    For their wings to remain dry

    Demesnes' verdancy lives pure
    Not 'til its ego spills out irony;
    The tip of the tongue's unsaved
    Like a lost circle in the wave;
    Now a rarity as extinction be

    Indelibly the ebony of the yard,
    Caught less than a few clouds
    Only to fade behind senses
    Leaving nothing but lightless;
    Ideologies're always loud

    Alas! 'Til the clock races once again,
    Be no more than a mortal body,
    For no matter how you change
    For your name be unchanged,
    Only gold will truely accept thee

    Once more in the forest's yard,
    Words remained like the horizon;
    Heaven's outcast have ceased
    The forest remains at unease
    As the raven woods dwell neath the sun.



    #alx_poems #sya
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    ebony of the yard

    ©alxita

  • alxita 6w

    The very home that becomes your nightmare.
    (Perspective poem..)


    • cyanide •
    An ill memory sparks the cavern
    Into seeing a blinding lantern,
    One would aberrantly discern
    As a quaint soul living nothing
    Other than in its own dwelling

    Dawdling most in dangled mood,
    Up high the skies are the hood,
    And the crystal heart slowly exudes
    Its tears 'cross the ever-so sprightly,
    Slowing bearish in the unsightly

    Misruled down the road,
    The cyanide of a familiar abode
    That one used to live and sow,
    For what they owed limns no less
    Than a homicide in stillness

    Truth unveils not by the front door
    For which one divines as poor,
    And the belongings rest assured;
    Beneath the brontides of unrest
    Startle the doves back to its nest

    And a boar must be lost mere;
    A picture frame in pieces here;
    Unspoken rapids burst near
    Not long since the very cyanide
    That bid a waving hand lied



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    cyanide

    ©alxita

  • alxita 6w

    The sun and the sky ♡
    The sky (in the poem) is a metaphor of a person who is rather unaware of the kindness that another gives.
    A rather quaint perspective =)


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    flush sky

    Dear welkins beyond mortality
    Pulling up an ethereal show;
    A bliss to be the audience
    Of the bodiless always known

    Dear welkins in the gloaming,
    The sun's the bulb in your room,
    Spangling 'til the dark takes her
    In the lairs of western gloom

    Glanced a cantle of light,
    Are you gnawing the only dime
    That she has given an eternity
    In all your paintings sublime?

    Dear welkins beyond mood,
    Yours and the sun's paint all day
    A metaphor of daintiness
    All beneath the puzzled at bay

    Dear welkins of eternality,
    Always be and your spirits high
    The sun bids you a goodbye
    As your flush tones gleam 'til night


    ©alxita
    Poem no. 31
    3.01.21

  • alxita 6w

    You are weaving your own story!


    • your story •

    In the unclear hazel of time,
    Dropped souvenirs down the road;
    Morning dew and coffee splatter
    Midst the crimson, what you sowed

    No less than a beauty endured;
    With the folklore caressing
    Each step of insignificance
    Must be a mystery waiting

    Both feet on the destination
    Of rosemary gardens beheld,
    Curiosity unfazed beyond sight
    And unaware of a world we tell

    Like a story book flashing dreams;
    Birds of memory having owed
    To the nest of quaint fragments
    Dormant evermore in the abode

    Always your spirit wading
    In maelstroms and fluency,
    Weathered in rigid timelines;
    Valuing what is now presently

    You are weaving your own story
    By each poesy of your ink;
    Each teardrop and rebirth
    Along the way, we rise and sink

    And you are never called selfish
    To value the fragments you hold pure,
    To tell the world what you've reaped,
    And to tell yourself, you're a treasure.



    @todayis
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    your story

    ©alxita

  • alxita 6w

    Free once again ❤
    (Didn't know this is my 11th month here now ohohh-)
    Done after dealing with enough school work, phew


    • losing yourself •

    Reprised two feet in four pages of extremity,
    Hollowed bark and rigid as crippled;
    A rash marks yet an inch for composure,
    Rueful dear, O 'tis no guilty

    Spoken once, isn't it enough
    To quell the waterfall encroaching
    Down the gleam and theirs demanding;
    Maybe words felt rough?

    Hoping once, was it worth the deal
    To grow a tree with no roots beheld;
    To reach ineligible lengths you tell
    Was it really worth the feel?

    Losing yourself trying to love yourself
    Breaking more when you try to break less
    You know enough that it's time to go
    Since life will push you farther away 'til you know



    @todayis
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    losing yourself

    ©alxita

  • alxita 9w

    "ghost town" is a poem about a person who's frailly waiting for someone who has set foot to reclaim what they have sowed (a metaphor for seeking justice).

    Midway, the poem changes from 2nd Person POV to 3rd Person POV.

    I will be quite busy again starting tomorrow, so I still have time to read for the meantime!



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    ghost town

       I see you pinching the softness
       Just to feel your frailty budding then;
       Wishing for a star to near and
       Passion's a dull singer in your room;
       It must've been a springtime of wariness

       Like a clock ticking 'til it deprives,
       Losing hold from both hands
       In the deep, hazy shallow we stand,
       Wilting with a long lost relative
       Of the oceans and baleful we arrive

       "I see your jocundity wailing"
       Once more in quietude He aims
       Of the talisman that never barely came;
       In January he's a solitary archer
       Amid the flannel and fetters sailing

       I see Him seeking what was bereft
       On our demesne whilst angered was He,
       Breaking the past away unseen
       Like a raft in the middle of nowhere;
       I should've been a signpost as He left

       And I, swallowing anvils of my own,
       I know nothing could've made him go
       More than His will to claim what he sowed,
       And I'm a frail ghost town waiting
       For his arrival once more, whilst alone

    Poem no. 28
    2.07.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 9w

    Normal poem this time ��
    I finally have time to write poetry once again! Homework was endless...

    Woah! This is my 300th post actually ❤❤

    #alx_poems #sya
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    peace of mind

    I am the very air you breathe
    In peace, of the least you worry
    For this be always, and yours will,
    And deities be no more than blurry

    Speak less from the petty you owe
    And feel nothing but your Nature
    Dwelling in the utmost sensation
    Always will, only hidden whilst impure

    Often you're the veteran of a past
    And a beldam you are in this present
    For this be always, and yours will
    And your cynosure ever lambent

    Yet the dimming never was warm
    As Spring felt like in measly showers
    But always shall your spirit tread
    To the sanctuary you'd know better


    Poem no. 27
    2.06.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 9w

    "infinity in one time frame" is a made-up metaphor meaning "many time versions of oneself talking in one body".

    Thank you @writersnetwork for reposting! ❤��


    #sya #alx_poems
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    infinity in one time frame

    I told myself that
    If I ever made a ripple
    In the everlasting walk,
    I've made a new riddle
    In flows and stones we talk

    I told the future that
    The road isn't as gloomy,
    As the current flow left me
    Of a subtlety He chastened
    And a response left hastened

    I told myself that
    Every blink of the universe
    Doesn't mean my end lies,
    But I pause no more hearsed
    In the sheath from the sky

    I told the past that
    He made me the one
    To be the soul walking now;
    In the indescribable upon,
    I told all of my selves
    That each has a value of itself
    In spokenness we avow


    Poem no. 26
    2.03.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 10w

    Hello hello hello! I'm sorry once again for another week of inactivity! I've been real busy with classes, then I had a terrible fever which thankfully lasted only a few days!

    Here is another poem, which is a first after more than a week ��



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    darling no more

    Darling no more, I limn
    Whilst the driest and red bones,
    Midst the pinnacle of your low
    Greets passion in a daring show
    Darling evermore, be always atoned

    Trusted no more, I swore
    To walk no further than the stars
    Twined with the hands of delicacy,
    Yet gaping beneath the suavity,
    Life intermingled, and yours afar

    Darling no more, behold the beauty,
    Cherish majestic of the strings
    Toning across the disharmonic;
    O landmasses of Flora aphotic,
    Life intermingled, yours encrimsoning

    Darling no more, I seek your other self
    Stuck in the meadow of time,
    Hauled amidst the treachery;
    Unbeknownst to my visions keen,
    I lost your hand in fears sublime

    Poem no. 25
    2.02.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 11w

    (Still gulping the endless waves of homework ��)



    #alx_poems #sya
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    the least gives the most

    Stand on the egoistic land
    Where blood's dull as bland
    Since Aeonian times it has been
    They never cease to make a scene
    And fracture the most seen
    Of all within the genes

    Stand on a turtle's day
    Turned to the lesser pay
    From wispy to convoluted
    Of Planck-length steps weighted
    Back to the origin, desiccated
    All the highest cachinnated

    Tried for a better cause
    Oughtn't for a bigger loss
    Farewells all lost value
    Amidst the treacheries due
    For a cost of a leg and rue
    And a heart irreversibly sued

    Strived to fit at their rules
    Dawn agleam 'til crepuscule
    Leave aslant by the vestibule
    And gnarly roads bring about
    Northern lights going South
    The least tends to fizzle out

    Stand by the coldest Frost
    'Til yelps grew mere and lost
    Insurance only did so much
    The least gives most in a clutch
    For nothing but the mouths
    Of the unholiest leading South

    Poem no. 24
    1.22.21
    ©alxita

  • alxita 11w

    I'm back once again! It's been somewhat a stressful week (school), so I couldn't have a peaceful mind for the meantime. I've had an interest for free-verse atm ✨



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    moraine

    Three weeks of avoiding
    From those hands mingling
    Set in stone's all words
    From plastic I've heard
    Know all of absurd

    I was given least by the most
    Should've known sooner I suppose
    Granted the wishing well with wishes
    Always pitched I couldn't reach

    From souls taking me down
    For this time, I leave them sound
    All the way to Cambrian times
    I know it isn't sublime
    But it isn't the sin I made for a dime
    Left like a moraine
    But I left them plain
    From their speeches insane
    I couldn't bear a burden
    That would leave me then

    Three months of avoiding
    From those eyes peeking
    Back at the track I've left
    Were they that bereft?

    Were they so solemnly sworn
    To bring about their naturalism?
    Were they singing back to adorn
    A wound buried deep by chauvinism?

    I was given least by the most
    Already've known I disclose
    All the way to Cambrian times
    I know it's never sublime
    But it isn't the sin I made for a dime
    Just quiet back to my domain
    Swept across snowstorms of pain
    But I left rock-bottom O moraine
    I couldn't bear a burden
    That would leave me then


    Poem no. 23
    1.20.21
    ©alxita