Poetry by the Underground Poets

Thank you for stopping by
to view time and space
through this poet's eyes.

all words © 2006 pixiestix

Timeless notes
of poets past
Descriptive encounters
details enmasse.
The grey eyed man
with the sandy hair,
the voice of a woman
melodically rare.
The perfumed air
of a summer day,
the moans of souls
sadly slipping away.

The well ran deep
as she drew to drink
the pictures preserved
in pencil and ink.
Observations recorded
to trigger the mind
when the thirst
came upon her
to sip on some rhyme.

The smell of brine heavy
in the mist filled night.
Blurring the view
with dilated sight.

The promise of great joy
wearing the tarnish of sorrow.
Confusing the eyes
as the heart cries
"Which tears
will streak
the cheeks
of tomorrow?"

Time passes
as I walk the shore
looking for the window
or the open door.

Lightly treading in the sand
leaving no footprints
upon the land.
yet, lighting a path
which is clear to see
of where I was
and where I'll be.

Not thinking
but allowing
the pen and hand
glide on their
connective memory.

Random words
strung together;
a necklace of images.

It is their design
not mine.
I provide only
the paper as
I prop my head
allowing the
creative force
inside
to write instead.

To be another
without constraints.
Choosing new colors,
personality paints

The feel of the mask
against the face;
A courageous fit.
To banish and vanish
without a trace.

Hiding behind or
hiding inside?
Identity lost,
a benefit or cost?

The mystery deepens.
Who's behind the mask?
That is the question
I continue to ask

Suspended in time
by the craftman's design.
Enchanted to dance
encased under glass.

Wheels and chimes,
gears and grooves,
turn the key
at your whim
to watch them move.

Day after day,
moon after moon,
taking the same exact steps
to the same exact tune.

Expressions unchanged
as they follow the track
switching and twirling
emotions held back.

Accepting their fate
to perform on command
gazing out  life's window
with interlocked hands.

We bought them last year
I think in June
when your arrival
was expected soon.

The days turned
to weeks
then to a year
waiting to be placed
on your sweet dainty feet.

They've been kept
in our care.
Not yet knowing
your name,
building our love
connecting
all just the same.

Still world's apart
yet destined from
the start
to forever be a part
of this family's heart.

Sweet little Kate
your shoes await
you.

No guard to let down
it was never there.
The heart stands
exposed,
in the open air.

No fortress
to surround it
to keep invaders out
No weapons used or
contrived
no tactics to plan
or even think about.

Freedom to feel
whether to laugh
or to cry, to love
or to mourn or
to let anger ride.

Somewhere along
this not so long road,
the barricade took shape
the bricks being joined
with mortar and stones.

Attempts made
to fill in the gaps.
Still visible
the scars of
tearful mishaps.

The wall is now
somewhat
broken and patched.
Fragility allows
light to break through
the hairline cracks.

Reminisce when
it was just there.
All that you could see.
It's what we all
once knew,
the innocence
of this
simplicity.

I hear the music
faintly played
along
the side
of the road
unpaved.

Floating and falling
strings stroked by
the genius of
a soothing sound
catching and calling

The lure of the song
bravely leads
me along
dodging
the dips and craters
of the road
unpaved.

Melody sweet
as a lovers sigh
of lust and longing
as the laces untie.

Lyrics lost
words strung in a line
lucid image of emotions
now side by side.

With all it's
gravel and grit
the road unpaved
to me
seems to be
the perfect fit.

 Early autumn breathes
across my face with
hints of season past
leaving trails for
me to trace.

The crisp air brightens
the stars of the lengthening
night as I stroll the path
paved of red and gold
whispering the colors
of its personal invite.

Fragrant hardwoods
burning
smokey scents
drift and dance
by evening hearths
keeping time as
though they should
never realizing
they would
or even could.

Sipping hot cocoa
while the firelight
glows open
the windows of
happy homes
creating
a perfect glimpse
to share with friends;
the holiday card photo.

Peeking from my point
of view, seeking these
things I seldom knew
when spring and summer
fleetingly bid their adieus,
neglecting to drop
me such a clue.

The bed unmade
awaiting it's turn
or
left behind
as the fire still burns?

Which do you see?
The scenarios endless,
it's what you perceive.

Inviting intimacy
penned in
soft cotton sheets.
Fresh from the line,
scented with sunshine
from midday heat.

Awaiting the dreamer
who takes flight
inbetween.
Reliving the places
deja vu scenes.

Losing track of time
hastily going their ways,
lovers concluded
and ready for day.

Maybe the roses know
or the licks of the flame.
There's nothing
quite as quizical
as a bed unmade.

© 2006 pixiestix

A solitary figure stands
the night at its command.
Looking to the sky
to clear the
troubled mind.

Questions unanswered
by the waking day
now continuous
rewind and replay.

Solutions sought.
More lessons taught.
Each situation
steeps a stronger brew
Stepping up
something completely new.

What is it now?
Unanticipated
yet still
expected somehow.
Lingering longer
than the time would
allow.

Distracted by
the chores of light
Sorting and processing
throughout the night.

Looking for the piece
that's exactly right.
seeking to awaken
a slumbering insight.

Sleep escapes me.

© 2006 pixiestix

The earth knows
my touch.
I am at her command
as I hold her peace
in the palm
of my hand.

Our connection
preplanned
somehow destined
in my small corner
of her expansive land.

Each blade of grass
laden with frost,
the brilliance of color
yet, I still mourn the loss.

A coverlet lay
beneath the birch
colorful remnants
of projects past,
a fond remembrance,
like grandma's afgan
raffled at church.

The rich green fades
but is not afraid
to relinquish itself
in season's sleep
with no further delay.

As the dawn of day
removes the crystals,
melts them away,
the rose still
buds to push a bloom
in the last breath
of warmth
this day at noon.

© 2006 pixiestix

Sharpener shavings
scenting so long ago
of what I became as
the words anxiously
await their day.

Swirling in disarray
the threshold sashay
in the shuffling doorway
deliberately dealt;
echoes play with
what they say.

Blanketing the
blinding white.
Clouding and shading
the darkest night.

The devoid engagement
of sealed images
written
in crooked lines
on the torn page.

© 2006 pixiestix

His mistress cast
a downward gaze
as he knelt before her,
the music played.

He was hoping to
appease his muse
who often left him
quite confused.

Sometimes distant
beyond his reach
he felt the need.
Her touch
he beseeched.

She had a hold
on his heart
but much more
than that.
Without her
his notes were
just sharp or flat.

She looked away
with complete disdain
refusing to accept
his bouquet cliches.

The spot was hard
the message tough,
Sometimes the love
just isn't enough.

© 2006 pixiestix

I follow the rails
to the moon and
her veil.

Draped in mystery
she summons me.
Getting the better
of my curiosity.

Why does she hide
the true view from her eyes?
Preferring to watch
behind fine lace lines.

The track ahead straight
for the prearranged date
to lift the tulle
and expose the face.

Speeding through
the trees with
an exceeding need.
Not knowing what
I expect to see.

Arriving at the
the orb of night
to remove the
obstruction
that filters her sight.

No longer concealed,
I remove the shield.
And with a quick motion,
the features revealed.

I open my mouth
to utter a word.
My surprise
leaves it lost,
left unheard.

She gently smiles
in my general direction.
As I notice what I see
is my own reflection.

© 2006 pixiestix

I sit by your side
holding your hand
wondering
if you still know me.
Who I am.

A friendly face
that just stopped on by.
To visit, to feed you,
to ease your cries.

I pretend not to notice
recounting familiar times
as you stare at me blankly
or don't open your eyes.

I feel the vice on my heart
my throat starts to close
I swallow it hard
the thorns on the rose.

© 2006 pixiestix

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