"penelope" poems
In the pathway of the sun,
In the footsteps of the breeze,
Where the world and sky are one,
He shall ride the silver seas,
He shall cut the glittering wave.
I shall sit at home, and rock;
Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock;
Brew my tea, and snip my thread;
Bleach the linen for my bed.
They will call him brave.
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He loves his soca and
His carnival.
He calypsos
Like only Dionysus could.
His power is like the
Nymph's - the Oceanid daughter that
Kept Odysseus from
Penelope - only stronger.
So mesmerising: his smile
Bursts with a contagious
Warmth, like the sun
Over his island homeland.
A gold cross hangs from a chain
Around his dark, dark neck.
The smell of his skin spices the air around him,
Making my mouth salivate.
He tastes like Mayan chocolate;
Slightly bitter and tinged with chilli.
The scars on his shoulders and back
Feel like a ripe nectarine againt my tongue.
I want to bite down and feel the juices
Run.
But.
He's a good Christian boy.
This island boy is an enigma.
Tall and willowy
Like a rapier, and
Strong and beautiful.
I wonder if this island boy
Would sheath his faith
In my worship,
For just one, cool, island night.
Jul 8, 2011
Jul 8, 2011 at 12:36 PM UTC
Your lips, soft and full,
Are tearing at my heart.
Your skin, freckled and bumped,
Is at play with my palms.
Your eyes, of water and stone
Rain, storming like fists of hail.
Your ******* are blooms, pouring
Like white chocolate cupped.
Your hair, is a loom even
Penelope could not weave.
Your little feet, are drumming
Like puddles by the sea.
Your thighs, make me mutter
And sigh into the winds.
I will, not go wondering now
For whom is master and who
Is slave, are you the Morgen
Or are you Fand my gentle
Ocean wave? Your voice
Is song, your breath is air
And your pooling, marbled
Face, torso, hair, how they beckon
And your words, gifting melody,
Such words must be forbidden.
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 10:58 AM UTC
Penelope Cruz
Used to muse
On the use
Of oversized microwave ovens
In the covens
Of Barcelona.
Give them their due
They know how to imbue
Broomsticks with fresh belladonna!
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
Oh Penelope, Penelope
in the winds blowing distant!
when storms gather at night
and lightning pierces the sea,
I see how Zeus has struck,
such is time, that
slices through the heart
Oh Penelope Penelope
Did I love you over honour?
Athene oh Athene,
were my prayers not enough?
In the small hours' brewing
pain, how I took valour granted,
oh to believe that destiny
is all but deed and dust,
that victory is about winning
Burying my knees in sand,
set on the horizon, here I mourn:
turning over the wheel of time,
too mortal my soul
for the love of a nymph
Oh Penelope, Penelope,
in the winds blowing distant!
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
Far too many tides have you held him, Calypso, now let him go:
thus commands Athene daughter of Zeus, She who cannot stand his wails
any more. The fleet-footed Hermes delivers the writ of the heavens.
Does the wail of a mere mortal trouble the mighty Athene more than
the heart of her kin? Will you Hermes not accept a bribe and tell Her you
never found me? That Calypso's home is too hard to find on sea?
The will of Zeus cannot be altered, bow or the bolt will make you kneel.
Twenty years has he suffered, let him go this prisoner of his deeds. Eternity
awaits you: while his soul, death. Let him not regret his life in afterlife.
Thus did I leave on high-tide who steal to my own palace like a thief.
Twenty years play in my mind, but the strongest still is Telemachus's smile.
I leave her who cared so much to win my heart yet only the Zephyr -
Brought me cheer, that carried the smell of home and Penelope fair.
Here I leave the immortal who will die for me: for her who I know not if she
loves me yet. Who Athene brings don't fail me in life, even if they falter.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 2:38 PM UTC
Little soul, little perpetually undressed one,
Do now as I bid you, climb
The shelf-like branches of the spruce tree;
Wait at the top, attentive, like
A sentry or look-out. He will be home soon;
It behooves you to be
Generous. You have not been completely
Perfect either; with your troublesome body
You have done things you shouldn't
Discuss in poems. Therefore
Call out to him over the open water, over the bright
Water
With your dark song, with your grasping,
Unnatural song--passionate,
Like Maria Callas. Who
Wouldn't want you? Whose most demonic appetite
Could you possibly fail to answer? Soon
He will return from wherever he goes in the
Meantime,
Suntanned from his time away, wanting
His grilled chicken. Ah, you must greet him,
You must shake the boughs of the tree
To get his attention,
But carefully, carefully, lest
His beautiful face be marred
By too many falling needles.
3.7k
Penelope sneeze.
Then again.
Her Nose ran.
She took out a handkerchief.
Her mother had brought her.
That Christmas before.
That almost covered her nose.
Blew, filled it.
And in disgust.
Looked for tissue.
For her nose she must empty.
Penelope blew.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC
Chloe's hair, no doubt, was brighter;
Lydia's mouth more sweetly sad;
Hebe's arms were rather whiter;
Languorous-lidded Helen had
Eyes more blue than e'er the sky was;
Lalage's was subtler stuff;
Still, you used to think that I was
Fair enough.
Now you're casting yearning glances
At the pale Penelope;
Cutting in on Claudia's dances;
Taking Iris out to tea.
Iole you find warm-hearted;
Zoe's cheek is far from rough--
Don't you think it's time we parted? . . .
Fair enough!
3.2k
I lay my head down on your empty lap,
And fall right through the air
My wings don’t sprout just like they should
All I see is red
Your name a faint memory in the spring wind
As autumn comes I’ve nearly forgotten,
but remembered well enough to have it stuck on my tongue
just on the tip, just enough to itch and scratch and bite and kick
just enough to be unforgettable
The light shines in the darkness,
The winter comes in spring,
My love dies in daylight,
My love dies not at all
An empty grave is calling invisible
Cat calling and begging to drag the forgotten into bed
But another hand pulls towards the heavens
A hand that isn’t even trying, isn’t even seeing, only just barely there
Just enough to be unforgettable
Tomorrow, tomorrow is a new day
But not for illusions,
Hades is crooning a siren song
But ears are filled with wax for my fair Penelope I must return
Even if she’s dead and gone and alive and well and doesn’t want me
Deeper than the ocean,
Farther than the sea,
On your boat you’ve moved on,
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Crying out my love’s name, the one that I’ve forgotten,
Begging for their sweet return,
Its just enough to be unforgettable.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
symptoms of anhedonia.
a triumvirate, perceived
Inanition& Inertia& Inaptitude:
they are ugly triplets who hide under leather
and self-loathing &stink of last night’s pinot
noir
from **** knows where.
their fingers, cigarette-stained and calloused,
reach into my prozac pillboxes
&crunch my anxiety (meds)
into fluoxetine powder and ivory between
their yellowing teeth.
I Do Not Cry When The
Sandman Knocks
For He Sits At midnight:the witching hour,whenthe
My Porch Bearing Sweet siblings curl up besides me to
Dreams &Sister Death, Whose Touch , ravage;
I’ve Long Wished For *they will not
leave me
untilthe
cloyingly sweet
perfume of Death
is scrubbed clean fromthe
pulse
point
of
my
wrists*
There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing for you here.
Nothing will bring me back. In three years time I’ll still be dead. My bed sheet is my shroud and Death holds my wrists in a vice grip. He still leads me below.
here is the untruth:
i am here,
Penelope at her loom,
waiting for a lost lover whom I know
will take ten years to come back to
my awaiting arms.
here is the untruth:
in three years time,
I’ll still be dead.
here is the truth:
nothing exists six feet under except:
hell
chalk dust
powdered calcium.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
Crimson shades that hang on late
on cloudy mornings, cormorants
that carry tidings from afar
reeds that roll over slow in their measured nuances:
wind roars, noon bells, distant shorelights at night.
I sought glory with love in my heart
Midas-like, glory became my gold.
Every wave carries a new meaning
for one who sees life
from the window of death;
How many deaths for honour, how many
for glory, how many more for perfidy?
Ah blessed love, that
- when the glitter of glories descends
into quicksands of darkness -
from whom nothing can ever be snatched away,
the one love that shone before my birth
as Athene, who I loved as Penelope and
who loves me as Calypso, receptacle of worlds!
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 4:12 PM UTC
I would like if I could, to venture out
into a baroque cave where the walls are translucent
and all that surrounds it are rivers of coherence
and incoherence
where I can scream, and when my echoes
radiate they bounce off on me and touch
the spaces in between my fingers
bizarre and ornate
rococo chimes lift my spirit
progressive, regressive
subliminal rising, into the sea of whispers
and final decisions
and crazed hands
and melting lips
and bruised knuckles
and fighting wrists...
I subsist to consist
of the fluid that makes me up
lavender barely breathing
flowers/continue/endure
hang tough, low by lakes of conspiracy
and hate/ block eyes/ shed those ill states
I carry this entity/essence/life gentely
in my arms like a ancestor. mother .
press its head against my skin and give it everything
in my blood filled hands, sinful/blessed/ tiered creatures
I feel beautiful in these worlds.
eyes closed in sleep, palms spread forth
oceans cleansing, I feel like an infant
stomach twists and hearts bat burnt wings
and learn to fly
I radiate.full hearted. eminence spoke to me
through her portal of solid grass and dieing trees
in the outskirts of the vagabond, slowly unraveling
like a child speaking
slowly growing like new love
stricken instantly
I am in
between Cleopatra and Mark
between Orpheus and Eurydice
between Odysseus and Penelope
between Elizabeth Bennett and Darcy
between Salim and Anarkali
I shiver in that love
that breathes in determent
and breathes out fragrance
temperate plasma hooked onto
the grind of my woman I beat like
the robins breast/ trembling in awe
like a living leaf blowing in the winter wind
resisting/giving in/ perishing/ breathing
to the sound of this beautiful life
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 5:53 AM UTC
(Written in 8th Grade)
As I grew up along-side of memories, I realized that my name grew with me; shaping and morphing itself into who I am today. But wouldn’t it be fun to not be me for a single day? Not have the name, Alice? I could be someone smiling bright, maybe Melina. Or might I try on the name Jessie. Nah, too laid back and chill; so I take the name off and put it back on it’s hanger. I could be haughty and proud, with my nose in the air; I could be a Penelope. I window-shop for more names, browsing among all the different personalities. Fern seems fun, friendly and cordial. Or I might stick around and act as a Sam. Boyish? Aw yeah. Just maybe not for me. I’ll be Stella, all book-sharp for a day or I could be a Chloé, exotic and beautiful. Or switch my style into the retro girly Natalie. What would it be, to have the name Katie, just for a day? Zoey, Liana, Stacy, Diane. Isabelle, Marilyn, Delia, Hannah. Maybe give my name an exotic twist, Alyssa? After trying on names of all kind, some just weren’t for me. Too ‘krazy’? Shy? Ecstatic? Cool? Like a huge circus parade with different costumes, the loud gaudy colors blinding me. Like all the different shoes at Aldo’s; sky-high heels, wedges, sandals, boots. I slip out the shoes, I peel off the names. Because for now, I’d like to stay in my own skin; as a plain old Alice.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
The first time i saw you, your stare lingered beneath
My mind went blank, it's as if i was recovered from the river Lethe
Eros and Ananke took the longest time on fashioning you
Apollo would befriend you because in my mind, you are the greatest view
To gain your love, i am willing to carry the world like Atlas
If you ask me, i will suffer the pits of Tatarus and come back to be your lass
I wouldn't mind staying with you in the island of Calypso
To be with you, i would face Charybdis and jump inside her tornado
Everytime you smile, it's as if the gates of Olympus open just for me
Your face will launch a thousand ships and i won't mind bringing my army
If i have no chance, my grief would reach the river Cocytus
And my heart would wander in the labyrinth of Daedalus
In the most confusing maze, you are my Ariadne string
You are the melody of the three muses when they sing
To get to your love how i wish i could be the goddess, Aphrodite
And maybe you can be Odysseus and i will be Penelope
With my kind of desire for you, Artemis and her hunters would never approve
If i am not for you, i would persuade Aphrodite and deny Cupid's reprove
Like Zeus and his lightning bolt, i can never leave your side
Poseidon's angry seas would compare to my feelings which will take long to subside
For your honor, i will fight like Hector of Troy
But like the giant, Typhon, someone will always destroy
Like Paris and Helen, we were doomed from the start
You are Cassandra and I, Apollo so you will never give me your heart
I am not Aphrodite, not Hestia, Helen and Hera
You can compare me to Circe, The Fates or even Medusa
Not as important as Hercules, Odysseus and Achilles
I might as well have a tea party with Achlys
No ship will be launched for my sake
In the garden of Hesperides, i am ignored even by a snake
In Olympus, you feast with the twelve goddesses and gods
Together with Hephaestus who was shunned, i share his odds.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
This little seahorse necklace
Missing Penelope
Is the symbol of my subservient existence
In your absence
My dearest little baby
Off my neck you will not see
A second, a moment, A Wrinkle In Time
As my pledge to you
Of an undying love
And thoughts towards better days
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 12:59 AM UTC
Little Penelope Persnicketty was a girl that grew up down the lane.
Her Mother doted on her so much, you would think her insane.
She took such care of her prized daughter pet.
Father never mentioned in the picture, a World War II vet.
Penelope Persnicketty was rather peculiar.
Every single thing she owned was pink, even down to her school ruler.
Petticoats, lace and stockings all a flamingo hue.
The dresses seemed so old fashion, never saw anything new.
She always seemed like a damsel in distress
Mother Persnicketty hand sewed every dress.
When she wasn't sewing , she held Penelope tight.
We rarely saw her out of her mother's controlling sight.
There was one thing Mother Persnicketty couldn't control.
It was puberty ravaging Penelope's little soul.
Hair appeared places it shouldn't.
******* Penelope wished for them but couldn't
Finally, the secrets began to unravel.
The Persnickettys packed up for some European travel.
In the fuss, we saw the forgery and what else her Pandora hemmed.
Made a daughter just by writing in the letter F instead of M.
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 10:53 PM UTC
I'm impressed
With the ladies on this site
So much talent
Amazing words they can write
Lady RF
And her magic pen
Looking forward
To reading you again
Your highness
Ultimate Panic Queen
Writing so good
It's really obscene
Oh Gwendolyn
Our talented gypsy
Writing so intoxicating
It makes me feel tipsy
Penelope the Poet
A creative young scribe
Reading your stuff
Gives me a sweet vibe
Valsa George
A writer of nature and things
When I read her
A smile it brings
Sedoo Ashivor
Writing poems with such taste
Every word having meaning
Not one she will waste
Thank you to all you wonderful ladies
For the work you share
I'm headed back to Hello Poetry
I hope to see you there
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
I'm unable to feel, to be human, to reach out
From inside my sad soul to my fellow earthly brothers.
And even were I to feel, I'm unable to be useful, practical, quotidian, definite,
To have a place in life, a destiny among men,
To have a vocation, a force, a will, a garden,
A reason for resting, a need for recreation,
Something that comes to me directly from nature.
So be motherly to me, O tranquil night . . .
You who remove the world from the world, you who are peace,
You who don't exist, who are only the absence of light,
You who aren't a thing, a place, an essence or a life,
Penelope who weaves darkness that tomorrow will be unravelled,
Unreal Circe of the fevered, of the anguished without a cause,
Come to me, O night, reach out your hands,
And be coolness and relief, O night, on my forehead . . .
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
a breath of fresh air
that's what you are
so new
curious
fearless
pure of thought
unveiling love
with a tender touch
reaching
for me
unafraid
brushing your cheek
ever
so
gently
across mine
making my heart melt
with your smile
i thought i knew love
then came you.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
I wish to comb the now distant Eden
Adopting Penelope's marble poise
To find her marvelling Polaris' freedom
Not questioning her heart, unlike my words.
Vaulted abaft* her marmoreal* shoulders
Chiliad* tales won, your silhouette
Decorticating* off African suns.
Oil lamp explorer, icy caves your lamp
Cannot warm; There are paths to cross with will,
Verdant* bridges constellated* with time.
Yet you, Inexhaustible human heart,
Beat with love. You gravedigger of the sky,
Estranged Love, brave forevermore the Afar,
Beyond the doubts of your enduring Heart.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
A murder's a murder's
a murder's a mask.
Unless it's a suicide
shattered by the past.
another best friend suffering
from proximity infatuation
is just another turning cog
in a lucid dreaming nation.
Part one, a romantic drama.
Part two, ****** mystery.
Part three, an epic mind-fuck
of father figures and Penelope.
I died on a soft Vanilla sky
and awoke in the vast salt flats
I guess I'll see you in another life
when we are both cats.
I wonder what's real and what's fake
and if she'd ever really seen me,
I think she's the saddest girl ever
to hold a martini.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:56 AM UTC
-- Wish You Were Here -- standard postcard greeting
-- Poems aren't postcards to send home -- Anne Sexton
Dear friends, dear friends at home, resent
No pagan rite nor chance event
We've failed to photograph for you
With technicolor flair in the true
Late Tourist Style. Be satisfied
You're there, not here in Circe's herd
Or dodging stones some Giant's hurled
Or fending Triton's tempest blasts
Or lashed, like me, to a shattered mast
As tempting taunts roll down the tide.
When night winds grind the wheel of sleep
Consider Cyclops, counting sheep;
When home-fires cool, just think of us
Attending smokes more perilous!
Home-bound friends, be notified:
This holiday's a Trojan Horse.
The wine's gone bad. The weather's worse.
So mark our fates by this palsied hand:
*Have sacrificed most every man.
Now homeward-bound. Still terrified.*
Sep 10, 2011
Sep 10, 2011 at 5:47 PM UTC