Penelope’s Poems

April 6, 2009

Ode to a Rugby Player

Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:30 am

Ode to a rugby player


Oh man, if you could only see

The charge of electricity

That courses with my pounding blood

And causes such an obscene flood

Of fantasies to rock my mind;

I wonder, does it make you blind.

You grumble when you here my sighs.

They happen when I see those thighs.

It really does not seem quite just

When only men can show their lust.


A Spare Place

Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:27 am
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A Spare Place

I sit in a chair and gaze
At the faces opposite me;
Our hands trembling in unison
My keepers will never see
The shame I feel as I sit in
Soiled underwear, pervading
My soul, turning hope to dust
And I shall never leave this place
Of death and despair; ‘till a bag
Is zipped; they’ll cover my face
For fear I may cause offence.

Somebody said we have fish
For lunch; like a Mexican wave
Our frail excitement undulates
And we smile.  No one is brave
Enough to ask” Is the fish fresh?”
Thus risking censorial frowns;
It pays to not rock the boat.
Mrs. Baker died yesterday.
Not one person lamented this,
No feelings in disarray;
A spare place at the table.

The Snowflake

Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:24 am

The Snowflake


The little snowflake felt unique

In every, single way

And did not really want to drop

Into the light filled day.


She hovered, waiting in the clouds,

For just that perfect time,

When everything combined to make

Her destiny sublime;


Then in a flurry of her friends,

She drifted down to Earth.

And turned to slush beneath our feet;

An inauspicious birth




Christmas Eve

Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:21 am

Christmas Eve




The fire is roaring.

The dog, he is snoring

And dreaming of when he was fed.

Outside it is snowing.

The candles are glowing.

The children are tucked up in bed.

The mistletoe beckons

And my husband reckons

It is time to cuddle instead.

Soft music is playing

And now we are swaying.

There is nothing left to be said.




Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:19 am




Fragile, tremulous, so it grew,


Its slender stalk so proud


It loved the shade of the tall tree;


The safety it allowed.


Its qualities were simply pure.


It blossomed in the night.


It drew its strength from its neighbour


And hid itself from light



A woman passed and looking down


She saw this fragile thing.


She plucked it from its hiding place


And made its small heart sing


She did not really mean it harm.


Its beauty smoothed her brow


And as it withered, so she cried,


Not knowing why or how.

Going Down

Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:18 am

Going Down

Can you hear my scream silent and no less real than a Munch Painting?
Joints grinding like mill stones around my neck
Muscle atrophy and disease building to the Grande Finale
Can you see the fear in my eyes furtively searching for judgement?
Condemnation a regular expectation
Eyes cast down like unwanted presents
Can you taste the gall of bitterness my memories bring?
Trying to cling to some long forgotten delight
Like a frightened child to his comforter
Can you feel the unwanted tremble as I venture beyond these walls?
This prison that I call my home prison and sanctuary
Hiding from my own appetites and desires
I shall die unknown hidden inside this flesh
Corrupt and blown


Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:16 am




I see you through the veil

 Of compliment and concern

Your knife gleaming

As it aims for my back

I see you through

The mist of friendship offered

Arms wide as if to embrace

Keeping your venom

Hidden behind silken tongue

Face smiling welcoming and wise

Advice covert arrows darting

I see you

The Ghost Ship

Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:14 am

The Ghost Ship

The creature, its middle years approaching,

Was fierce; a fading beauty swift to rage,

Yet stroking the egos it did engage

In conversation How it took to wing,

Soaring above the morbid dross of life

Nothing touched it; no salt on this birds tail.

Then he appeared, a ghost ship in full sail;

Wielding covert endearments like a knife.

The creature faltered in mid flight and fell,

Her heart tattooing wildly in despair

He said “But all I wanted was to care.

My love can’t be the cause of your death knell.”

The Crystal Glass

Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:12 am

The Crystal Glass


A drop of water sees a glass


Whose brittle form is fashioned fine


And so it yearns to sit within,


Tantalisingly at the brim,


For all the world like sweetest wine



It spurns the stagnant, country pond;


Ignores the mildew on the wall;


The little drop knows it won’t rest


Until it only has the best


Receptacle in which to fall

Still Life

Filed under: poetry — penelopephoebe @ 8:10 am



Brown sepaled, heads a droop, they gaze at me;

Petals faded.  A loss of dignity

Pervades the vase.  Mimosa turned to stone.

Lament more mournful than I could intone.


Once jaunty, brightest yellow, shining bright,

Young daffodils, spring fresh, uplifting sight.

Their swift loss of vigour a tragedy.

Just dying forlornly, for all to see.


Crystal clear water, like sweet summer rain,

Turned rancid and stagnant; cannot regain

Its purity lost.  Too full of dross.

The whole an embodiment of life lost.

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