The Long, Strange Trip Of Penelope Please Poem by Kevin Moore

Twas bitter, then - and bitter, still -
and thrill the ears! came clamored trill
of mother’s unsheathed whimpered will
amidst the shattered bedclothes and
Beneath the shuttered sky.
Bereft the cloaking and the dry-
canvas readied, reaping nigh-
and please! Penelope might cry
amidst the shattered bedclothes and
Beneath the shouting air.

The long, strange trip of Penelope Please
ends and begins much the same way-
rising above the tempestuous spray,
reaching for something which only she sees-
leaves, silvered, turn twisting on thunder-soaked breeze
As night yields passively to day.

Through summers long, past autumn’s fair
and plaited passing- days to share-
grow shadows slipping soft and spare
through sharply patterned tapestry
Above time’s shifting sands.
Danced she among the wraith-like bands
of faeries on the weathered lands,
flute and feather, heathery hands,
through sharply patterned tapestry
Above the pulsing earth.

The long, strange trip of Penelope Please
ends and begins much the same way-
rising above the tempestuous spray,
reaching for something which only she sees-
leaves, silvered, turn twisting on thunder-soaked breeze
As night yields passively to day.

Dawn’s dew dripped laughing, loonish mirth-
a damply damned night’s afterbirth-
fair arms encircled Season’s girth
Penelope, heart pulsing on
As cadence to her Song.
Where wond’ring child once passed along
now wisdom to her heart belong
and gnarling frail where past once strong
Penelope, heart pulsing on
In lockstep with the dance.

The long, strange trip of Penelope Please
ends and begins much the same way-
rising above the tempestuous spray,
reaching for something which only she sees-
leaves, silvered, turn twisting on thunder-soaked breeze
As night yields passively to day.

Lies she now in the gloaming chance-
past gone she spares nary a glance-
what comes! awaits she nigh entranced
amidst the shattered bedclothes and
Within a calming will.
twas bitter, then- and bitter, still;
Thrill the ears! come clarion trill
of trumpet call to climb the hill-
discards her shattered bedclothes and
Flies careless to her heart.

The long, strange trip of Penelope Please
ends and begins much the same way-
rising above the tempestuous spray,
reaching for something which only she sees-
leaves, silvered, turn twisting on thunder-soaked breeze
As night yields passively to day
And night yields passive to the day.