It seems so long ago
is if in days of old
When the locomotive riding the tracks
always had a red caboose at it's back
Inside the cupola the conductor riding high
if any trouble to the train he could instantly spy
As children would wave is the train would ride
the conductor smiled and waved goodbye
The caboose would protect and provide
a shelter place for the crew to abide
A stove for warmth and hot food
lanterns, tools, ledgers and bathroom too
A desk for the conductor, bunks for the crew.
But all good things must come to an end
the caboose was removed on a financial bend
Replace by FRED technology scored
All the crew and caboose not needed anymore.
Just a simple device on the last train cart
allowed railroads caboose and crew to depart
Flashing Rear End Device
the money it saved to railroads was nice
Nostalgia feeling hard to explain
when now a days you see the train
Something is missing it does not look right
without the conductor smiling and waving in height
In his cupola on top of that red caboose
along side the brakeman for sight to boost.
Some old wooden houses are deep,
they have porticos, piazza, loggia,
gables, and cupola.
There rooms are arboreal
they knot,
curl
and jut.
A memory rocks me gently
in its timbered embrace.
I also have an interior
that has been crafted
by every branch
of an endless forest.
It is this depth of a life
constructed upon the growing
of one root.
My house, my portico,
piazza, loggia,
gables, and cupola
all reaching
inward
to where this whole earthy planet
is but a single seed.
Night bring terrible memories,
shadows of yesteryears,
it takes my breath away
in fears, anguish and hell.
An ugly wolf runs after me
as I slither in the mud
heart beats burst my chest with pains.
Please take away those forces
that rumble in my midriff
driving me crazy with dread.
I cannot cry, I can only pray
that dawn arrives
with its damask cupola
when stars fade away
and the moon hides its face in shame.
Why is the break of day so far away?
I lie numb on the settee
Perspiration running down my cheeks.
I skate near life's edge
I try to grab a lifeline,
find only puffs of hot dry air.
And time goes by so slowly,
pain like the claws of an eagle
squash my soul of its life.
No, I will not cry, I will only pray.
Dear God, thanks,
You've given me a new day.
Some old wooden houses are deep,
they have columns and porticos,
piazza, loggia, gables, and cupola.
There rooms are arboreal
they knot. curl and jut outward
as the limbs of a still treeing houses.
Once in a house like this,
I recalled the broadleaf woods of my childhood,
a memory that rocked me gently
in its timbered embrace.
I came to know that depth of my life,
its internal architecture
one room grown from another -
the many mansions.
Chalice of Darkness
Buried deep inside the blinded eye of midnight
My fugitive heart,
Homeless in winter’s frozen wrath,
Seeks an abyss with rotund borders –
A rounded vault of endorphic sacredness
Overflowing with elixirs of metamorphosis
Born from dark dry crystals of crisis –
Angles of anxiety –
Dark womb no sepulcher for magic of wonder.
Rotunda made with sacred walls of purple heart
Where stamens and pistils entwine,
Ferment to maturity in a lightless vessel,
To press against the wholeness of their birthing cup
In a goblet of a chrysalis catacomb
Ecstasy bidding my weeds of mourning
Flame within the grail of martyrs
To pollinate, despite shades of gloom,
Blooms rising above this cupola of blessings.
1-24-21
Contest: Chalice of Darkness
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Purple heart is a hardwood that when cut reveals a nature purple color.
A chalice is a cup. It is also the interior shape of a flower.
raging sea consumes whalers, cupola soon to be a widow's walk
The house is now quiet,
the children have gone
My beard they’ve left ruffled,
as memories grow long
With trains and dolls scattered,
where last they played
Their love remains buried,
inside of the maze
The cupola harkens,
a last candle there burns
As the attic sits waiting
for the toys to return
The old house is silent,
but deep from within
Their laughter still hides
—and my searching begins
(Thanksgiving: November, 2016)
Scratchboarded stars of liquid light pouring in like rain
beneath the cupola of heaven one sentinel of night
A solitary figure stilled by the mutany of a willful hoot
his head is bowed as he listens, pressed to the dark
A Universal ensemble of nightly vocation, owlish wise
he knows not to disturb the hour, as he turns right on time
Earthly vibrations of the lowest kind everyone is sleeping
but not everyone is blind, head bowed he listens to ...
Insiped in velvet with browny eyes of amber flame n' light
beneath the humdrum moments of nocturnal sweep,
the owl breathes, where no man has yet trespassed
the owl heeds, through ebons of nocturnality-delights
Scratchboarded stars of liquid light pouring in like rain,
beneath the cupola of heaven the Sentinal, of night.
Written by: Mystic Rose 5/18/2019
Scratchboard Painting Photography
By: Nathan Cole . [email protected]
The house is now quiet,
the children have gone
My beard they’ve left ruffled,
as memories grow long
With trains and dolls scattered
where last they played
Their love remains buried
inside of the maze
The cupola harkens
a last candle there burns
As the attic sits waiting
for the toys to return
The old house is silent
but deep from within
Their laughter still hides
—and my searching begins
(Thanksgiving: November, 2016)
At the Preakness, horses race;
The crowd is quite excited.
After winners are declared,
Observers are invited
To witness a tradition
Which, since nineteen hundred nine
Has been special to all racing fans
And cool in its design.
See, atop the Members’ Clubhouse,
A historic weather vane
Of a horse and jockey waits there
For the colors it will claim.
Lawrence Jones, the current painter
(At his job since ‘88)
Climbs a ladder to the cupola
To bring things up to date.
He applies the owner’s colors,
Which the winning jockey’s worn,
On the weather vane to show the world
A champion’s been born.
So today, for Cloud Computing,
(That’s the winning horse’s name)
Red and white have just been painted,
Horse and owner’s claim to fame.
Shrub leaves lie curled in the dormant yard;
Trees shiver in their nakedness
As a crisp autumn wind exhales
Into the barren night sky.
On the corner of Walnut and Maple,
The Old Crowder House fights for breath--
Creaking and moaning with age and neglect;
Too decrepit to shelter life beyond a few strays.
There in the cupola she sits
In the long forgotten platform rocker,
Watching the child parade with eager longing
As they wander from house to house.
Will one look up to give her a smile?
Will they even notice her there in her chair
Rocking, as she has done for a lifetime or two
Mourning the loss of her own?
She hears a child's cry echo through the night
And notices a boy clinging to his mother.
Does he see me? Will I finally be released?
Alas, it's just the cats and startled birds.
And so she sits. Waiting and Rocking;
Rocking and Waiting for that magic night,
When the hallow spirits sing and dance
Under a barren sky as the cool winds exhale,
And the marchers of the child parade
Finally, look up and notice the wraith
Longing for a child's smile,
As they pass on their way to the next treat.
Jsc
October 17, 2004
I planted this garden to enjoy.
Photosynthesis comes from the sun.
The white orchids set to the east.
The daffodils are astray.
The roses are a spread on a rack.
The tulips and morning glory are in a flowerbed.
I am relishing nature this year.
I planted these gardens to enjoy.
I sit in my cupola thinking about, therapeutically writing poetry, and reading aloud.
Behind this belvedere are a plot of mustard greens, tomatoes, carrots, and cucumbers.
The radiant energy celestially augments the vegetation.
The foliage is an architectural beautification.
These gardens were planted to enjoy.
No qualms I have, thus far.
I am truly adorned.
____________________|
Penned on May 02, 2014!
What's in your GARDEN? Contest
A great snowy owl
Sat on a cupola
Looking wise
But undoubtedly thinking of mice
Who might be down under the barn
To come out to be devoured
He had flown in from the far north
So large and commanding a bird
Hundreds came daily to gape
His head swiveled
His eyes were astonishing
His silence complete
A CUPOLA TRAVELERS
Keep pushing baby because once in a while I need a good shove
a kick in the ass to get me to where I need to go
keep pushing baby because one day i'll run out of love
but these are things i'm sure you already know
while we're riding the rails let the train keep glued to the tracks
but keep pushing baby until the rails rust and the cupola loses it's view
keep pushing baby until we split up our backpacks
and i'll go my way while you can do whatever it is you want to do
I can't figure out what station you want to get off at
I can't understand where you want this train to end
keep pushing baby because I too can play tit for tat
so keep pushing honey because only the conductor knows what lies 'round the bend
keep pushing me honey and one day your bed will no longer be my home
and i'll have found a new place below or above
keep pushing me honey and you'll force this troubled transient to roam
so keep pushing me baby with one unforgettable shove
© 2012......PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
A CUPOLA TRAVELERS
Keep pushing baby because once in a while I need a good shove
a kick in the ass to get me to where I need to go
keep pushing baby because one day i'll run out of love
but these are things i'm sure you already know
while we're riding the rails let the train keep glued to the tracks
but keep pushing baby until the rails rust and the cupola loses it's view
keep pushing baby until we split up our backpacks
and i'll go my way while you can do whatever it is you want to do
I can't figure out what station you want to get off at
I can't understand where you want this train to end
keep pushing baby because I too can play tit for tat
so keep pushing honey because only the conductor knows what lies 'round the bend
keep pushing me honey and one day your bed will no longer be my home
and i'll have found a new place below or above
keep pushing me honey and you'll force this troubled transient to roam
so keep pushing me baby with one unforgettable shove
© 2012......PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
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