Short Cupola Poems
Short Cupola Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Cupola by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Cupola by length and keyword.
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
Form:
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.
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)
Mop Woman
Near dwarf this woman.
Foreign born. Minsk,
perhaps. Nose
a fist. Hair
a whisk broom
only black. Her back
an Orthodox cupola,
her arms braids of gym rope
lowered to the floor.
Orangutans could climb
those ropes, hand
over hand, no rose
no purple
doughnuts
on their hinds.
Near dwarf this woman.
Foreign born. Minsk,
perhaps.
Her hands, all gristle,
hang an inch, no more,
above her shining floor.
Donal Mahoney
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)