Edmund V. Strolis


Edmund V. Strolis Poems

161. Her Eyes And Ears Were Open 5/13/2016
162. Che Guevara Wannabe 5/1/2016
163. Mind Games 2/23/2016
164. Heavy Weather 12/8/2015
165. Cab Noir 12/12/2015
166. Check Please...... 11/21/2015
167. Night Skate 11/27/2015
168. His Garden Children 11/19/2015
169. The River's End 11/10/2015
170. The Exotic Maiden 11/11/2015
171. White Flag 11/14/2015
172. Tiny Thought 10/20/2015
173. John Lennon 10/7/2015
174. Smelling Salts 11/13/2015
175. Crab Shells And Kipling 11/10/2015
176. The Spirit Of Paris 11/17/2015
177. No Demon's Magic 1/7/2016
178. A Solitary Flame 3/7/2016
179. Abandoned Towers 2/14/2016
180. Toadstool Universe 1/10/2016
181. Home Again 1/26/2016
182. Poem~~~enough 3/19/2016
183. Lost In The Moss 8/21/2017
184. Green Eyes 8/6/2016
185. Mine Alone 3/3/2017
186. A Poem For My Mother 6/11/2017
187. Ninety Nine Percent 4/20/2017
188. The Long Drive 11/10/2015
189. Message In A Bottle 11/22/2015
190. From Molecules To Mozart 1/9/2016
191. Slithering Disease 4/8/2017
192. That's Life 3/29/2017
193. Spark Flint For Fire 8/7/2016
194. Before The Ferris Wheel Crashes. 8/10/2016
195. To The Woman 1/7/2017
196. Poemhunters And Poemgivers 7/8/2017
197. Dig In 8/26/2017
198. Beneath The Spires 2/17/2017
199. Before The Zinnias 8/14/2016
200. Home Sweet Home 4/2/2017
Best Poem of Edmund V. Strolis

Edgar Allan Poe

They all wash over me with pitying eyes, they think that I don't see.
Yet they are only crude jagged faces on the canvas of my dreams.
Empty their wishes float, as they seem to pray my safe return.
How can they know the fever that within this prison burns.

For what is this sinister slow waltz to hell without my sweet Lenore?
My wish which any fool can guess, I must be with her once more.
How my heels find their way to that vacant tomb beyond the bedroom door.
Now I curse the promise of that desperate hour! not to join my love Lenore.

Hooves over ...

Read the full of Edgar Allan Poe

The Prize

Flip the pillow to the cool side, kick the blanket from the bed.

Why sleep to chase a dream, he chose to hold his prize instead.


There within his grass stained grasp, he turned the treasure in his hand.

With dirty nails and scuffed scraped skin, his tangled hair and summer tan.

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