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Poems By Poet Tommy Stroller  10/24/2014 10:21:42 AM
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  Best Poems From
  TOMMY STROLLER (30.6.48)
 
 

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  1.     

Winter Haiku

Haiku 1

Summer is so short

A white skirt left on the beach

Winter is so long



Haiku 2


The ice flowers on

the window pane. A flute plays

and the rising moon



Haiku 3


The seagull on its

perch pole above the water

Naked we slowly enter




Haiku 4


The small whales leap and

dive in the sound. The sauna

sweat on our bodies




Haiku 5


Long the shore the ice

cracks in the ferry`s wake. The

moon slides on darkness



Haiku 6


New Year - so many

rockets scream next day - old year΄s

rubbish fills the streets
 
Tommy Stroller
   
 

   
   
 

  2.     

I Had A Dreamman

I had a dreamman
From the other side of this screen
And he was hidden from me
Like screens can do
Under a blanket of words
But this man and I
Could travel anywhere
Touch worlds
Kiss in cyberspace
Rocket into regions
Never explored
By bed-ridden lovers

We were
Virtual lovers
Of infinite space
Vampire suckers
Of wire-lessed blood
Hopeless cases
On the airline
of long distance love

PostScript:
Waiting in the Hall
Of Non-Arrivals
For Love to finally come
Taking him home
To the Museum of Surprises
Hoping this time
He`ll be the one
 
Tommy Stroller
   
 

   
   
 

  3.     

Little Farms

We are like strangers living here

As if from distant planets flung

Falling separately to little farms

Where contact tentatively

Is made

Eventually

Cross fields & border hedges

The outstretched arms

Reach blindly for the tips

Of fingers searching back
 
Tommy Stroller
   
 

   
   
 

  4.     

On the Road to the Dove of Peace

Night falls
through study window.
Thunder ball hits glass
inches from my face,
my eyes
looking at another poem
on workdesk
under window shelf;
sounds like a low cannon
right by my ear.

At first
I see nothing,
just twilight,
then the first impression
slowly appears
on the picture window:
outline of a dove of peace,
rising,
lines of feathers
perfect,
V of wings
gently curved,
tail outspread.

I rush outside
to find a fallen bird
shaking
in its death throes
but still clinging
onto life,
on its back, claws circling,
in the gutter of the garage.
An eye
watches me.
I cannot watch,
circle the house,
once,
come back
and find stillness
in such a little corpse,
the eyes turned in
behind their almost closed
hoods,
just leaving
a thin black line
of goneness.

What to do.
Do something.

Nothing can make up
for this bird's madness,
flying into a dark window,
no lights in room,
no other window of escape:
what was he doing?

I search inside,
find an old shoe box,
pink red silk
torn from an old dress,
a shell from my shelf,
death`s spiral motion,
flower petals
from a dying orchid.
Place the bird
inside,
still on its back,
head to one side,
two feathers
from its tail
crossed on the silk
wrapped round the body,
and the fading petals
above them
like an old record cover.

Leave it open
under apple tree,
for all to see.
Not all,
just one
female dove
lands in witch willow tree
on corner wall of house,
looks down at me
with tilted head
in curiosity,
and two live eyes
not six feet above
my still standing form.

I am crazy now:
I talk to her out loud,
tell her the story
of what happened,
but not why,
how her lover
for life
had foolishly impinged
on mine,
and where he now was
around the corner.
I think she understands.
She moves to a branch
to better see the makeshift coffin.
I tell her what I shall do,
then off she flies
to woods over the valley.

I cannot do this alone.

I call my neighbour,
such a small mother,
putting her child to bed.
She comes when he is quiet.
I show her the bird's impression
on my window,
then the box with bird:
I think she understands.

I take some incense
from a desert land,
myrrh I think,
light it by the small grave
dug in the flower bed,
by tiny christmas pine.
I place the box
still open
in the earth hole,
say a short prayer,
some nonsense
I make up
about joining
his spirit
to a dove heaven,
to which my neighbour
mutters amen.

I place the top
on shoe box,
cover it with earth
to make a perfect pyramid,
place a red rose
at its head
from the trailing branches
growing to the roof
of our house.

I do not understand
the meaning of this yet.
I know one day I will.

I'll know it's time to die
when its meaning
stops changing.

The other dove,
she circles still.
Find another mate, I told her.

I hope she will.
 
Tommy Stroller
   
 
 

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Poems By Poet Tommy Stroller