Linda's Poetry Blog
THINGS I LOVE
THINGS I LOVE
Long walks, Yoga, Tai Chi, swimming, Geography, History, Mythology, impressive photography, the ocean and its creatures, my family and close friends, movies, driving on an open highway, vampires, dancing, poetry (reading/writing), cooking, laughter, positive people, waterfalls, Summer, Astronomy and stargazing, live music, Art (looking at/creating), Italian - Mexican - Mediterranean food, traveling, Architecture, scarves, incense, languages, museums, heroes, singing (I didn’t say I could), waxing philosophical, trees, beautiful flower gardens, oranges, animals, biking, Skechers, candles, Christmas, soft rain, the smell of freshly mown grass, building/playing classical guitars, crossword puzzles, champagne, fire-pits and campfires.
Wednesday, May 25, 2022
Thank you to Stephanie J. Bardy and David K. Montoya for publishing this poem in the May issue of The World of Myth Magazine.
https://jayzohub.com/darkmythproductions/theworldofmyth/107/poems/banshee.html
Banshee
By: Linda Imbler
Hail to the inexplicable bookkeeper,
who announces that there will be those departing.
She does not give us a boding landslide of names,
only trumpets the unvarying strident alarm,
ear-splitting in its seriousness.
Shrill soprano notes,
removing all silence from the air,
cracking open the sky.
A sound that falls as a superhuman cuff.
Her wise impudence may be felt as displeasing and frightful.
Even so,
we should express our gratitude for her talents,
to she who wears the unsubtle crown of foreshadow,
so that we wake each morning prepared to accept today's losses.
-
Sunday, May 22, 2022
Saturday, May 14, 2022
Is Dark Really Right?
In the stilly night, we reviewed our lives,
recalled our best treks through the deepest dells,
through steep wooded valleys called The Dingle.
Handed glad tidings to watchmen we passed,
smiling through dreams, strolling in the green mead,
through aged eyes, searched for high empyrean.
Wondered our fate as the ether darkened,
strove to espy all that made life favored,
tried to keep our thoughts from going afar.
Yet, the sun set with all celerity,
cold seeped into bones, turned corpses niveous.
We were warned such gelid fate would happen.
The best son of Wales gave us the caution,
do not go gently, we should have listened.
Tuesday, May 10, 2022
Thank you to Editor Mark Antony Rossi for publishing my short fiction today in Ariel Chart.
https://www.arielchart.com/2022/05/selective-visions.html
Selective Visions
A white picket fence, built-in front of a clipped, deep green lawn. A garden planted before a small veranda. Small is a limiting word, she means cozy. Cozy enough for two to cuddle within, and enjoy each other’s company. A perfect home, except for the too loud ticking of the grandfather clock and that thump the shutter makes. When it hits, it sounds like a car door closing.
Wasn’t it Henry David Thoreau who said to go confidently in the direction of your dream? She thinks she’s done that. She sees a parade of celebrations coming: a wedding, large family holiday gatherings, great festive events. The only thing to mar those events is the ever-increasingly loud tick of the clock, a more aggressively sounding strike of the shutter. It sounds like something strongly ominous in the distance.
She looks forward to the long romantic walks around the block hand in hand and arm in arm. All the neighbors smile and wave as the couple passes. She sees that everyone knows them to be good people, and a pair completely in love. The neighbors will say this amongst themselves in the most wistful of ways. That ticking is becoming deafening. And, that shutter, blown by the winds, sounding like a huge door slamming shut.
Sunday, May 8, 2022
A huge thank you to Editor Scott Thomas Outlar for publishing my three poems in the 2022 Edition of Setu Magazine.
https://www.setumag.com/2022/04/Western-Voices-2022-Linda-Imbler.html
My Mother’s Secret
I found my mother’s secret
tucked away in a
drawer beneath some bras,
after she had gone away,
inside five boxes
of feminine pads.
Pills of all descriptions
without prescriptions,
such a canny mind.
What I first thought as gross forethought,
in fact was brilliant,
the elegance of her secrecy.
All these years of mindful outlet
with numbness as the goal met.
She, closeting her pain,
keeping the pretense of
a younger woman's necessity
when in fact, no younger woman could harbor
so many years of ache.
If Only
As Tantalus pleaded,
All only ever out of reach,
So shall I,
For the alchemy of properly positioned syllables,
The perfect mathematical equation of sounds
Whispered out from a broken heart,
That allows me to have
That one last minute again
Before you take your last breath.
As Garbo bid,
From well lit corners of her stage,
So shall I
To get that perfect retake,
The best possible script written,
Delivered in most dramatic fashion
To re-create the final scene,
To assuage my grief
At the stunning irreversibility
Of your death.