Thank you to Duane Vorhees for publishing this poem 
on Duane's PoeTree.

https://duanespoetree.blogspot.com/search/label/Linda%20Imbler

Burying My Cat

The storm raged and left,

so the forest ground is soft.

I imagine all the bones

to be found in five year’s time.

But, I always knew

he did not want to be dead,

and as his meows

echo through the air,

I am called to follow

him to our mutual end.

Thank you to Duane Vorhees for publishing this poem

on Duane's PoeTree.

https://duanespoetree.blogspot.com/search/label/Linda%20Imbler

Jewels

When Spring is in

the air, but not quite arrived,

when the King’s Cake is naught but crumbs,

after Endymion and Rex

have strutted their stuff,

we will endure

the fuzziest examinations of ourselves,

the day after we have hoarded

all those bejeweled singing strings

and rolling doubloons, but

in the meantime,

let the good times roll!!

Thank you to Duane Vorhees for publishing this poem 

on Duane's PoeTree.

https://duanespoetree.blogspot.com/search/label/Linda%20Imbler

That Smell Of Weakness

You considered yourself a complex sort;

 lover (boring), fighter (foolish) , philosopher (banal)

You entered every room with a peacock’s preen.

Your eyes as sharp as a lance,

calculating rough estimates of who to exploit.

Your voice of silk with an undertone of harsh grinding,

piercing all others’ musings.

You felt so assured of a no fuss future,

thought yourself immune to the bite of the rope’s burn,

invisible to the repercussions 

of that handy spite you so freely flung,

as you rode your 5 stars within those rooms,

but those stars were hitched to a wagon with bent wheels.

You never rethought your plans,

had left your conscience with your childhood toys.

Did no one ever teach you all things in moderation

or did you just refuse to learn?

All who were there acknowledged that smell of weakness 

that was at your very essence,

the aroma of your corrupted thoughts

because you believed you could do it completely alone.

And the honesty of it all

is that none of us would have ever care to join you.

Thank you to Sand Pilarski of Piker Press for publishing my poem today.



http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=7694








Cinema

She figured it out finally.
It took a while --
why she never moved forward.
Then, she saw that movie.
Her life flashed in front of her eyes,
and the realization slowly dawned.
This is what I've been dealt.
This is what I must escape.
From the first time he struck
to the first lie,
literally,
the entire scenario of their relationship
playing out on the big screen.

He did not appear to see it,
as he sat beside her.
He did not flinch.
She watched him from the corner of her eye,
or perhaps he did see it,
and was glad to be documented.

So she sat and contemplated her own scenarios
of how this movie would play out by the end:
The antagonist would surely be crushed by a bus,
would fall down an elevator shaft,
would fatally choke on a sandwich
from the bistro down the street where he worked.

But the ending was not satisfying, was anticlimactic.
There was no denouement
(After all, it was French.)
She trailed behind him dejectedly to the parking lot.
(Where is that bus?)
He blipped the lock open,
she got in the car, put on her seat belt,
stared straight ahead, 
Already that movie replaying itself over and over
in her head,
as it would in real life. 

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing this fun write!


http://www.arielchart.com/2020/01/please-dont-disorder-my-order.html

 

Please Don’t Disorder My Order




Don’t tell me I’m great,

            let me enjoy the pleasure of insanity,

of thinking I am a regular person.

            Let me be steeped in the craziness

that my daily activities are ordinary,

            that my thinking is commonplace.


I so enjoy this delusion

            of the average me,

with unexceptional lucidity

            and a soundness of mind.


Allow me my illusion,

            that I’m able to exhibit typicality,

normalcy, and good judgement.


Permit my delirium,

            lest the ennui

of the standard

            ruin me.

Thank you to Glory Sasikala of GloMag for publishing 'Dread" in the December issue.

https://view.joomag.com/glomag-glomagdecember2019/0321156001577443685?short

Thank you to Jay Faulkner of With Painted Words for publishing my poem.


https://www.withpaintedwords.com/view_submission.php?news_id=1393

The Hunter of Words

I was never a predator

until I discovered the prey of books.

Like the last call at the bar,

I tell myself I must finish

the current chapter

before closing the cover’s door.

My reader’s attitude never grows jaded.

Every re-read of Pinter’s Betrayal

is more bitter than before.

Each revisit to Narnia,

a fresh slice of Heaven’s sweet pastry.

For too soon the pulse of life is stilled,

And while, many say that at worst,

death is a nothingness.

I disagree.

At worst, it’s a place without books.