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Poet of the Month: Linda Imbler
What’s Not To Believe?
In time
Man will find his wings
In time
Woman will exorcise the moon from her womb
In time
The child will smooth the rough edges of the psyche
In the nick of time
A hero will shift the world
Back onto its feet again
Before it
Stumbling
Shatters its bones.
Creating "What's Not To Believe":
Faith. It's a powerful thing.
Creating "What's Not To Believe":
Faith. It's a powerful thing.
The Heart Shoppe
I walk and examine all the shelves of the Heart Shoppe, and peer into all containers and crates.
I hear owners discussing needs of young men, sadly weakened by the poverty of loneliness after
love fails.
The proprietors know what to stock, what dear things to show upon these shelves; staunch friends, truth in speech, peace, children’s laughter.
I’ve seen ladies bankrupt in chasms of sorrow, anguished women whose bodies betrayed them while birthing.
I’ve viewed hopeful eyes, scanning within, of those whose choice went wrong, sighting that second chance, only to be found cash poor.
Cures are sought here for envy, suicide, racism, all at a cost few here can pay.
I’ve seen souls wage horrific war, seen commanders decide which side shall lose the least, they now search for atonement here.
I postpone my own heart’s desires, use my full purse to make true the dreams of those betrayed: the ill, the brokenhearted, and old ones; all those, shopping for cures for grief or adversity.
I fill carts, buy them hope, their redemption, my peace.
Afterthoughts for "The Heart Shoppe:"
If each man or woman could understand that every other human life is as full of sorrows, or joys, or base temptations, of heartaches and of remorse as his own . . . how much kinder, how much gentler he would be.
Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.
Dalai Lama
But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?
Mark Twain
Strum
Speak to us
At vibrantly hued close of day,
Tremoloed soft notes filter through clear air
Ending with a fade.
Speak to us
By means of the young,
Where a thrum of vibrating hearts are the warmest,
And compassion for those smaller and weaker
Is so freely expressed.
Speak to us
As we hear waves lapping the shore,
The crush of rock created by time,
Crescendoes echoing the heights
To which man’s soul can soar.
Speak to us by using photographic portraits,
Faces laden with all manner of emotion,
A totality of feelings captured,
Everything reflected in the shutterbug’s lens
No visage invisible or unattainable.
Speak through us,
Goodness, greatness
Lightening of hearts
Yours, theirs.
Let us be reminded
That soft notes still beckon,
Warmth towards others still stirs the heart,
Our time is so limited,
Every face holds a story of a life lived
Whether short or long.
Our history heard in the strum
Of the cosmic musician’s performance.
The omniscient hum is there
For us to discover.
Afterthoughts for "Strum:"
In string theory, all particles are vibrations on a tiny rubber band; physics is the harmonies on the string; chemistry is the melodies we play on vibrating strings; the universe is a symphony of strings, and the 'Mind of God' is cosmic music resonating in 11-dimensional hyperspace.
Not enough people in this world, I think, carry a cosmic perspective with them. It could be life-changing.
The music is not in the notes, but in the silence in between.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Lightning
Lightning on earth, seen from space,
Transmitting messages as Morse code,
To express to them out there
What we are doing, what seeds we’ve sown.
Satellite machines and brave man in sleek airtight suits
Have seen these flashing missives leave Earth,
Flow into ether and be processed by other eyes
We’ve yet to meet as they gauge our worth.
What is being told and being imaged is unclear,
What we think, what we do, how we feel,
Are these postings representing us as we would wish
Or perhaps we could be more genteel?
Afterthoughts for "Lightning":
The myths underlying our culture and underlying our common sense have not taught us to feel identical with the universe, but only parts of it, only in it, only confronting it - aliens.
I believe alien life is quite common in the universe, although intelligent life is less so. Some say it has yet to appear on planet Earth.
Heaven’s Last Wish
Celestial space, within its infinite realm,
the prayers so distinct, constant, not weakened nor turned aside,
the wish for clean links, for reconnection.
This satisfied, long sought gift one day will come,
heartache diminished, then once and for all wounds healed.
You went to your grave, your song not yet done;
Grim future partings, no longer hold us bound.
We, no longer hostage, the universe has listened.
We can tell each other words learned, from the sky song
or we’ll sing to each other our own lyrics.
Love once deferred, once stayed, by death’s divide,
replaced, renewed, reflected.
We meet as once agreed, a promise made while living,
having wished true, and for time lost, be forgiving.
Afterthoughts for "Heaven's Last Wish":
On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it.
Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.
Son, brother, father, lover, friend. There is room in the heart for all the affections, as there is room in heaven for all the stars.
I love all your work. These are wonderful Linda.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Christine!
ReplyDelete