Thank you to Stephanie K. Bardy, David K. Montoya, and Jeff R, Young for publishing my magic 9 poem today in The World Of Myth Magazine.

https://jayzohub.com/darkmythproductions/theworldofmyth/97/poems/the_seven_sleepers.html?fbclid=IwAR3nTyAPTwWD0hM8dUuQsR3c6PdcrzxcBC3JIwFCEyO3BI5cP85PYpIXHCM

The Seven Sleepers 

The seven sleepers hid within caves 
to escape religious persecution. 
A young septet laid in quiet graves, 
heed this history, born in Syria. 
Set deep in the grotto to be saved, 
they emerged three hundred years later. 
Those pubescent well-planned panicked knaves, 
they had found the ultimate solution, 
although it was a very close shave.

                             Tower of Bones

A parade seen

from the perspective

above the clavicles of a king among men;

or lengthy fields of bluebonnets,

or guitarists on stage.

He counted train cars aloud to me as they passed.

Now as I stand at ground level

and watch his funeral procession go by,

I long to once more

climb that tower of bones,

to view the majesty

of this life's moment

while perched atop my father’s shoulders.

© Imbler, 2018

Modified Deity While The Seconds Tick Away

A bronzed and ageless god

of vague living years 

stumbles down dusty streets, He

has downed the old medicine

like candy to prove history

and destiny are neither twins,

nor that his

past is frozen. His reinvention

of his persona

and identity

having been transformed 

night after night

gives me a touch of

foreboding.

Such a shame both

he and time are such

changelings

and mountebanks.

© Imbler, 2019

 My mother has died

Pen cries tears across the page

She'll be immortal.

©Imbler, 2021

Buried Treasure

Donating those precious gems

and capturing bodily mementos,

otherwise brought to an end,

will be treasure I will gladly share.

Why should my heart be still?    

Why should my eyes no longer see?

Much of me will be absent,

while sad murmuring music

is played in requiem,

for what is considered the due solemnity of the occasion.

Meanwhile, someone will be able to continue

much of my physical history,

and the wonder of my design will not be wasted.

So, do not bury me with such great riches.

Just as ancestors bequeath that of most value,

so will I pass on my fortunes,

and know I have improved another’s life.

© Imbler, 2017

The Berlin Wall 

Guarded concrete ideology,

a physical Iron Curtain.

Not meant as a careless exhibit,

only a once-upon-a-time demarcation.

An unreliable window,

with bias reveal,

showing cold trust,

in an era of the inflexible issuing

of forbidden encounters.

Patrolled along road rail

or checkpoint Charlie,

at nine border crossings

by desperate duty guards.

Later, protests of the unacceptable division,

and a historical speech,

then a bill,

created the first pleasing gap.

The assured happening of destruction

created new binding friends,

and a once unlikely family was born

in this clipped decade.

One side filled with art,

One side bare,

Two sides of one coin kept apart,

Finally, a scene most fair.

©Imbler, 2019

 Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my poem in the June issue.

https://www.arielchart.com/2021/05/perfect-balance.html

Perfect Balance

Ariel StaffJune 03, 2021

 

Perfect Balance

 

The scent of heaven laid in proportion to the mystic

visual attraction of our

souls’ connections in the echo time.

A hero’s promise, exact and

superlative, flawless ideals.

The equality of the counterweights’

harmonious match in order to have

complete and absolute perfect balance.

Thank you so much to Albanian Editor Agron Shele for publishing my poem today in Atunis Galaxy.

Fusions Grouped and Regrouped / Poem by Linda Imbler

POSTED ON JUNE 2, 2021 BY AGRONSH

Fusions Grouped and Regrouped

 

Are evil or goodness exclusively

creations and purviews of mankind?

Are we only alchemical combinations, 

that upon death,

seep back into the earth to be remixed?

A new blend?

Perhaps certain blends

do not mix well, and create evil,

while others are reaggregated to become

towers of goodness. Does this explain sin?

So, is a soul only

a theoretical possibility?

I’m afraid we still lack 

that one chemical nutrient 

that would give us the answer.

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing 

my poem in the June issue.

https://www.arielchart.com/2021/06/back-on-polychromatic-drip-dry-flying.html

Back On The Polychromatic Drip-Dry Flying Carpet

 

So quickly, the roots of a legacy stalled.

 

I considered it highly unlikely

that my deepest soul song

could anytime soon again be translated.

 

But, a friend told me

to listen to my instincts,

and that I would eventually acquire

that special moment when the veil lifts,

and gradually all shades of color

would come back into the light.

 

He said I would relearn

how to succumb to the temptation of being offered many chances

of feeling what once felt so inaccessible.

That I would be able to shake off my reservations,

and be able to offer a bold new voice to match the old.

 

Back then, the painful sea of love was just too deep.

Now, no longer drowning, 

I do remain wet, (for the time being,)

but my weeks of having no plans,

and a questionable future have passed,

and with so little to lose and so much to gain,

I’m again able to express those thoughts so difficult to say aloud,

and therein lies the magic.

 Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi for publishing this poem in the June issue of Ariel Chart.

https://www.arielchart.com/2021/06/living-and-loving-within-nature.html

Living and Loving Within Nature

Ariel StaffJune 01, 2021

 

Living and Loving Within Nature

 

We could live in the woods

among wildflowers, blue birds, and deer.

Hunting for those rare trees bearing whorled leaves

while still admiring the beauty of sycamores.

We pass violets encased in purple robes.

We munch of filberts and cashews.

We wash those down with oat straw tea,

follow the parade of trees clad with lichen,

love with whole hearts,

and not only by fractions.