A big thank you to Strider Marcus Jones for publishing 5 of my poems in the Lothlorien Poetry Journal. 

https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2024/03/five-poems-by-linda-imbler.html

Fast-Forward 50 Years

 

High-heeled beauties

laid down the law

with a painted mouth’s command.

Brazilian rosewood shaped the guitar,

its frets freshly set or filed.

 

Fairy dreams within the beautiful presence

of black lace and boas mixed

with floppy or boater hats.

 

Fast-forward 50 years,

heads lacking hats,

a sadder slack,

too many faces lost

by the absence of the holy man.

Guitar strings worn

and all dreams spent.

 

Ashes, ashes,

we’re all falling down.

 

Things Restored

 

Things must be restored

without treasonous enchantment,

without frightening detachment,

without faith falling down from the rocks,

faith called sincere but mistaken,

bound by a single oath,

measured by a kiss.

As magnets attract iron,

upon the face of heaven

find a place to pass the night,

go forward from that site,

using any healing arts.

Now let’s go

and dwell in high towers,

make no replay.

Long before the sun rises

take the dearest person you know by the hand,

with a growing sentiment discoverable by reason.

Let’s go.

 

Long Lost Clouds

 

Distant Eden affected,

forecasting sin original,

aloof message detected,

woefully inadequate.

 

For creations long admired,

an absorbing interest,

a hasty grave is required.

 

A varied collection

of forgotten thoughts have perished,

Favourably received, 

marvellous deeds cherished.

 

No more passing of years.

No more serious conflict.

No more cycles of doubt.

No more intimidation through brawn.

No more climatic events.

 

No more being on equal terms.

No more lacking prestige.

No more cravenly weak style.

No more planned compromise.

 

A heavy downpour 

of a vintage remedy,

blended and spilled.

 

A temporary expansion

of the discoverable,

from the sky,

returned to the land.

 

Tired Farewell

 

Unreliable heroes and enfeebled giants,

bad-blooded sons of kings,

wintergreen scented rogues and bareheaded fools,

a continuous procession of

vagabonds in pursuit of time,

which has left them in

deferential sobriety.

 

An overwhelming anomaly

to occur in so short a time.

 

There’s more than a truce with the booze.

Alcohol perfumed fervour has cooled.

 

Wild gestures

from high-strung Bohemians

have been toned down.

 

Giving signals of spiritual deliverance.

Preaching the gospel of a new, drier religion.

 

 

Ivy Twined

 

Interludes of peace amid snatches of war,

time devoted to proper unity, 

merchant ships shattered in great battles lost,

ballads written of epic grand moments.

 

Great truths turned like a Rubik’s cube,

perceive missing pieces,

a scoff, a jeer, ridden by fears,

a more deadly blow, sinking low.

 

Silent stanzas lay beside choruses of detonation.

 

Aired loyalties do little more than boast,

all good deeds being about stunning effects,

a perfect form seeds the foundation of the world,

joyous living grows the wonder of life.

 

Silent stanzas lay beside choruses of  detonation.

 

Lines sharply drawn fade in the zest of vision,

the year ticks off the close of adversity’s fight, 

a brilliant swell of humility in life,

comes to the place where unsettled auras rest.

 

Silent stanzas lay beside choruses of  detonation.