New Fire

A big thank you to editor Kathy Kieth for publishing my five poems in today's medusa's kitchen.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 18, 2025

New Fire

  —Poetry by Linda Imbler, Wichita, KS
—Public Domain Photos

 

 

THE LOUD ABSENCE OF ALL GOOD THINGS

I heard it in the silence in the air.
Such a revelation to learn what was too severe,
such a revelation to know what was the cost.

Such sadness
to find weak-natured orchestras
with no moral compass
and all notes misplayed.

Hatred of great consequence gained
while divining for the pure and unsullied.
Those unearthed sulphur pools of false words,
the strong poison of spoken bad choices 
and wrongful judgements.
Think of the loss.

We might recover if we can locate
that first tick,
the slightest sound blip, 
echoing the spectacular greatness of good human 
    character.

 

 

 

 

WHAT LAMPLIGHT RAYS DRAW

In the safety of evening,
there’s never real darkness.
There’s always a new fire lit,
flames that still burn.

We, in its illumination,
reading all the signs we can find,
corner placards that tell us things will be okay,
or strange and true messages
announced on painted bricks.
They tell us of dreams.

There are no martyrs here,
just people with laughing mouths
who can’t wait for morning to be here,
each person with a new-found gift, 
coming from a better place
somewhere deep inside,
to be used for making a better tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

THE BIG F

When I was as clueless as a skull with sunken eyes,
my best friend stood by me only as the allegiant do.
Slinging pancakes on Sunday mornings
in her broad house.
It was so long ago,
I can hardly remember the place,
but I remember two distinct feelings:
my sadness surrounding the heartache of
her temporary backstabbing
that I referred to as
the transient traitorous tribulations,
and the euphoria of us 
otherwise setting a course for the future
while viewing high stars.

After everywhere I’ve roamed since then,
after the passing of so many years,
I keep remembering whose side she was on then, 
and her gentle words 
once sung just for me.

 

 

 

 

SUSCEPTIBLE TO MAGICAL THINKING

A curious aspect of magical thinking
is the strength of all those once upon a times.
In this immense universe, what’s the use of dreams
when one disbelieves what we are here for?

It’s not only possible,
but absolutely essential, 
that we embrace a place where everyone has fun.

Which direction will you move?
Will you take a chance within the madness of 
    midstream,
or hide within the jungle of all your fears?

There’s little question we release the most doleful 
    noise
when thinking the world could end tomorrow,
but, no matter.
This has been repeated too many times.

As for me, as luck would have it,
I’m in Wichita and
on the other side of the world
it’s already tomorrow!    

 

 

 

 

CONSTRICTION

I do not wish  
to narrow my world 
until I am forced to.

Life can be epic and adventurous.
I’m only a sample size of one
so there’s much I don’t know at first glance,
being remote from so many experiences.
To overcome the cramped confines 
of my own perspective
I’ll endeavor to broaden my interests,
learning music, geography, math.
I’ll explore new dimensions,
made larger by stitching
the cloths of life together,
subtly blending textures, colors and durability.

Inside the complex form of life’s theater, 
under the great roof of the world,
I’ll choose the stage where happy people perform, 
and my world will grow. 

_______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

The world is entirely magical, the only illusion is that it isn't...

―Lydia Andal

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

Photo Courtesy of Piker Press

Whistle and Clack

I love the sound of trains.

I imagine they carry away
all my sorrows;
the betrayals, lies, slights.

I imagine with every blow of the whistle
they pull out with my shadows.

I imagine as I hear the clackety-clack,
I gain strength and courage
to face today and new days to come.

Or, better yet,
I imagine they might carry me away,
because if I stay here,
history might repeat itself.

Either way,
I insist that I must think well
of those I used to know.

 

Thank you to Editor Glory Sasikala for publishing my poem in the May issue of GloMag.

Dogs and Angels

Their power comes from their unlimited honor,

a long steady stream of loyalty,

a wave of healing with each encounter,

helping fix what you thought you despaired of mending.

Find goodness above the worries of the world.

Let the petting and prayers come,

frequenting the best places on laps and hearts,

helping you on your way to 

wherever you are going to that is beneficial to you.

Dogs and angels,

staying so close beside you, 

forming a shield within where nothing is wrong,

and the bad cannot penetrate.

You cannot buy forgiveness,

but if you are looking for mercy without cost,

either dogs or angels will offer it.

After all, 

they’re the same beings, aren’t they?

 

To my faithful readers: That Fifth Element is now available in paperback at Amazon!

$4.75.

 Thank you to Editor Kathy Kieth of Medusa's Kitchen for publishing 5 of my poems today.

Beatles’ Orbs

The Fab Four’s eyes,

We know them well.

If, that is, you can sing all their songs.

Ringo                  light blue eyes

sparkle with a smile not downhearted

Droopy yet round

                                    Sparkling cheerful

No misery behind those drums

       No low spirit in any reflection

Brownish green eyes

hazel-eyed Paul

Puppy dog eyes

                 A clear case of adorable round eyes

Hey bulldog!

Both over the rainbow where no more tears are shed

from any eye:

Tender expressioned George

Dark brown sad eyes

Yet full of kindness and warmth

Devotion to laconic charisma

shy eyes

John’s light brown dancing eyes

  A droop as the hooded eyes of the Irish

Carefree

a sensation of triumph reflected back

This acoustical dynasty,

frozen expressions in photos versus inquisitive faces on film and in real life

Can you close your own eyes and picture theirs?

Church On The Corner At Sunset

There’s something charming in the sound of hymns

that hold out a promise that you may

change the course of your road.

Those suffering from personal discontent

will accept any promise of salvation

if given with extraordinary grace.

What new revelation is this

that the wealth of the world

can be contained within a body,

that old wine in a new bottle,

with a twist in the flavor,

from a place where grapes grow differently,

births a covenant with death,

becomes a time of hope

where fear and jealousy 

are taken out of the human equation.

This is the heart’s safety valve.

If Not Now, When?

How many horns must blow?

Towers built?

Sails unfurled?

How bright must stars shine?

Upon what shores

do we recite our speeches,

with shining edges of

beautiful quarrels passed through time,

holding forever in our minds that

it’s better to fail than to never try.

Laughter on the Other Side of the Door

Sometimes where we stand,

we must contend with great horrors and dismay.

We pass many doors because they appear too formidable.

They loom with more than a hint of the massive.

We dismiss them 

when they seems too heavy, too solid to move,

when they seem to be an impediment 

to any future happiness.

But, once we decide to press on,

we can feel an astonishing wave of strength,

we can be the key movers,

and after feeling a small or big shift

of the tumbler,

be more than ready to turn the knob

and experience the levity and relief on the other side.

Listening To Bach

Sounds he developed,

and with sound, made art.

Heard as love, heard as pain,

heard as hope, chords contained.

Music notes, as sculpture,

shaped with sharps and flats.