Thank you to The World of Myth Magazine 

for publishing my poem.

 

 Thank you to Strider Marcus Jones for publishing my five poems in Lothlorien Poetry Journal

https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2022/07/five-poems-by-linda-imbler.html

We Are

Anxious, fearful, defeated,

we wish not for an overabundance of anguish,

nor an excessive stench of misery.

Some prefer the occasional mood of shadows, 

desire the episodic morbid fears of a lone man,

with lips trapped by no defense 

until the silent come forth.

We hold eloquent reverence for truth,

orderly, dignified, impressive,

but we are imperfect in candor.

We are perfect when we weep.

--------------------------------------------

Learning To Breathe Courageously

Troubles,

waking,

breathing all that’s clear

helps some.

Be careful 

around falling pillars.

Let phantoms remain silent.

May your temples’ walls,

stand unbruised,

as you choose to empty

that land of ruins.

And plant burnished bronzes

among the orchids,

that bees will seduce,

and let all mirrors reflect their own truths.

------------------------------------

Future Numbed

Past midnight’s second, 

a flash of relentless fever,

a broken pill and promise.

A transformed life’s design,

once with a vehement bent-now ineffable,

now grown small,

monotonous.

Gold and silver heartstrings stilled.

This morning, 

a blank horoscope.

-----------------------------------------------------

Fallen

All cooperative confederations tuned to collusion.

The throne’s succession,

waxed and waned power.

The power to cement a legacy,

fading out.

Nothing here now rooted in victory.

Nothing to now invigorate the spirit.

A masterful design torn.

Fading in,

only a certain resemblance

to what scars the land.

A once functioning temple shattered,

fallen like the tower of Mordor.

Complicity secreted behind the veil of the scepter,

now held by dispensable hands.

---------------------------------------------

In The Midnight Of Time

Freezing steel,

feel its depth,

standing upon

a shaky world

that senses less each year.

Gravediggers dig shallower,

and owls hoot more quietly,

and gazelles run slower.

The moon shines more dully,

although with still noticeable grace.

Death is used as a cover,

to excuse our lack of forgiveness,

to make things less strange,

and let flesh rest,

to mend its own seams.

To let lips rest,

from telling stories,

or casting spells.

To allow eyes, 

to focus elsewhere,

to seek ancient lands

where freezing steel is unknown.

And a steadier world prevails.

SOME CHERITAS:

night falls

beginning of night

strange lives of

strange creatures

exude a bounty of

nightmares 

felt within

hopeful hearts

a fresh tune

heard by new souls

with a sense of hope

lies inside a treasure chest

of unity

also born

living waters

celebrate the sea

the ocean’s blue blood

flowing

rhythmically rocking

amid gentle darkness

where the sun sleeps

HAIKU: VOLCANOES

the flare of lava

the great lift of molten grief

scorch tears of fire

ice and mud released

at Jupiter’s own hotspots

other worlds venting

the gods are angry

fuming, spewing fiery words

best we stay elsewhere

noisy kitchen aides

toss plates that rattle and smash

use gentler hands please

 

 

Thank you to Robin Barratt for 

publishing my poem in this volume!

THE DING IN THE PORCH RAIL

There were lots of dings that spring. The hail hit hard and frequently,
but the biggest ding, the deepest,
was the one my youngest brother made. Of the five of us,

he was the most brave, the most Devil-may-care, 

the most take it as it comes.
We spent so much time outside when summer came, 

we would melt like popsicles.

I remember so much:
the harmonic tumble of two brothers or even three,
wrestling each other across the lawn,
jumping for distance from the porch steps, our limbs akimbo. 

Yet somehow we landed in one piece.
The serene tombs of all the animals we buried,
from birds to butterflies.
A baby rabbit whom we could not save.
The arranged cadence of our marching,
playing army in the field,
as the only girl, I got to be the general!
Our sugared trance after candy bars and pop,
some we filched in order to miss Mom’s lecture on tooth decay.

But she knew anyway.

The youngest, his laggardness, how we’d wait for him,
but once he caught up, Watch out!
He put the deepest ding in the porch rail, and in my heart.
I sit here now on these very steps,
and remember our fun, and remember his face
before he stepped onto that plane -
to go to war.
I look at that ding,
and still,
I wait for him.

 

 

Thank you to Mad Swirl