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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.