Fictions
The skill of the scribe,
homage to candour done,
claims truth,
wonders to be entertained,
stylistic, conversational
words recited.
Masses wanting to be convinced
about the lore
of inveterate storytellers.
They Were Once Called Trees
They cleared away the trees,
some seemingly ageless
with a grand number of concentric circles,
discrete segments lying within
wooden spools with unfolded boughs
where birds roosted and sang.
They believed the branches were overextended
on elms or oaks,
those places where lanterns hung,
where children climbed and sat while pirates and scouts.
They screamed timbered accusations,
tumbling the rough textures
along mountain ridges bearing
such advanced woodland
suddenly overtaken
by a march of bark less gradual.
In the space of a century,
they created an impact not to be mistaken
through an effortful conquest
on a grandiose scale,
the journey of extermination completed at a dizzying pace
as if the trees had all failed to help with humanity’s survival.
Because of the determination to annihilate
things they once wished to be devoid of a name,
they suffered the phenomenon
of the shocking destruction of all.
They were once called Mankind.
After The Smoke
Rise from the ceremonial circle.
Rise and follow the scent
of sage across the land.
Bees will give you sustenance,
and the clouds will tell you their tales.
You will smell the histories of the cacti.
Wild men will pass you by,
and pay you no mind.
Gelatinous creatures
sharpen their nails upon the sands,
and uncover for you spring water.
The noble wolves
will regale you with their haunting songs.
The bustle of lizards,
ominously cuddling the rocks and stones
as they monitor your stride.
When walked through with faith,
the great open spaces
will offer an enduring leniency,
where all lovely things
are right within your reach.
Wayward Light
A small glory enveloped
within a bright turn of stars,
exultation that illuminates the gospels.
Thoughtful tales which were known to the stoics,
echo within a passage,
and become fixed in memory.
A distant shower sends beauty,
falls with elegance and ease,
heaven’s ascent, a watershed.
Rivers can now flow,
and the oceans of the west
renew our familiarity with holy water.
How beautifully goodwill can cover the land,
employing music to heal,
to carry a voice gentle with solemn cadence.
The transcendental impact of the lyrical,
for all who survive,
for all who would conquer the world.
Simple Magick
The burial of the dead,
bodies laid
at the borders of purity,
offered into the earth
with gentle hands.
Just the names written in dust.
Just the names give power to memories.
Magick that trembles
starts the regeneration of the world,
improves the condition of the blessed.
In common daylight,
the simple magick of salvation
stands guard against
the deceit and trickery of sin.
Linda Imbler is an internationally published poet, an avid reader, classical guitar player, and a practitioner of both Yoga and Tai Chi. In, addition, she helps her husband, a Luthier, build acoustic guitars. She lives in Wichita, Kansas, U.S.A. where she enjoys her 200-gallon saltwater reef tank wherein resides her 24 year old yellow tang. Linda’s poetry collections include nine published paperbacks: Big Questions, Little Sleep First Edition, Big Questions, Little Sleep Second Edition; Lost and Found; Red Is The Sunrise; Bus Lights; Travel Sight; Spica’s Frequency; Doubt and Truth; A Mad Dance; and Twelvemonth. Soma Publishing has published her four e-book collections, The Sea’s Secret Song; Pairings, a hybrid of short fiction and poetry; That Fifth Element; and Per Quindecim. Examples of Linda’s poetry and a listing of publications can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. Linda has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and six Best Of The Nets.
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