Tuesday, July 10, 2018



Last Train

The railroad tracks sound as the rattle of bones.
Do we dare clip-clop over those of our kin?
That stretch of track that only the ticketed may ride,
With yellow-lantern men at the sides,


Like Charon with his lamp
Leading us across the Rubicon,

Or a reflection of St. Michael’s sword.

There’s a station up ahead,
We’ll know in a minute.

Free Will

Somewhere beyond the moon,
demons gather,
translucent and beautiful

they are perjurious and frenzied adherents
to their hollow doctrine

their collective articles of faith
devoid of admirable quality

their sect, en masse, expecting piety
because they are splendid looking.

Such paralyzing glamour
versus our ungainly bodies

yet we possess the greater cosmic power,
that of our own spiritual liberty.


When I am old,
And called across the sea,
And beauty, peace, and ecstasy unfold,
Make no sad laments for me.

A quiet shore awaits,
Those long passed, I’ll meet again,
Within majestic open gate,
The happiest I'll ever be.

I'll walk the pathway,
Abounding sights,
Shoreline blue and silver gray,
Days and nights now finite.

And when you come
And call and look for me
Follow the silence to my sanctum
On the shore along the sea.


Climb the wall of eternity
with pitons formed from undone deeds,
a backpack filled with words in like manner unspoken,
and ropes still tied to human arms outstretched.

At the apex,
leave all behind
except that one memory,
which you are allowed to carry
throughout your transmigration.


Indian empress
In majestic palace.
Colossal pyramids and valley of kings.
Chinese emperor
Under protection of enormous, imperial army.
Abbeys and churches,
Splendid, kingly.
Czech ossuary,
Decorative bones create glorious ambiance.
Immense Irish mounds,
Green and grand.
Parisian and Italian catacombs,
Lambent flames of candles illuminating.
Monuments to presidents and monarchs
Visited by heads of state.
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
Represents otherwise forgotten victims of wars past and present.
City cemeteries,
Vaults and mausoleums dot the landscape.
Family graveyards,
Tombstones detail ancestral history.
Solitary, unmarked graves
On purpose or not.
Mass graves,
One of the spoils of war.

A small, dark grotto,
Once covered with a rolling rock,
Now empty.
Its former resident
Watches over them all
From his vantage point,
Watches over the living
And the still entombed.


LINDA IMBLER is the author of the published poetry collections “Big Questions, Little Sleep,”  “Lost and Found,” and “The Sea’s Secret Song.”  She is a Kansas-based Pushcart Prize Nominee. Her work has appeared in numerous national and international journals. Linda’s creative process and a listing of publications can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com.


  1. I see in your words a very gifted and yes, "Spiritual" Poet ! My favorite poem here was "Declaration". What a beautiful scene of what comes later, when you are called "home". Barbara Suen ~