Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Thank you to Editors and Glenn Lyvers and April Zipser for publishing "Time" in Poetry Quarterly.


Thank you to Editor Agron Shele of Atunis for publishing my poem "Time."


Liquid Love

Her fireside
tears do not help warm her cold heart.
Wood turns to ash
as does their dead love.
So many years ago,
before the drink took hold,
all tears were honest,
as were her words.
They no longer drown in each other’s eyes.

She now only drowns in the glass.

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Thank you to Editor Joh Page for placing me second in the April Showers Poetry Contest.  I am thrilled to have work included in Academy of the Heart and Mind.


Truth Reflected Within Raindrops on A Showery Eve
By  Linda Imbler

What you were,
and what you are,
beheld through my raindrops of tears.
What I remember,
and what I see,
not the same reflection,
while viewed inside puddles on the street.
Just hollow fact:
strangers exact.

Monday, May 14, 2018

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing this poem and advertising my latest e-book!



Canary in the Coal Mine

Within the confines of their pairing

she discovered an evil man.

One without conscience,

one without heart

one without soul.

One who cared not for the innocence

of little children nor cuddly animals,

nor for warm sentiments of affection and memorials.

One who cared not for majestic nature nor glowing sunshine,

silvery moonlight nor glittering starlight,

only the stygian gloom and dark, dishonorable things.

Too late,

she should have sent a canary into the mine

before stepping inside.

Linda Imbler

This poem is part of an incredible poetry collection entitled “The Sea’s Secret Song 
(Consonance and Dissonance) Available on all major ebook formats. https://www.somapublishing.com/2018/03/the-seas-secret-song.html?m=1
Thank you so much to Editor Nathan Gunter of Vox Poetica for publishing "Obligato" today.


Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Thank you very much to Editor Nate Ragolia of Boned: A Collection of Skeletal Writings for publishing my two poems today.




CC0 Creative Commons


There’s an odd place in an alternate dimension,
where all wars are fought with skeletons.
These subjects of osteology lie dormant until conscription,
well preserved in the interim.
Adults only, minors never get to be
heroic revenants, noble bones.
Once wakened, they are fully conscious of their purpose,
realizing that the burden and horrors of war
have been put on their ossified cages only.
They, without souls, but not without honor,
the fleshed never harmed as these bony frames battle
with bow and arrow, sticks and stones, knife and spear.
All this,
for the same reasons inhabitants
destroy themselves on other worlds.


A parade seen
from the perspective
above the clavicles of a king among men;
or lengthy fields of bluebonnets,
or guitarists on stage.
He counted train cars aloud to me as they passed.
Now as I stand at ground level
and watch his funeral procession go by,
I long to once more
climb that tower of bones,
to view the majesty
of this life’s moment
while perched atop my father’s shoulders.
Thank you so much to Editor Sand Pilarski for publishing my multi-layered poem 'Tyrant Fallen' on The Piker Press poetry site.


Tyrant Fallen 

Night has fallen on this house,
all is still, hushed.
The Master has passed into the great beyond.
His reckoning awaits.
No wailing or gnashing of teeth,
no tears have fallen, nor will
for this lately departed head of house.
A collective sigh fills the air,
an exhalation of breath, blessed relief.

The tyrant has at last been vanquished.
This residence purged of what poisoned it,
those who lived in fear now free
and in the morning with the fresh dawn
will come new hope, untried resolve.
It will spring from deep in the well of human endeavor,
will spread wings to fly up, up,
higher, higher, out, beyond,
seeing new sights, hearing new sounds
thinking independently for the first time.