Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Thank you so much to Editor Jessica Brant of Blognostics for publishing this poem.  Also, thank you to Michael Lee Johnson for making it the Poem of the Week on his various sites.  I am honored by you both!


The Egg Man (Photo from Blognostics)

 The Egg Man
The timing was just right
I thought.
A Sunday afternoon,
Sensuality reaching the boiling point.
A face exuding sweat
Soon discovered as tears.
I was his first,
since her,
and it felt to him
like betrayal.
I watched the Egg Man
crack and spill
over my sheets.
©Linda Imbler 2017

Sunday, September 24, 2017

A big thank you to Fear of Monkeys for publishing my short story 'Zoology.'


Linda Imbler
Julia called her friend Marianne early on a Tuesday morning. It was half-price day at the 
Zoo and Julia really wanted to get some walking exercise, but not by herself. Marianne 
balked for quite a while, but finally conceded to go once Julia told her that "that cute guy" 
Brian was probably going to be there at some point. 

Upon entering the zoo, Marianne took her phone from her purse and declared to Julia that
she absolutely must see, right now, what Kim was wearing today. So she missed the
peacock standing in front of her with his tail fanned, and she missed his shrill peacock cry.

Walking on another path, Marianne told Julia that there was a new game on her phone and
she must play it right now in order to be one of the first people to have that experience.
Therefore, she was oblivious to the baby chimps to her right who had just discovered the
game of tag.

Later that morning, they stopped for coffee at the little café within the perimeter of the Zoo.
From her chair, Julia had a good look around at all the pretty landscaping while Marianne
stayed on her phone catching up on emails.

Mid afternoon, Marianne proclaimed that her favorite artist had just dropped a new tune
and that she must hear it right now. So, while Marianne listened to the thumping beat,
people stood nearby mesmerized by a group of exotic birds singing. This was a rare and
beautiful event performed by these birds. Many of the people present, truly moved, had
visible tears on their faces as they realized the significance of what they were observing.

On their way out of the zoo, Marianne announced to Julia that she must, right now, watch
the latest video of a public marriage proposal that had taken place in a stadium. "It doesn't
get any more romantic than that," she sighed. And as she watched the small screen, she
neither saw nor heard "that cute guy" Brian waving and calling to her across the path.
Out the exit the two went.

On the way home, as Julia drove, Marianne cooed that she felt such a sense of accomplishment
about today as she simultaneously re-tweeted this: "Take time every day to peacefully appreciate
the beauty in the world around you."

Creating "Zoology"

Let me tell you about tis sometime when I can put my phone down.  😀

Afterthoughts for "Zoology"

The truth is, we're all cyborgs with cell phones and online identities. 

Geoff Johns

Cell phones, mobile e-mail, and all the other cool and slick gadgets can cause massive losses in our creative output and overall productivity. 

Robin S. Sharma

How absurd that our students tuck their cell phones, BlackBerrys, iPads, and iPods into their backpacks when they enter a classroom and pull out a tattered textbook. 

Eli Broad

Friday, September 22, 2017

So many thanks and much respect to Editor Monique Berry for publishing my poems "Calm" and "Heartstrings" in Issue 7 of Halcyon Days Magazine. Thank you to all who read and support my work.


Thursday, September 21, 2017

A big thank you to Editor Sandy Benitez of Poppy Road Review for publishing my poem "Wolves in Sheep's Clothing." Thank you to all who read and support my work!


September 21, 2017

Wolves in Sheep's Clothing by Linda Imbler

Folks wearing somber colored clothes
with somber faces,
To be elsewhere.
Unease curls around them like the mist rising from
Between the stones
Through which they navigate,
Cold, still, silent cairns, under which
Perhaps some other lonely, rejected outcasts now lie.
Those left howling
By others too busy
To hear the deep hurt endured with each passing friendless day.
Now they stand,
Dry eyed, dutiful,
They are here because
Even a pretentious display counts.
Appearing atop the nearby hill,
One lone Wolf,
He throws back his head and cries.
At once he stills,
Lowers his head,
With the grim lowering of what
Will not return.

Monday, September 18, 2017

Thank you, Glory Sasikala, the editor of GloMag for including my poem "Contagion" in the September issue of the magazine!  I am truly honored.

My Drawing:

Sunday, September 17, 2017


EOS: The Creative Context will be publishing this!


Creating "The Seven Sons of Zacariah"

What is the truest magic known to man?  That was the question and the answer is simple.

Extract from "The Seven Sons of Zacariah"

"The first son claimed he spoke to animals,
And that they answered back,"

Afterthoughts about "The Seven Sons of Zacariah"

I am a hidden meaning made to defy. The grasp of words, and walk away With free will and destiny. As living, revolutionary clay.

In everyone there sleeps. A sense of life lived according to love. To some it means the difference they could make. By loving others, but across most it sweeps. As all they might have done had they been loved. That nothing cures.

The person born with a talent they are meant to use will find their greatest happiness in using it.

I am pleased and honored that the esteemed poet, Williamsji Maveli of India, has translated my poem "Atop the Hill" into his native Malayalam.  Thank you, Williamsji.

Poetess Linda Imbler writes.....
Atop the Hill..
I see much from my place atop the hill
Harried mothers squawking
Old men numb with loneliness
Laced lovers convinced of privacy.
There are no windows here to close
No way to mute
All things are present to me
And I long for forgetfulness.
The sky alternately dark, then light
It makes no difference here
My eyes catch some movement
I spend all time the same way.
Seeing footprints in the snow
Seeing sweat dripping from hot bodies
Each season has its own true stamp
Watching them all rotate through the years.
Across generations
I observe similar human actions
Familiar, they seldom change their style
Going about their day’s business.
Perhaps someone will come relieve me
But as centuries pass, I realize
There is still no window, yet I hear and see
From atop the hill.
Linda Imbler
കവയത്രി ലിൻഡാ ഇംബ്ലർ എഴുതുന്നു .....
കുന്നിൻ മുകളിൽ
കുന്നിൻ മുകളിൽ എന്റെ സ്ഥാനത്തുനിന്ന് എനിക്ക് വലിയൊരു ഭാഗം കാണാം
തിരക്ക് പിടിച്ച അമ്മമാർ കുട്ടികളെ വഴക്കുപറയുന്ന്
ഏകാന്തതയാൽ വൃദ്ധരായ പുരുഷന്മാർ
സ്വകാര്യതയിൽ ബോധ്യപ്പെട്ട സ്നേഹിതർ
അടയ്ക്കുന്നതിന് ജാലകങ്ങൾ ഇവിടെയില്ല
മ്യൂട്ടുചെയ്യാനുള്ള മാർഗമില്ല
എല്ലാം എനിക്ക് മുന്നിൽ
ഞാൻ മറന്നുപോയതാണ്.
ആകാശം വെളിച്ചം ഇരുണ്ടതും പിന്നെ വെളിച്ചം
ഇവിടെ വ്യത്യാസമില്ല
എന്റെ കണ്ണുകൾ ചില ചലനങ്ങളെ പിടിക്കുന്നു
ഞാൻ എല്ലാ സമയത്തും ഒരേ സമയം ചെലവഴിക്കുന്നു.
മഞ്ഞിൽ കാൽപ്പാടുകൾ കാണുക
ചൂടുവെള്ളത്തിൽ നിന്ന് പൊഴിക്കുന്ന വിയർപ്പ് കാണും
ഓരോ സീസണിലും അതിന്റെ യഥാർത്ഥ അടയാളം കാണാം
എല്ലാവരെയും നിരീക്ഷിക്കുന്നത് വർഷങ്ങളിലൂടെ തിരിക്കുക.
തലമുറകൾ മുഴുവൻ
ഞാൻ സമാനമായ മനുഷ്യ പ്രവൃത്തികൾ നിരീക്ഷിക്കുന്നു
പരിചയപ്പെട്ട, അവ അവരുടെ ശൈലി മാറ്റില്ല
അവരുടെ ദിവസത്തെ കച്ചവടത്തിന് പോകുന്നു.
ഒരുപക്ഷേ ആരെങ്കിലും എന്നെ രക്ഷിക്കും
എന്നാൽ നൂറ്റാണ്ടുകളായി കടന്നു പോകുമ്പോൾ ഞാൻ മനസ്സിലാക്കുന്നു
ഇപ്പോഴും വാതായനം ഇല്ല, ഞാൻ കേൾക്കുകയും കാണുകയും ചെയ്യുന്നു
കുന്നിൻ മുകളിൽ നിന്ന്.
ലിൻഡാ ഇംബ്ലർ

Friday, September 8, 2017

Creating "Benediction"

A poem about 'the fall from grace" looking for a home.  It is NOT about pedophilia!

Extract from "Benediction"

"Her mortal source of spiritual healing
At times wears purple vestments.
Giving messages of hope and salvation
To those who will listen.
She's found the intermediary
That will make it all clear,

At first glance found honorable."

Afterthoughts about "Benediction"

By that sin fell the angels.

William Shakespeare

Eskimo: 'If I did not know about God and sin, would I go to hell?' Priest: 'No, not if you did not know.' Eskimo: 'Then why did you tell me?’

Annie Dillard

The world is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment, every sin already carries grace in it.

Herman Hesse

Creating "Beautiful Ruin"

Old (or new) abandoned buildings have always intrigued me.  Grown-ups call them 'attractive nuisances' for kids.  But, they attract us all, don't they?  Sometimes they happen on purpose, sometimes they happen because of crises.  ( think hurricanes, tornadoes, war)  Others?

Extract from "Beautiful Ruin"

"Within peeling walls,
Where spiders and specters now dwell,

And hold court with the dust,"

This poem has been published in "Broad River Review Literary Journal" and the poetry collection "Big Questions, Little Sleep"


Afterthoughts for "Beautiful Ruin"

A man is a god in ruins. When men are innocent, life shall be longer, and shall pass into the immortal, as gently as we awake from dreams.

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.

Pablo Picasso

We moralize among ruins.

Benjamin Disraeli

Thursday, September 7, 2017

Unpublished-Just a reminder-Who can you help?

The Lonely

Time stands still
For the lonely,
And only for them.
They have time
To look and listen,
Watching the slow motion
Activity of life's days.
Time stands still
For the lonely.

Linda Imbler
September 4, 2017