Thursday, November 30, 2017

Thank you very much to Editor Nilavronill Shoovro of Our Poetry Archive for including three of my poems in the Romantic Edition.


Whene’er we sit upon the hassocks,
knee to knee and drink our brew
and gaze into each other's eyes,
just we two.

No dirges for the both of us,
those are a long way off,
for faces uncreased and easy laughs
abound our days.

While strength and hope
and fearlessness fill this season of our lives,
we’ll keep our spirits high
and spirits we'll kick back.

For all too soon, time wears on
winter comes and darkness falls
and all those moments whene’er we sat
will seem as distant as the stars are far.

Promise me you'll not forget
nor look back at that time with any regret,
but hold each memory close to heart
and always picture just we two,
when we were the best we’d ever be.


Sepals fall off softly, one at a time, floating to the ground
Underneath like silk, a satin welcome
Now sun kissed and laid bare; feel the breath of Spring on your stem

The breath of new Spring, connect with the seed
Exposing the rose button
Within this opening; feel the breath of Spring on your stem
So close, the flowering petals

Exposing the rose button
So close, the flowering petals
Spring’s mounting ascent

Spring’s breathless release
Sepals fall off softly, one at a time, floating to the ground


You have seen my soul.
We stood at the edge of the world
where both the sky and the sea mate.
No uncertainty about both our needs.
We ride sparkling waves to our next life port,
there's so much behind us,
but then, we have so much more ahead.

You've taught me how organic love is
as we float the world together,
the rattling of our bones together,
day after day, our connection twangs,
we've done without many things,
most of which would trip us up,
except those things that really matter.

You add light for my benefit,
you keep the skies and seas blue
even on the cloudiest days.
When I break you glue me back
with starlight from inside your eyes.

You have awoken something real in me,
you always take care of me,
your hands hold the key to me.
You have the ocean waves to sing your song,
my kind brown eyed man.
We jumped the broom and shattered the glass.
Our unconventional life, somehow,
this grand sail with you never grows tiresome.
I love you most when you check out the fancy girls
and then turn around and beg for me.

I am so very pleased to have "Ensorcelled Within the Eyes of P'aqo" be nominated for the 2018 Pushcart Prize.  Thank you to Editor Mark Antony Rossi for this honor.

Ariel Chart: Pushcart Prize Nominations 
I’ve had the enormous pleasure to be an Editor in Chief this year and bring to life my dream of a different online literary journal that would accept well written poetry and short fiction and personally reply back to everyone regardless of acceptance or rejection. 
It’s been a blessing, a task and sometimes an adventure to helm this ship into uncharted waters of communication, education and ultimately admiration of writers from around the world. 
The following are the six nominations I and Fiction Editor Marchelle Young submitted to the Pushcart Prize Committee for consideration for their Prize. 
Anna Kander — Hydrangeas
Amber Colyer — Eine Nacht
A.D. Hurley — At the Other End of the Barrel 
Elidio La Torre Legares — Dead Father in the Storm 
Linda Imbler — Ensorcelled Within the Moonlit Eyes of P’aqo
Ann Christine Tabaka — Disorientation 
I thank all of our contributors and hope to see more of your work in the new year. God Bless.
Mark Antony Rossi
Editor in Chief
Ariel Chart

Tuesday, November 28, 2017


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Monday, November 27, 2017

Thank you so much to Editor Shirley Bell for publishing three of my poems in The Blue Nib.

3 poems by Linda Imbler

Linda Imbler is the author of the published poetry collection “Big Questions, Little Sleep.” Her work has appeared in numerous journals. Linda’s creative process and a current, complete listing of sites which have or will publish her work can be found at This writer, yoga practitioner, and classical guitar player lives in Wichita, Kansas.

Tall tales
woven around you
that protect.
If you fall the landing will be soft
as each new myth saves
injury like bubble wrap.
All accounts create
your perfect world.
Absolved of all your crimes,
due to scribes in the press.

Last Train
The railroad tracks sound as the rattle of bones.
Do we dare clip-clop over the bones of our kin?
That stretch of track that only the ticketed may ride,
Yellow lanterned men at the sides,
Like Charon with his lamp
Leading us across the Rubicon,
Or a reflection off St. Michael’s sword.
There’s a station up ahead,
We’ll know in a minute.

The whales returned our legacy,
after each had lost at least one child
to the shallow zone,
where the young ones drowned
and internal organs collapsed.
Returned all
that never should have been
scattered deep
on sea beds in the first place:
car engines,
the remains of buckets,
shrimp fishing nets,
Waste, plastic and steel.
They carried all
up from the depths,
and placed upon
our shores our shame
and the evidence
of the greed of our kind.
So, where do we go from here?

Sunday, November 26, 2017

A huge thank you to Editor Leilanie Stewart for publishing my two poems today.


Linda Imbler – 2 poems 

If Yellow Sang To Me
If yellow sang to me of bright sun’s day,
the consonance of corn on the cob served at picnics
sweet cream butter at the side
If yellow sang to me as I watch the march
of lemony taxicabs
transporting frazzled strangers
from airports to who knows where
The rhythm of bouncing saffron school buses conveying our future
A vase of sunflowers painted on canvas, the romantic interpretation
through beautiful hands belonging to Van Gogh, 
harvest gold portrayed
Stunning yellow tang, the maestro, swimming amid corals in clear water
A cadence of newly sharpened pencils united with
cobalt legal pads
The aria of a canary’s song
A polyphony-
Bananas to be peeled and sliced
placed atop cereal
If yellow sang to me.


The Heart’s Camera
That second of time caught in an eyepiece
As the camera’s shutter loudly snapped.
The capturing of blissful calm and ease
On young faces of those photographed.
This image will stand as a testament
To the history of good friends well met,
To whom, to what, and to how it was then,
Photostat narrative of this quartet.
Their stout hearts were worn on their sleeves that noon,
Sleeves now faded with the passing of time.
And so this photo keeps fading too,
As each one arrives at the finish line.


Saturday, November 25, 2017

Thank you to Ramingo's Porch for publishing my poem "Light in the Garden of Love and Justice" in their inaugural anthology.

Dear Authors,
The first issue is ready to be spread everywhere. You can share the link here below with your friends. 
Do it and we will cheer to you forever!

Thank you for your writings and have a good week end,


The Ramingo's Porch Staff

Afterthoughts for "Light in the Garden of Love and Justice":

Depression is the inability to construct a future.

Every age yearns for a more beautiful world. The deeper the desperation and the depression about the confusing present, the more intense that yearning.

Get away from the place that makes you feel comfortable with your depression. The reality is it's never as bad as the insanity you've created in your head.

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Thank you so much to Editor Alex Encomienda for publishing my poem "A Proper Life" in the amazing Labyrinthene Passages Journal.

Issue II: Labyrinthine Poetry and Prose

A Proper Life by Linda Imbler
November 22, 2017
If I live my life as I should, 
when I get to the end of that road, 
to the final steps of that long path,
and I can go no further
because there is only still stone before me,
I will put my back against that rock 
and wait for Peter’s footsteps.
I’ll sit and look at what I’ve left behind
and I shall not weep.

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Thank you very much to Spillwords for publishing my poem "Dependence" today.


written by: Linda Imbler

I've climbed the towering heights of wind whipped trees,
each branch a seemingly ceaseless life suffered and lived.
Climbed crumbling steep stairs, narrow, rail-less,
every lift a courageous victory
over what strived to drag or cast me down.
Climbed out of an abysmal pit,
out of the cold, cloying clutch of the dark of condemnation
and into the warm, free embrace of merciful light,
as if my life depended on it.
Because it did.

Afterthoughts for "Dependence":

All the adversity I've had in my life, all my troubles and obstacles, have strengthened me... You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you. 

Walt Disney

It is courage, courage, courage, that raises the blood of life to crimson splendor. Live bravely and present a brave front to adversity. 


Adversity is the diamond dust Heaven polishes its jewels with. 

Thomas Carlyle

Thank you so much to Editor Rajnish Mishra for publishing 5 of my poems in PPP E-zine today!


Poet of the Month: Linda Imbler
What’s Not To Believe?

In time

Man will find his wings

In time

Woman will exorcise the moon from her womb

In time  

The child will smooth the rough edges of the psyche

In the nick of time

A hero will shift the world

Back onto its feet again

Before it 


Shatters its bones.

Creating "What's Not To Believe":

Faith.  It's a powerful thing.

The Heart Shoppe

I walk and examine all the shelves of the Heart Shoppe, and peer into all containers and crates.   

I hear owners discussing needs of young men, sadly weakened by the  poverty of loneliness after 
love fails.  

The proprietors know what to stock, what dear things to show upon these shelves; staunch friends, truth in speech, peace, children’s laughter.  

I’ve seen ladies bankrupt in chasms of sorrow, anguished women whose bodies betrayed them while birthing.  

I’ve viewed hopeful eyes, scanning within, of those whose choice went wrong, sighting that second chance, only to be found cash poor.  

Cures are sought here for envy, suicide, racism, all at a cost few here can pay.  

I’ve seen souls wage horrific war, seen commanders decide which side shall lose the least, they now search for atonement here.  

I postpone my own heart’s desires, use my full purse to make true the dreams of those betrayed: the ill, the brokenhearted, and old ones; all those, shopping for cures for grief or adversity. 

I fill carts, buy them hope, their redemption, my peace.

Afterthoughts for "The Heart Shoppe:"

If each man or woman could understand that every other human life is as full of sorrows, or joys, or base temptations, of heartaches and of remorse as his own . . . how much kinder, how much gentler he would be.

Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive. 

Dalai Lama

But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most? 

Mark Twain


Speak to us
At vibrantly hued close of day,
Tremoloed soft notes filter through clear air
Ending with a fade.

Speak to us 
By means of the young,
Where a thrum of vibrating hearts are the warmest,
And compassion for those smaller and weaker 
Is so freely expressed.

Speak to us 
As we hear waves lapping the shore,
The crush of rock created by time,
Crescendoes echoing the heights 
To which man’s soul can soar.

Speak to us by using photographic portraits,
Faces laden with all manner of emotion,
A totality of feelings captured,
Everything reflected in the shutterbug’s lens
No visage invisible or unattainable.

Speak through us,
Goodness, greatness
Lightening of hearts
Yours, theirs.
Let us be reminded
That soft notes still beckon,
Warmth towards others still stirs the heart,
Our time is so limited,
Every face holds a story of a life lived
Whether short or long.
Our history heard in the strum
Of the cosmic musician’s performance.
The omniscient hum is there
For us to discover.

Afterthoughts for "Strum:"

In string theory, all particles are vibrations on a tiny rubber band; physics is the harmonies on the string; chemistry is the melodies we play on vibrating strings; the universe is a symphony of strings, and the 'Mind of God' is cosmic music resonating in 11-dimensional hyperspace.

Not enough people in this world, I think, carry a cosmic perspective with them. It could be life-changing.

The music is not in the notes, but in the silence in between.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart


Lightning on earth, seen from space,  
Transmitting messages as Morse code,  
To express to them out there 
What we are doing, what seeds we’ve sown. 

Satellite machines and brave man in sleek airtight suits  
Have seen these flashing missives leave Earth,  
Flow into ether and be processed by other eyes 
We’ve yet to meet as they gauge our worth. 

What is being told and being imaged is unclear,  
What we think, what we do, how we feel, 
Are these postings representing us as we would wish 
Or perhaps we could be more genteel?

Afterthoughts for "Lightning":

The myths underlying our culture and underlying our common sense have not taught us to feel identical with the universe, but only parts of it, only in it, only confronting it - aliens.

I believe alien life is quite common in the universe, although intelligent life is less so. Some say it has yet to appear on planet Earth.

Heaven’s Last Wish

Celestial space, within its infinite realm,
the prayers so distinct, constant, not weakened nor turned aside,
the wish for clean links, for reconnection.
This satisfied, long sought gift one day will come,
heartache diminished, then once and for all wounds healed.
You went to your grave, your song not yet done;
Grim future partings, no longer hold us bound.
We, no longer hostage, the universe has listened.
We can tell each other words learned, from the sky song
or we’ll sing to each other our own lyrics.
Love once deferred, once stayed, by death’s divide,
replaced, renewed, reflected.
We meet as once agreed, a promise made while living,
having wished true, and for time lost, be forgiving.

Afterthoughts for "Heaven's Last Wish":

On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it.

Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.

Son, brother, father, lover, friend. There is room in the heart for all the affections, as there is room in heaven for all the stars.