A huge thank you to Editor Mike Griffith for publishing "The Grandeur of Sound" in Issue 2 of Hidden Constellations.


https://hiddenconstellation.wordpress.com/issue-2-february-2018/

Thank you to editor Rajnish Mishra for publishing "The Ticking of Winter's Clock" in the February issue of PPPEzine.

https://poetrypoeticspleasureezine.wordpress.com




Drawing by Linda Imbler

The Ticking of Winter’s Clock

My mother died in Winter.

My mother far away.

Spring was to rise in only a few weeks.

It was the fourth of March.

Brown grass and leafless trees

were in endless array outside.

I could hear

the ticking of the clock

as I waited

for the phone to ring.

I have my father,

I told myself.

My father died in Winter.

My father far away.

It was the seventh of March

and again, the green was still to come.

And again,

I could hear 

the ticking of the clock

as I waited

for the phone to ring.

Then, I was alone.

Thank you to Editor Debasish Parashar for publishing three of my poems in Volume 2, Issue 1, 2018  of Advaitam Speaks Literary.

advaitamspeaks@gmail.com

Thank you to Editor Jack Horne at Whispers In The Wind for publishing "Hello" today.

whispersinthewind333.blogspot.com

Hello

That single word

commencing all friendships,

opening all doors.

It crosses bridges, 

it travels across and between continents,

is said with handshakes or hugs

or with a wave, but always with a smile

and the lucky hear it.

In any language it means the same.

Hello.

Thank you to Editor Sand Pilarski for publishing this poem in Piker Press.

pikerpress.com

When That Old Bridge Falls Down 

We'll crawl up from the everlasting, dense dark through a veiled hole,
friending shadows and rocks in a bid to connect with who is now left.
When that old bridge falls down.

When war is done, when some forms of flesh have survived transmutation,
how we now appear, pale and bestial, will be at odds
with what is swirling within our beautiful hearts.
When that old bridge falls down.

To see what's crumbled, this brave new world, our inheritance.
To know that to rebuild will take new action, new thoughts.
To feel inside, that underground days must come to an end.

To no longer look at others as if a wide river divides us.
To understand bridges are meant to be links, not scaffolds used to stage rifts.
When that old bridge falls down. 

Fog

Fog

rolls back to reveal

all the world’s colors,

gauze-like mist 

dropping from in front of eyes.

A Super Big Thank You to Editor Raja Williams of Creative Talents Unleashed for this honor!

http://creativetalentsunleashed.com

Featured Writer: Linda Imbler 

BY RAJA'S INSIGHT on FEBRUARY 25, 2018 • ( 0 )

History

History is where dates fly around your head

like butterflies in a field.

It’s the failing custodian of man’s memories.

History tells us who won and lost wars and why.

It tells us who was in charge and how they earned the rank.

History is names spelled correctly

and evidenced mementos written in fancy script.

History is where you close your eyes

and imagine the clothes, the hair, and the accents-

where you learn new words in foreign languages

which you can’t pronounce.

If you don’t read history well, you may end up in the wrong army.

History is where you have to memorize all those dates,

but they’re meant only for tests and then you forget the details.

Find this country or that country on a map

and history becomes geography.

History shows the harebrained penitence of some

who should have never ceded,

and the articulate enumeration of the bravest of our kind.

If you ask your grandma where she was born

and she starts to tell you about the land of her ancestors,

does that make her a historian?

© Linda Imbler

Thank you very much to Editor Janine Pickett of Spirit Fire Review for publishing my two poems today.

spiritfirereview.com

POETRY

Two Poems by Linda Imbler: "Wings" and "A Proper Life"

February 23, 2018

by

Linda Imbler

Wings

As the beating of the wings of birds

my mother’s fluttering eyelashes

seen with my infant eyes

as I studied the face of the first person I ever loved.

As the beating of the wings of birds

my friends’ fluttering hands

emphatic with anger, comic with hilarity, revelatory with gossip

as I listened to both their wisdom and their folly.

As the beating of the wings of birds

the fluttering in my chest

the first time I saw him, the first time he touched me

in all times thereafter.

As the beating of the wings of birds

the soft fluttering of ancient wings

the wings of those who come to comfort me, sit at my bedside

sharing with me my final hours.

First appeared in Scarlet Leaf Review

A Proper Life

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 solid stone before me,

I will put my back against that rock

and sit and look at what I’ve left behind

and I shall not weep.

First appeared in Labyrinthine Passages 

© Linda Imbler

Linda Imbler is the author of the published poetry collection “Big Questions, Little Sleep.”  She is a Kansas-based Pushcart Prize Nominee. Her work has appeared in numerous national and international journals. Linda’s creative process and a current, complete listing of sites which have or will publish her work can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. 

On this Valentine's Day, my poem "The Bird" is being published in the Glo Mag book along with so many of the poets whose work I find beautiful and worth many rereads.

Available at Amazon!

If Yellow Sang To Me by Linda Imbler

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.

© Copyright, 2016, Linda Imbler.

Thank you very much to Editor Sam Rose for publishing my poem in this February issue of Peeking Cat Magazine.

Thank you so much, Editor Ferris Jones, for publishing "Animals" in Inquisition Poetry.

Animals
By Linda Imbler

Vicious predators
causing pain,
ignoring the agonized screams
of their victims.
Without moral compass,
without clemency.
Some say
it's in their nature
to hunt and maim,
their species just acts like that.
One can't expect anything better
from that which has no conscience.
Be that as it may,
there will be a reckoning
for the animals
who abuse and torture
Earth's non-human creatures.

straightforward poetry.com

Thank you so much to Editor Lindsey Lewis Smithson
of Straight Forward Magazine for publishing
my poem in Issue #14.