Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Thank you to Editor Kattie for publishing 4 of my poems in Issue 2 of TrĂ³pica Laced magazine.

Monday, June 18, 2018

Thank you very much to Adam Levon Brown for publishing my 5 poems today in Madness Muse Press.



A Groovy Life

I want a groovy life,
one not filled with ransom demands or imaginary slights,
or plots disguised as needy pleas.

But, one with:
Hope for gifts given freely,
with reciprocity never demanded,
instead, each given according to one’s heart.

Music – pure, innocent
lyrics both beautiful
and deep in their meanings.

A seat from which to watch
the loveliness of nature unfold,
early or late in the day,
letting imagination name the colors.

Lastly, time in which to fulfill these desires.
All I can do is ask.

© Linda Imbler

Beautifully Broken

I dreamt last night,
but never slept,
unfolding my story
as loose images,
without plot,
without resolution,
trancing along to the blur
of the ceiling fan above me.

The woeful shatter
of my soul,
felt and heard,
above the dissonant void
of this room,
as relevant tears.

I, beautifully broken.

© Linda Imbler


In the beginning,
he could speak in words and esoteric phrases
that explained all our strange days.

Near the end,
as his world spun sideways,
he no longer feared his visage
reflected from the whiskey bottle.

Finally, he morphed into some demented,
frustrated clown
who claimed his name as its own.

In the final few seconds,
those creatures he spoke of so long ago
took him to the desert
and put him on the blue bus.

This is the end.

© Linda Imbler

Silent Meal

Their relationship did not die
with shouts and tears,
but only from the silence
in response to his talk.

Her new-found love
birthed the deafness
which kept her from hearing
his voice and his still-beating heart.

Perhaps when he’s gone,
she can find a heartbeat app
for that phone that so engaged her
while he sat at the table with her, alone.

© Linda Imbler

Walking the Road On the Cool Side of Infinity

He walks along the rim of the highway,
this man with the Gypsy soul.
He trods the vagabond paths.
He hears his feet slap the pavement.
He feels his fingers tap, tap, tap along the side of his leg.
He responds to an inner song that he alone hears.

All his necessities have been expended
and his wallet feels thin.
But this mobile man doesn’t worry.
There will always be another meal
and another small job in the next town.
Endless time is never his enemy.

What would scare most,
(he calls them the ‘jammed-up’ people) thrills him.
These new pleasures make him feel alive.
They help him find joy in all new, foreign places.
This road, which is long, lean, immeasurable and serpentine is his pal.

The snapping of his fingers matches his footfalls.
There’s too much living to do to sit and contemplate the limited ‘back then.’
So he keeps moving within this expanse
to help him forget that empty house,
that empty bed, and that backyard
with the empty sandbox.

Therefore he rambles on and all is well. Cool!
The new town is in sight!
This transformed wanderer believes it’s time
for the next new adventure.
Bring it on!

© Linda Imbler

Thursday, June 14, 2018

A huge thank you to Editor Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my poem!


Collector of Lost Dreams

The collector of lost dreams piles high those ignored,

those not understood.

We, not taking the time to open these.

Dreams sent as letters to our minds,

explaining the way things work,

and also the why.

So, they pile up, in the dark of night,

as breathing slows,

and eyelids twitch with REM.

Clueless of the room that holds communication,


The dead letter file grows.

A big thank you to Johnny R. Olson and Michael Clay all the madsters for publishing my poem today!


The Shriek

by  on June 12, 2018 
The shriek,
the ear piercing harbinger
of escalating devastation.
It always starts with the shriek.
The screech owl,
power from the sky,
feathered menace
swooping down,
destroying the mice,
rolling their bones,
dive bombing,
tearing them apart.
Their homes strewn across the landscape
as the pulse of life winds down
and the shriek subsides.
editors note: 
Deaf to destruction; shriekers never stay to hear the sobs, see the stark desolation. – mh clay
Thank you to Editor Evan Mantyk and his team for publishing "As Promised" in Society of Classical Poets.


As Promised

The sky boiled,
As the earth ruffled,
Clouds blew past,
And the soil buckled.
The dead came forth,
And stood in wait,
Believers noticed,
Heavens Gate.
As they watched,
It opened wide,
He bid them come,
They stepped inside.
They floated light,
Went up above,
Now eternity,
To spend in love.

Thank you to CTU Editor Raja Williams for including three of my poems in this anthology.

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Thank you to Editor Glory Sasikala for publishing 'Harvest Moon' in GloMag!

Thank you to Marianne Szlyk for including my work on "The Song Is..."

Welcome to Linda Imbler!

I don't know what a contest of poems inspired by musicians born in the 1940s would be without a poem inspired by the Beatles.  I was very pleased to see Linda Imbler's poems.

Inspired by The Beatles “Baby, You Can Drive My Car”


She steered in the direction of the skid, 
straightened the wheel as she slid, 
having no time to end up in ditches
let’s truth travel through the relay switches. 

Years of mishandling truth, causing loss, 
a lack of control while she double-crossed, 
now her sinless, clean hands grip the wheel, 
truthful information highway holds appeal. 

There were long deceptive roads with no thoroughfare, 
no place to speed away from fraudulence anywhere, 
false treacherous roads made it easy to cheat, 
spinning her vicious lies up and down the street. 

She steers in the direction of the slide, 
makes straight when the truth swings wide, 
bad miles fall back, she drives toward the green light, 
exits the old, continues on the path of right. 

Inspired by The Beatles  “Here, There, and Everywhere”


Wurlitzer royalty,
the Four Horsemen of pop,
half a century later,
they're still at the top,
of songwriting skills 
and melody making,
strong beats, rough guitar riffs,
and ballads breathtaking.

Our world will be poorer,
when the last one moves on,
somewhere else will need them
to provide them with song.
That globe will then embrace,
the perfect square,
of musical integrity,
here, there, and everywhere.

Inspired by John Denver “Rocky Mountain High”

As I Saw Boulder

Those retro hipster streets, crowded with bohemian images,
abutting the mountains grand, recollecting peace and hippie love.
One New Age store replete with Occult books and Tarot cards 
intended to teach and to guide.
The street musicians’ chattering guitars play folk (Dylan, Baez, Mitchell)
or perhaps the acid rock (Hendrix, Cream, Doors) one era dug.
Another New Age store that sells incense, that spiritual return
to the time when the peace pipe filled the air with smells
of myrrh and burning grass.
Street dancers and magicians with magical movement
to keep the groove alive and remembered.

Inspired by The Browns “The Three Bells”

Bells Ringing

All around us,
Bells are ringing,
The new dawn to come.

Soldiers on all ships
Coming home,
In flight returning,
War has been fought
And the end has been arbitrated.

This last war
Mankind, as a whole, now victorious
Deciding to celebrate freedom 
Across all lands.

Each person adjudicated
With all scores settled,
A covenant of peace 
To harmonize this sphere.

And those in crypts,
Though they be dead
Release the hopeful breath they have held 
For so very long and join the gleeful celebration.

Inspired by Led Zeppelin “The Immigrant Song”

Desert Song

The last true Viking
charges onto the stage
bearing his axe overhead
in defiance of those 
who call him a shadow.

Like poets pluck words from the ether,
so does he pull down the elementals
and weaves them among the strings
with seraphic fingers,
his alchemical magick 
amalgamating sounds.

For he has long known the secret
of the lost chord.
He strikes it now
to shatter the rumble of the crowd.

He makes himself visible on stage
and beats the Devil’s heat.