Monday, March 25, 2019


Q&A with Poet Linda Imbler


Linda Imbler The best thing is I get things out of my head. My fears and worries are now out there for the world to see, but they are so couched within the poem that the audience usually does not know what my original stressor was. I, however, have a sense of catharsis because I have wrestled that demon and won! And, my audience has something to read and enjoy. It's good for everybody.



Linda Imbler As I've stated many times, much of my writing is a visceral reaction to what is happening around me. Or, it might be the result of a niggling memory that simply won't stop tapping me on the shoulder. In a few cases, I have written pieces because my friends or family members have said, "Linda, I think there's a story there." And, they are always right!
On several occasions, I have challenged myself to write a piece with only one word being the launching point. This happened with the word "lambent" that I saw in a crossword puzzle. I wrote the entire poem, "Tomb" around that one word. That poem just poured out of me. It was one of my earliest compositions, and I am still very proud of it because it's so cool. (Tomb is published in 'Big Questions, Little Sleep.)


Linda Imbler I do this in several different ways. I switch gears and curl up with a good book. I leave the house and go experience something new that I could write about. I take old poetry and see if I can take the gist of it in another direction or write it in a different style. What I don't do is stress about the fact that my pen is not moving. That probably more than anything saves my mental bacon!



Linda Imbler I had published quite a bit of short fiction, in addition to my many poems. I thought, why not put the two together? All my previous collections are somehow themed. The e-book "Pairings" is not themed, but each short fiction piece has been loosely coupled to a poem. It was a fun and very interesting way for me to present my work. I believe the readers will be pleased with the outcome.

Linda Imbler After having just completed my fourth poetry collection, the e-book "Pairings," soon to be published by Soma Publishing, I am now going through my unfinished poems and completing them for submission.
I am putting together a small chapbook for a poetry reading I will be giving the summer of 2019.
I have two other book ideas in the works, but am taking my time to make sure all the work will be a proper fit.  Because I am constantly creating new poems, I tend to add, subtract, rework ideas for the books.  No complaints.  It's all part of the joy of playing with the written word.



Linda Imbler First and foremost, be a reader. Be observant of what goes on around you 
and how things work. Define to yourself what you believe makes someone else's work 
good. Write, write, write and find your own unique voice. 
This is important for your sanity. Never be afraid to take a poem in a completely different 
direction from where you were first going with it.

Saturday, March 23, 2019


Thank you,  Editor Glory Sasikala.


https://view.joomag.com/glomag-glomagmarch2019/0624832001553332156?short







When, Where, and How Will We Part?

If men were meant to conquer or serve,
what will then separate them, distinguish one from another,
once all else has been exploited
and color, ancestry, and faith no longer serve as division,
uniformity secured?

Do we then subvert hearts and minds, keep ambitions tainted,
by not arming our brothers with knowledge and grace?
Or as rugged soldiers wear chain mail ourselves 
to protect them from bigotry?

What other form of distinction can we create
to make sure that others do not interfere
with our sensibilities and our lives,
when we see those we do not care for?

Must we have a reason to push them away
from our own insulated universe,
as we shelter within our own towers of shadow and secrets?
By what means will we lock them out,
tell them they are not worthy, 
make sure they do not pursue justice?

Will we never then grant them peace,
nor save any for ourselves?


Until we learn to love peace, the wars will go on.





Some Lines From "Angus The King"
by Linda Imbler
"and faeries
hear and the faeries do sing
they see him walk under
white oaks and rusty
red alders"
(osclaíonn na guthanna áille ar an ngaoth)



Thank you, Editor Shirley Bell, for publishing this poem in Issue 37 of The Blue Nib.

Michael’s Memories

Michael’s at the locked door staring in the window beyond the glass, 
Waiting for the owner’s key to turn and bring him a smile of pages  
As he recalls the old bookstores of his youthful days. 
The glare of fluorescents reflecting off the lily whiteness of paper, 
The touch of supple leather and the smell of binding glue, 
The weight of multiple tomes upon his arms, 
Muscular in their day, 
The once muscular arms of Michael. 

Michael’s on the mountain’s high top watching flexible branches sway. 
Shadows play around him reminding of times around the campfires 
With friends telling genial and generous stories, 
Wearing vests for warmth as midnight draws near and upon still burning coals lie 
the vestiges of burned hot dogs and dripping marshmallows. 
The smell of coffee grounds and pine in his nose, 
Pine tree scent in his nose, 
The once juvenile nose of Michael. 

Micheal’s holding his guitar and strumming up and down the fretboard. 
Waiting for his fingers to imitate the ease of moving the strings. 
Remembering the first-rate songs of his yesterdays.
Familiar chords constructing glorious harmonies massaging the ears .
Musical satisfaction by means of limber digits, 
Nature’s physical gift once sent to his hands. 
Beauty produced by him, 

From once bending fingers of Michael.

Thursday, March 14, 2019


Thank you to Editor Shirley Bell of The Blue Nib for publishing 5 of my poems today, including
"Egghead Knows Best," "Inge." "Inferno," "Michael's Memories," and "Relegation."


https://thebluenib.com


Friday, March 1, 2019

Thank you to Jane Mayflower of Pika Journal for publishing my poem in the first issue.

https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/e869c8_50c66a635bfc4722b2d50b6a0011d4ad.pdf







Footsteps That Have Long Faded


The sounds of quick pace, long marching faded,
Specters of those who fought for peace grown pale,
Soldiers' visages evaporated,
Keepers and protectors who did not fail.


We, attuned to whispered gait in their wake, 

Where those who fought the monsters disappeared, 
Under vast sandy shores beside fruited plains,
Bugle’s wake-up call dim in their ears.

Brothers in arms, peers with resolute tread,
No more torment beneath the stars above,
Our heroic champions now long dead,
Unvexed by blast or salvo, life’s work done.


Echoes of booted feet going through paces.
We who honor them, still listen for traces.

Thank you to Nina and the Team at Sirens Call Publications for publishing my short story "Cracked Spines" on page 13 of Issue #43.


http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/pdfs/SirensCallEZine_February2019.pdf