Thank you to Nilavronill Shoovro and the editorial team at OPA (Our Poetry Archive) for publishing my three poems today.


https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2020/03/linda-imbler.html

Air Pressure Now That My Friend Has Gone

He was never under my feet to trip me up.

While in front of me he led me to truth.

He was there by my side as protector.

When behind me he had his hand pressed on my back

pushing me forward, and helping me realize

I could climb high.

Many now tell me he's only high above me.

But I know better, for he surrounds me

from every direction at the same time.

My good friend, my mentor of great rapport,

good air pressure,

never uncomfortable.

Hollow Bones

Birds have hollow bones and they can fly.

They can show you how to do so also.

But these other creatures,

not so much.

There’s something missing in the tubes.

The blood doesn’t flow quite right,

so the rest of them doesn’t work quite right.

Blood to the brain and blood to the heart

are in short supply.

These, oh, these think neither of others,

nor feel for others.

They drag you down every time.

They’re the ruined, hollow boned of this century,

the true vampyric creatures,

the Draculas of our age

and they walk the same streets

and don’t have fangs,

but the eyes are just as dead,

even when they smile.

That smile never skips along to the eyes,

and these folks will never, ever,

wish you well.

Sled And Shop

I long for the sled of progress to pull me along,

beyond this snow packed tunnel of memory,

past those who wearily wait

for a sign or a something.

For in the space of their snowy corridors,

it’s never not winter splendor.

Let them slowly float along that frozen river

toward their silent death.

Icy floes decelerating their progress,

until they finally become icebound

by their own misery and unfulfilled dreams.

Those who refuse to heed

the last chorus of the shopkeeper’s bell.

I’ll leave them to their chance.

Thank you to Jo Olivieri at Yasou! A Celebration of Life for publishing my poem.

https://yasouezine.blogspot.com/2020/02/forms-of-thirst-slaked-by-linda-imbler.html

Forms of Thirst Slaked

Love

A tight knit group of friends belong,

Their unity never pierced.

Each assists the others along,

The halls of good will endorsed.

Knowledge

Safe and secure, all books untouched,

No decisions made at first.

Letting others control their thoughts,

For the first time, choice now bursts.

Power

A love for fellow man admired.

Beware influence when forced.

Some just wish to control empires,

Help man’s warmth stay unremorsed.

Glory Sasikala‎Launch Of GloMag February 2020

2 hrs · 

Linda Imbler
Kansas-based Linda Imbler believes poetry has the potential to add to the beauty of the world. She has three poetry collections published by Amazon and three poetry collections published by Soma Publishing. She is sitting on her next collection, which recalls her Nashville trip last Spring. Examples of Linda’s poetry and a listing of publications can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. — with Linda Imbler.

Azathoth

Ancient Azathoth,

who dreams the shape of secret things,

elaborations,

created,

while in sleep he lies.

All magicians and emperors alike,

dreamt.

Mental ink lays

out all reality,

midnight rituals

to morning routines,

timed and played out in his mind,

but he’s not aware.

Shhh, we must float along

all of us must float through time,

actors played upon his stage, 

fearing,

at the trumpet blast, he’ll wake,

and all life will shut down.

The tangled drama of the world shall melt.

© Linda Imbler

Dennys At Midnight

It seems now so long ago.

Hashing out problems,

and firming up philosophies

over priced right coffee and pancakes until 2:00 a.m.

or 4.

Learning the art of conversation

from my tribe-

Long ago,

They still walk beside me.

I hear their voices ring and sing

in my memories.

Comfortable silences and smiles

or raucous conversation

disclosing mutual experiences.

Friends gathering in that nocturnal eatery,

lending support,

walking in while others walked out.

Today, I am alone in my thinking.

How I miss one of

America’s best therapy lounges.

How I long for the glue of firm friends

that kept me from falling apart.

How I long.

©Linda Imbler

Thank you to Jo Olivieri of Yasou! A Celebration of Life for publishing my poem today.




https://yasouezine.blogspot.com/2020/02/magnetic-shores-by-linda-imbler.html

Magnetic Shores

Sandy shores,

lovers walk along then in pairs.

Head to head, hand in hand,

fair weather brings them out en masse.

Whether watching

stars at night

or the 

reflection

of sun 

on crushed rocks as sand,

or sea shells,

flawless,

undefiled.

Clean waves crash in,

or flow softly.

The endless song 

of romance and courtship,

flowing,

all is flowing,

from head to hand to heart.

Thank you to Denise Powell and the editorial team at The Voices Project.

http://www.thevoicesproject.org/

Rocky Mountain Veneration~ By Linda Imbler   I have stood next to the Rockies, and they are grand, but the most illuminating and awe-inspiring view is from the air. A perspective lending the greatest respect for the power and lift of what doesn’t breath. Cragged they are, steep-sloped in places, with graded roads at the less precipitous sections. I am awestruck, by the way they cluster, like vertebrae on a backbone. I examine the long-distanced, ribboned trails upon which many hike. I find praise for rivers and lakes, grasses, trees, all on display, waiting to be admired. I marvel at snow starting at the peaks and showering its way down the slopes, formed within frigid air I can only imagine from my warm airline seat. I take it all in as we hurtle by. This natural landform which will lie upon the ground through all time. Surely the eagles and gods appreciate the view as much as I.

Thank you to Jo Olivieri for publishing my poem in Yasou! A Celebration of Life.



https://yasouezine.blogspot.com/2020/02/the-gifting-by-linda-imbler.html

The Gifting

Forgive your foes and give them grace,

Show them your happy heart with smiles.

Among your friends give them a place.

Forgive your foes and give them grace.

Gift unto them goodwill of face

That they may sit with you awhile.

Forgive your foes and give them grace,

Show them your happy heart with smiles.

Thank you to David Rawson of Biscuit Root Drive for publishing my poem.

https://biscuitrootdrive.com/blog-feed/page/2/

City of What-ifs, Linda Imbler

Snakes with flowing hair streaming down reptilian faces,
tresses intertwined with beads.
Bright, pretty things-
serpents, born with special talents,
using their cognitive thrumming
to translate the places of dreams
for the unobservant, trying to look beyond the stars.

Night-blind frogs
seeking innocence in reflections
within the mirrored walls
of rude shacks
with no doors to bolt.

Hobbled horses,
lonely, due to their coachman
having grown frail overnight.
He, beset by years,
now his only concerns
are what to wear to his funeral
and wondering if death
will truly be as cold as snow.

A pale man dressed in black.
His back bent,
he can be seen exiting town
to hunt under a still, thin moon
or when the break of day is at its full measure.
He travels throughout wild country,
feeling the frost of disappointment
when he must return with empty hands.

The most troubling of all
is the man with a fob pocket,
exceedingly furrowed eyebrows ,
and a face as hard as a binding knot.
Running after a moving train
with no ready answer to the question
of his destination’s location.

It won’t matter if I tell it now
what was seen then with my poet’s eye.
Just know that I wish them all well.

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart

for publishing my poem.

https://www.arielchart.com/2020/02/piccadilly-dreaming-away-from-shore.html

Piccadilly Dreaming Away From Shore

Mark Sy PaulFebruary 05, 2020

  

Piccadilly Dreaming Away From Shore 




Ice cream,

slow time,

colors are vivid.

Music makes the feet move,

times are good,

and people are in love with life.


They all watch mundane things

with great gusto-


clouds:

high and wispy,

slender vapor,

a sky full of ships

and waves


flowers:

full of kaleidoscopic, 

vibrant color,

swirling soft petals,

boat propellors above the sea


Brown rice:

nutty flavored part of a seafarer’s diet,

chewy on the tongue

with that periodic crunch,

a dollop of honey atop


hats:

perched on heads as pirate scarves,

hat bands and feather accessorizing,

brims overhanging

the beautiful faces of the romantics


tea:

strongly brewed,

poured into patterned teacups,

quixotic ideas drunk in

not unlike a sailor’s rum

Idealists with

big thoughts,

breaking chains,

piccadilly dreamers floating upon the new ark.