Thank you to Nilavro Nill Shoovro and the editorial team at
Our Poetry Archive (OPA) for publishing three of my poems in the June Issue.

https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2020/06/linda-imbler.html

Amid Our Covenant 

To Which We Held Firm

Should the distance of death separate us,

Will you remember what I did right?

Forget my many mistakes we discussed.

Can you render trivial our old slights?

Putting what really mattered out of sight,

From time now on I will do this for you,

Offer unto me the same true delight,

Your promise kept each and every night,

When the truth of your feelings will come to light.

A vow made by you to me yesterday

Amid our covenant to which we held firm,

Sworn oaths whispered from Monday to Monday,

Hearts tested much, not to be disallowed,

Let not that distance separate us now.

Commencement Speaker

I noticed the smile,

the gleaming white enameled teeth,

but quickly shifted attention to the eyes.

Zeroed in on their blink rate and hard focus.

I suspected he was speaking what was expected.

As I studied him,

I watched the shift,

eyes opening wide to reveal a pretense of truth

or eyes squinting shut in some concerted effort.

I could note feigned fervor,

with sadness following,

then recovery,

as he bluffed his affectation.

In this place crowded with others,

I watched his vacant eyes look past them,

off in the distance,

remembering a time

when integrity ruled.

And when there was nothing else to recall,

he let his eyes close against those memories,

reopened them,

feigning no hostility,

only aloofness.

Looking out,

seeing the crowd,

his deception intact.

And as the commencement ended,

I watched his lids softly droop,

his lashes moistened.

Proving to me

the absolute truth of his heart and his mind.

Waiting In The Wings (Gnostics)

I want you to introduce me to Sophia.

Let me travel with her to find knowledge and wisdom.

Lift my soul and carry me to the West on your back.

I want to know the secret of the Aeon,

want to feel the flow from God,

want to break free of physical trappings.

I want to let my divine soul

transcend the material world.

I want to keep the lessons of

Cerinthus and wait for the second coming,

when gnosis descends.

But, in the interim,

I must allow

for my own

personal spiritual knowledge

to present itself to me.

A poem from my paperback book, "Bus Lights, Travel Sights."

Available at Amazon.

The Parthenon Comes To The South

A monolithic vestibule

begins the look inside.

Deeper in, within four walls

stands the attested pageant

of Greek myth.

From across the ocean

and into this landlocked stratosphere,

stands the idea of a powerful home,

an astonishing image.

The attempted story of Athena:

She whose hidden rage

came to bear upon Medusa,

whose adverse glances were the undoing of many.

Athena,

upon whose hand stands 

the never pinioned shrillness of Nike.

Athena,

underneath her feet,

the debilitation of the serpent,

and upon her shield,

a portrait of the languid monster.

Modern seeking peasants strive

to mangle the friendly myth.

Athena,

Supernatural.

All her queenly falsehood apparent,

like a mythological cavern,

stands her fateful replica.

Athena, Golden Goddess,

In America reintroduced,

Deconstructed in Greece,

There her audience has decreased.

Thank you to Glory Sasikala of GloMag for publishing my poem in the May 2020 issue.

https://joom.ag/tslC

Finding Our Awakening

Finding Our Awakening

I pray our solitude

will teach us to listen.

But, the world is so loud,

even now pressed against its own inaction.

We wait to find a hushed rendezvous

in flaming Spring,

hoping there will be no true fail.

And, 

we are learning how easy it would be 

to end the world.

We are tiring of the long present.

Yet, just when all looks lost,

freedom will open

and be revealed here and there. 

We will become glad our bodies could find light

beyond this disease.

And, once we regain all our liberties,

we can drift above the clouds

in this moment of freedom

made by love from heroes.

To sing more, 

and talk less,

bringing us all closer to God.

And if we have enjoyed those days of seclusion

in the right way,

we will share memories

20 years from now and beyond,

and do so shamelessly.

Thank you to Jim Lewis Of Verse-Virtual for publishing my tribute poem today.

http://www.verse-virtual.org/2020/June/linda-imbler-2020-june.html

Denver Hard Rock

This eatery has tables,
surrounded by
all manner of rock minutiae,
hanging up
upon zealous walls eager
to show cool.

Hard Rock walls 
are full of pop culture.
An historical diary,
not written on 2-d paper,
but with 3-d ink as records,
guitars and jackets.

The Fab Four’s “Help” sleigh,
pressed against a wall.

Eating at the Hard Rock,
absorbing riffs and licks,
masticating to the British Invasion
and handling the meal
with heavy metal silverware.

©2020 Linda Imbler

From my paperback book, "Bus Lights, Travel Sights"

Finding Helium As You Travel

Perhaps you think I have floated away 

among all these lusters.

Look for me- 

atop the hills of Kentucky,

with mint green grass 

and vivid, violet patches,

below cobalt skies.

Touch my sun-kissed skin-

while standing beside sepia white sandy shores,

bearing baby powder pebbles,

next to turquoise pearl seas,

below cerulean shamrock waves.

Search for my eyes-

across fields of inchworm olive green,

amid plants of purple pizzaz,

and leaves of screamin’ green,

flowers of cotton candy razzamatazz.

Hear my heart beat-

along the trails found on desert sands,

glowing as mango tango, orange maroon,

neon carrot, middle yellow, or bittersweet.

Hunt for my soul-

Within the regal St.Peter’s Church,

set surreptitiously atop

silver, periwinkle glaciers,

reflecting blizzard blue.

Taste my lips-

at the apex of the mountains,

made of eggplant, umber,

and sun-glow rock.

I sit and wait for you.

Dream’s Garden

Dip beneath the whirring birds.
Accept the shine as polished silver
that scatters the light
like woven sunbeams.
Remember your purpose.
You have your house to build.
Learn all that you are capable of,
and remember that worm becomes butterfly.



SPANISH TRANSLATION


El jardín de los sueños

Sumérgete debajo de los pájaros zumbadores.
Acepta el brillo como plata pulida
que dispersa la luz
como rayos de sol tejidos
Recuerda tu propósito.
Tienes tu casa para construir.
Aprende todo de lo que eres capaz,
y recuerda que el gusano se convierte en mariposa.

Thank you to Editor Mysti Milwee of Sequoyah Cherokee River Journal for publishing three of my poems in her second issue.


https://sequoyahcherokeeriverjournal.wordpress.com/2020/05/20/sequoyah-cherokee-river-journal-2/5/

Amid Our Covenant To Which We Held Firm

Should the distance of death separate us,

Will you remember what I did right?

Forget my many mistakes we discussed.

Can you render trivial our old slights?

Putting what really mattered out of sight,

From time now on I will do this for you,

Offer unto me the same true delight,

Your promise kept each and every night,

When the truth of your feelings will come to light.

A vow made by you to me yesterday

Amid our covenant to which we held firm,

Sworn oaths whispered from Monday to Monday,

Hearts tested much, not to be disallowed,

Let not that distance separate us now.

A Fragile Peace

Hearts of glass, items

like glassblowers create.

New sculptures blown,

bubbles popped, armistice frail, for us.

A fragile peace,

with wineglasses as truce,

and the battle turns quiet.

There’s no more brittle bloodshed,

in faint and thin delicacy.

Pray the flimsy, clear sculpture holds,

and thin skin grows thicker with time

Oracles of Apes

We need stories.

Stories about the world:

To provide insight,

To counsel,

That use lies to tell the truth,

but in the process don’t hurt our hearts,

to dream the improbable.

Stories with characters come to life,

that will perpetuate ideas,

and shape the world.

Books as shrines,

carrying tales

which stand the test of all lifetimes.

And the end of every story

will only happen

when the last one to remember it

takes that last breath.

Royal Salvation

A smiling face,

within these silver walls,

the newly crowned Queen,

steps from her dais,

exits out the flung open egress,

glides along lily strewn paths,

and comes to meet her King.

Together they visit gardens filled with reason,

both antiquated and fresh,

to salvage hope,

a chance for peace,

before the world could go dark.

Spanish Translation:

Salvación Real

Una cara sonriente

dentro de estas paredes plateadas,

la reina recién coronada,

pasos de su tarima,

sale de la salida abierta,

se desliza por senderos llenos de lirios,

y viene a encontrarse con su rey.

Juntos visitan jardines llenos de razón,

tanto anticuado como fresco,

para salvar la esperanza,

una oportunidad para la paz

antes de que el mundo se oscurezca.

Thank you very much to Kyle and Jenny for publishing two of my poems in issue 2 of Abandoned Literary Press.

https://abandonedlibrarypress.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/alp-issue-2.pdf

Love in the Fast Lane

A sweltering sky

floats, as we walk

the lengthy and twisting

picturesque streets.  The knightly ships,

proclaimed as autos,

pass by at a frenzied speed

and never stop.  Your glamour

holds for the moment and remains

my haven of security.

It’s both sacred and rare. But all relationships

find their ends through different circumstances,

and ours is no different. We just had more strength

of will and thought love would bear

and grow, each entrusting the other

to preserve it.  But something happened

that day as we crossed the threshold to walk

beyond the watchful lands 

of ancient history.

Your allure was borne away

on a sudden chilling wind.

Your abrupt chilling, bitter words

cutting deep, even as newer cars

race by on their accelerated journeys.

Campfire Tales As Truly Told

Campfire stories earlier spun,

mirroring a spinning helix

of slate smoke rising.

After the hiss of the campfire’s quenching,

on my way back to town,

I’m traveling down the middle of the road.

Are the trees on each side

dancing the Virginia Reel?

Because this road seems to go forever,

and all the tree branches are applauding

as one, moved by an unseen wind.

So, while I’m stuck between these perimeter swayers,

I’ll recall earlier suppositions brought forth at the camp.

I’ll mull over, as we discussed:

the healing power of music, the ocean, and the stars. 

I recall the creaking of the tavern door,

a most welcome sound,

music pouring forth into the streets,

flowing like water through a screen.

I remember the ocean’s ceaseless hypnosis:

the whoosh, the crash, the endless undulation.

I recollect all the stars’ gentle gleam,

new life always forming 

under these glittering dreams that wink on and off.

And, here I am now,

clear of the dance-line,

a feeling of relief permeating,

at hearing that tavern door pipe up,

while it stands next to the murmuring ocean,

both, under the stars.