Thank you to Nilavronill Shoovro of Our Poetry Archive (OPA) for publishing three of my poems in the September issue.


https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2020/09/linda-imbler.html

All Is Well

Alas, all is well,

although the misery of the world lingers.

Philosophers say any pain in our heart

is a reminder that we live, that we are human.

So the great wheel turns while we stumble along beside it,

a circle moving quickly, not yet ours to board.

Our boarding pass of tears that gains us passage,

that final price not yet met,

until all teardrops are spent.

That time will come when no pain is felt,

and tears are a distant memory,

then we climb on board.

Alas, all is well.

Fearless After Love Leaves

I want to be fearless

after love leaves,

an offbeat reveler,

a lustrous cowgirl,

facing things with effective focus.

To continue being strong

and showing humility,

even though being kind is what some

people fear doing the most.

When the world seems combative,

to keep an audacious passion

for sharing things which the lonely

and unloved crave.

Being true and brave,

even when my bones are clacking inside.

Like a marshmallow aflame,

letting the brightness

and warmth of my blaze

light up the world.

Getting You

A mile in your shoes gives insight only into that mile.

Before and after un-noted.

I want to get what you’re about.

I wish to know what dreams you carry

toward the abyss.

Getting you, I see at last.

Getting you, that seeker of oblivion.

I only need now to get away.

Thank you to the team at Credo Espoir for publishing my three pieces today in Issue 6.

https://issuu.com/credoespoir/docs/credoespoirissue_6_final

Upon, Above, Among, Under

Hear the crescendo at the peak

of increasingly vibrant waves,

from restless surge to thunderous breakers,

and back to calm.

See life rise and descend.

Experience the scent of salt.

Touch the tide with bare feet.

Taste the salinity that comes from shallow or deep.

See the purple haze,

or a sky gray and leaden with rain,

or a sky hanging blue and cloudless.

Feel thunder rumble and light, cool breezes blow,

smell ozone,

count stars in the dark.

Within the woods,

from tall ancients to thin babes,

listen to the soft whisper of leaves trembling on the wind,

or the crunchy fallen ones.

Witness the grand ballet of shadows from swaying branches.

View green hues atop brown on bark,

bark felt as rough and coarse.

Collect crushed willow bark used for medicine.

Taste maple drawn from inside the trunk.

Smell the fragrance of resin and sap.

The seas and forests,

awake and sleep,

breathe some aspects from the wide open skies.

Prizes we should continue to treasure and cherish,

until we end up peacefully under all three.

When Truth Makes Us Smile

Send good sight and laughter

to me.

Real love is brave, and

its expression is not icy.

Let me feel that

each day

the victory, the triumph

of all your adoration

encloses my breath in my chest.

Let us want,

to trust the future,

carry our inner light,

reveling in radiant truth.

Let’s help the sun rise,

bringing all honor to shine on the world,

purging grief from our voices, 

and shed only golden tears

when truth makes us smile.

Pure Altruism  (One Man’s Journey)

A once lonely old man told me

his old discontent and ruin

had been displaced by something more grand

once he discovered selflessness and benevolence, 

along with true concern for well-being of others.

He decided one day while staring within a looking glass, 

that the picture seen should be one 

which does not reflect human distress.

but instead shows the only truth that matters,

a reflection of one being performing only actions

for which there would be no eternal remorse.

The looking glass became his Dorian Gray meter.

He traveled with the mirror,

using it as his guide

in the pursuit of performing deeds of:

Humanitarianism, Philanthropy, Magnanimity,

and each day that passed

he was able to see himself in the glass

looking more content and happy.

Finding magnificent evidence

of each extants’ greatness 

through the miles as he roamed,

wide miles for which he yearned,

since he had already lost so much time.

And he found along those paths

an appreciation of asking for nothing,

and speaking without lies,

and each time he was able to look in that mirror

with grateful eyes.

In the end, 

his protected bones passed the test

given to each of us.

And, to honor him,

the sun never fell

and the moon never went dark

as his last deed was painted across the heavens.

Thank you to Jim Lewis of Verse-Virtual for publishing my poem today in the September issue.

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




Fairy Tales Exposed

I see,
even with
eyes closed in sleep,
dishonesty.
When the vow
to love is taken,
within the beauty of a kiss,
our poetry becomes visible.
He or me,
the cooing partner,
easing us into the territory
of the heart, not to be lost.
The verdict of truth should speak
with great care and exactitude
from our caring lips,
but deep sleep can teach 
that elapsed time
does not always work in
our favor.  Therefore, listening to
tales from either emperors
or mendicants 
sometimes exposes the
varied shapes of fairy tales -
and I will lose all, 
if I only believe 
in the merits of fantasy,
and not its deficits.

Thank you, David K. Montoya of World of Myth Magazine for publishing my poem today.


http://www.theworldofmyth.com






I'm Not Going To Let Fear Drive My Performance


What will still me as much as courage?
Amid a welter of conflicting images,
is brought the wreck of rumor and innuendo.
I'll plan my future,
won't listen to provocations,
won't perform in this Gothic-styled tragedy,
for beyond this curtain, my own stage calls me.
Some believe lies give strength,
enjoy a fear compounded,
but, there's pain in false memory,
an uncomfortable, unreal quality.
In the chill of others' darkness,
I'll let love and truth
warm my road,
under a blue sky lit,
bright and reflective,
and forge myself
as a new coin agleam.
The strength of truth
is its inevitable unmasking.
This poem has had its say.

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing this poem.


https://www.arielchart.com/2020/08/on-smiling-night.html

On A Smiling Night

I sing,

and the stars answer.

My spirit rises to meet them.

Those points of light

that have traveled beyond worlds

I can only imagine.

Candlelight,

secret fires’ dying flames,

carried through the universe.

They twinkle

as cosmic breezes

blow over their torches.

Stars, perished,

from dead worlds.

I contemplate their messages

as I gaze into the night sky,

and watch these former

grandfathers of the galaxies

smile their last smile.

Inspired by a conversation about stars:

On A Smiling Night

I sing,

and the stars answer.

My spirit rises to meet them.

Those points of light

that have traveled beyond worlds

I can only imagine.

Candlelight,

secret fires’ dying flames,

carried through the universe.

They twinkle

as cosmic breezes

blow over their torches.

Stars, perished,

from dead worlds.

I contemplate their messages

as I gaze into the night sky,

and watch these former

grandfathers of the galaxies

smile their last smile.

© Copyright, Linda Imbler, 2020.

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my poem today.

https://www.arielchart.com/2020/08/mesmered.html

Mesmered

Boxcars and ghettos,

shattered histories lie broken.

Moon and stars,

pale white like grain on a stalk.

Joy and elation,

both sensed when one voice is found in the sky.

Ethereal,

smidgens of solitude and truth.

A fragrant bath 

of my most desirable dreams,

as stunning as

the amazing quiet

of a lone path through a woods.

Thank you to Dagmara K. and her team at Spillwords for featuring this poem today.

https://spillwords.com/angus-the-king/

Photo: Courtesy of Spillwords

Angus The King

written by: Linda Imbler

I

Baby Angus, Woodland Prince
born in rising Sun’s golden light
where symphonic crickets
do live
and faeries
watch and the faeries do gleam
they see his day begin
as dew newly formed
lies atop emerald grass
neighboring side-by-side the peaceful
rivers that bear the
flow of water
and the flow of his life, coaxing
him to learn to stand
and coaxing him to learn
to walk, for how else
will his small hand begin
to brush the azure sky
which holds within its
breast the very birds
and the clouds and the bright moon?

Woodland Prince
may rill and stream and brook and beak
keep you from all harm.

II

Young Childe Angus, Woodland Prince
growing while Summer’s night concerts
of crickets fill the air
with song
and faeries
hear and the faeries do sing
they see him walk under
white oaks and rusty
red alders where nests of birds flock
and as he matures he feels the new
bark on new trees and
he wanders far
and wide to discover jungle
green slopes near sapphire
streams feeding conifers
and ash, for how else to
learn to extend his hand
to present lavender
orchids as he asks
his Princess for the
first dance at the high school prom?

Woodland Prince
may trunks and bark and leaf and branch
guide your head and heart.

III

Master Angus, Woodland King
the harvest moon has risen now
as the summer has slipped
away
and faeries
sigh and the faeries do sough
as timber-wolf Autumn
sky beckons him to
his place upon the hammock
strung between two lichen covered trees
his queen by his side
and his children
grown having learned from him that the
whitetail deer and the
brown chipmunk coexist
in peace, for how else
would they believe there is
a place for each life and
a use for each life
whether beetle or
ant or hawk, bear, or striped skunk?

Woodland King
May your continued example
help all love mankind.

IV

Grand-Pére Angus, Woodland King
walks in weaker Winter sunlight
yet recalls Summer sun’s
bright beam
and faeries
lift and the faeries do speak
as the river having
channeled to its end
and the trees having reached their
final height and the fox with thickened
fur and hidden stars
emerge to guide
him beyond the purple twilight
to where he may rest
away from the path long
traveled, for how else
will he feel the sense of
peace for how things have gone
his memory with
no regrets knowing
all is well within his realm?

Woodland King
may your eyes rise to show you the
offerings of God.

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my poem today.

https://www.arielchart.com/2020/08/turtle-creek-ii.html

Turtle Creek II

The sky painted swirling blue and white,

green grass, newly mown.

We’re on our knees, our backs, our stomachs,

lying on towels and blankets.

Men with chests bare, women baring

legs and feet.  Our eyes closed

behind green-lensed glasses.  We inhale and listen

to the strains of radio waves rocking across Turtle Creek Park.

We laze beneath the vase shaped leaves

of elms.  Dreams we share,

as one mind. Later, I run to follow the

spinning trajectory of a frisbee thrown.

It’s a day made for us.