Sunday, April 25, 2021
Farewell, Friend
No longer feeling what you feel
or seeing it all your way.
your ideas not anymore
my ideas,
I stand here alone,
face that door,
sense the shift,
the welcome parting,
my necessary pardoning
of your misdemeanors,
old hurts held close
before
not to hurt me anymore
your seeds of wisdom
now grown to weeds
I’ll take myself only
to where my heart leads.
Saturday, April 24, 2021
Thank you to Host Bob McNeil and James of Underground Books for the Zoom meeting tonight.
I had a great time and heard lots of talented poets read.
Dear Blog Readers:
Here are the two poems I read on the Zoom meeting tonight:
Having Found The Red Thread
Such simple plans, for we two,
Our best times on sandy beaches or kitchen’s cozy embrace,
Blanketing like woolen shawls.
We’ll stay warm in front of fish tank’s gleaming lights,
Against the chilliest nights, at days retreat.
We hold so few regrets.
Have perfect symmetry within this closed latter set.
Flight
I think of myself
as a bird with twigs to save,
for a nest of memories,
for remembrance of labors well done,
and much sweet music played.
I have, at times, been queen of all music,
enjoyed the zoom, the sweep , and the rush
of a soft landing after a rough flight.
I never found time for mocking the fates
at the fading view of day,
but made time instead
for singing life in deep-throated tones.
With dearest friends, there was never an end
to what we could talk about and learn,
no terminus to listing ways
in which we could leave the world a better place.
So we stayed patient and waited.
We marveled at how quickly time had elapsed
since the last sunset rolled along.
We hypothesized what might erase all our worlds,
and prognosticated when peace would come again.
I’ll recall,
when my final dawn sneaks forward,
the many grades and pitfalls
I stumbled through while remaining upright.
I’ll keep walking in shades of beauty,
seeing the twinkling stars play,
fold my frail wings in supplication,
and never cease to pray.
I’ll survive the stormy blasts
to walk beneath the archway of a rainbow,
delighted and delighting that I did not fail.
And get there just in time to the wind-kissed sea,
then fly lightly on my way,
as the dim of my eyes arrives.
Here are the two poems I read today on the Zoom meeting with @40 other poets (all quite talented) hosted by Glenn Lyvers of Prolific Press.
9/11
In his luggage, that did not complete the soar,
was a beautiful memory of having once flown to Holland.
A more pleasant memory than the one
which he will never bring home.
Today, taverns have turned into sacred places of prayer.
The sky is silent but for the sound of weeping clouds.
Poets use terms like ‘gone to eternal rest’
and 'found the big sleep.’
I also know this poet’s song
will now never be completely sung.
I wonder what we will call this day
in one hundred years,
and if its potency will be diminished.
And, in all the days that follow this Tuesday,
I will hear his voice in my head,
that voice all others have forgotten.
I’ll open the door and suddenly
be out on windy Kansas plains,
sighting all the other lonely people.
I’ll say this moment must not rule me
and sometimes that will be the truth.
Time
In the dark of night he crept,
deft and quick,
this Robin Hood.
He must've been
a thief of time,
because I never saw him.
But one day when I looked
in the mirror,
I realized he’d been there many times.
After all these years,
I grasped how much
of my youth he had taken.
The robber of so many of my minutes.
Yet, he left to me a pile of memories,
of faces and conversations.
A pile growing larger each year,
so he does give back to the poor.
Thank you to David K. Montoya and Stephanie J. Bardy of The World of Myth Magazine for publishing my poem in the April issue.
Caterpillar Explains 2020 To Alice While In Wonderland
By: Linda Imbler
When pride, calculating, cheats outside a collective verse,
the flooded commentary pops above the screaming words.
A fossil steps across a scenario
after the censorship emerges from this nervous wheel.
When pride, calculating, cheats outside a collective verse.
The burst unjails every restrained wonder
while loving brothers generalize their emptier childhood.
The voice bans the creep's response.
Every fairy will frown at the essence of our confidential lies.
When pride, calculating, cheats outside a collective verse.
Wednesday, April 21, 2021
With 234 contributions from 151 poets in 36 countries, and from 30 states in the US; published in two volumes, FAITH is probably one of the largest and most significant international collections of poetry on the theme of faith ever published.
Tuesday, April 20, 2021
The Forgotten Life of Velma Evans
From room to room,
she wanders and examines,
each room set with half drawn shades.
So many things leave no impression,
but there are pictures here and there,
that briefly incite a quicker heartbeat
and some pattering of the tiny feet of remembrances.
A vague memory,
almost a seed taking root,
If she could have recalled:
He was always a plane taking off
against the wind,
the smell of Aqua Velva in his cheek.
But, these, only mere images,
fleet and fading.
And if it hurts to remember
once being happy,
then she feels no pain.
Music of the Medusa
One being, a bell with tentacles,
having already designed and imagined
all that exists, except for the best of musical sounds,
sent every tentacle to travel through space,
to travel through time,
requesting each realm to develop their own unique sound,
asking each world to discover that single note
and keep it safe until the tentacle could return
and learn it and return to the Medusa with that sound on its tongue.
A tone to be added to a magnificent composition
so that all places might share in a great song,
enjoy divine, melodic bliss.
So having been informed of the task,
the music of the spheres began.
Each world constructed Schelling’s frozen music
and taught the sound to their children
so that they could connect with nature and all that she provides.
On our own world, man sang, but he found legion
and each became unknown to the others, a free will gift.
So, in time, there was much dissonance,
too many sounds, all so different, and out of harmony.
Discord became the status quo.
But one day, Earth's tentacle will return and ask
as it was instructed, for our world to provide,
as one tongue, a single intonation
that is striking, melodious, benevolent.
For our sake, Mankind will have to find that voice together.
For at the last and at the beginning , the Medusa,
that source of all beauty that any have ever known or dreamt of,
will combine all sounds, even it which man, as one world, composed,
and will create a symphony of the ages, which will never cease.
© Imbler, 2015
Leviathan
Inside this giant, hatred is bred,
Sour breath of hostility spread,
Jealousy propagates ill will,
Malignant evil enough to kill.
Cold scorn begins to germinate,
Becomes the heart’s master,
Advances agendas of hate,
Destroys ever faster.
Forced ideologies meant to control,
Freedoms constrained that diminish man's soul,
At what price will humanity regain,
The right to transcend oppression again.
©Imbler, 2108
Brigh
Ireland’s Brigid, the safe mistress of sound bodies.
Protects all heroes born beside the misty moors
of Eire in Spring, having stood against all wintry winds.
Healing as the sun rises and again drops.
She watches over the darkling heaths as star beams emerge,
shadowed dreams woven within poets’ stories.
She instills wisdom within the lofty minds of scholars.
She, giver of ink and ideas to bards, writers, and scribes.
Flames of truth welded into the craft of smithing.
The copper glow of her plaited hair as she guides
strong hands and stout hearts both forged and forging.
Patroness of warfare, her complex surveying of skills.
The keening of whistle’s call heard over the peat,
fertility rites replacing those souls lost in battle.
© Imbler, 2020
Monday, April 19, 2021
Some Haiku, Titled Or Not
Camouflage of a
plaid dressed creature accepting
a new paisley coat.
Cloudy nebula
fogging up the sky’s mirror.
Stars exhale their breath.
Enchantment found in
our furry brothers’ kind eyes.
The color of love.
The sea’s secret song
played as if a symphony
by all splendid beasts.
Beauty of the gods
we see in ocean, earth, and
sky as all hues gleam.
Guitar
Bent wooden body
Nylon strings reverberate
Elegant sounds birthed
Purchase
Snick of closing door
Melt into soft seat covers
New car smell excites
Shelter
Yips and barks echo
Enclosures house anxious dogs
I choose the beagle
Teacher
A new learning day
My hands covered with chalk dust
All lessons well taught
Spring
Snapdragon scent wafts
Bells of foxglove stand erect
Bees suckle bee balm
Winter
Snow covered driveway
Ungloved hand stings touching ice
A slippery day
Autumn Bliss
Crisp red apples bought
Ingredients assembled
Baked pie’s smell fills house
Summer
Sun’s bright gleam in heat
Splashing heard at every pool
Laughing children shout
Adoption
This is the best day
Hearing I’ll forever live
Here with these people
Baobab
Baobab grows tall
Thirsty roots dig deep in soil
Praise the tree of life
Immortal
Music of my soul
Ashes mingled with vinyl
Thank you, Mortician
Independence
I’ll think for myself
My faith is my own feeling
My heart tells the truth
Sexy midnight
Its shadow covers this land
Prince wails through speakers.
Words carried on gentle breeze
Telling all I wish to say
Tales about forgiveness.
Say the truth that’s in your heart
Sing it out from between your lips
Songs never unsung.
Flood waters cover
All those things you wish to hide
Sail wide over them.
Winter trees’ graveyard
Leafless branches bent and stiff
Spring’s resurrection.
straight jade road ahead
side streets unwind many truths
all is possible
drips from painter’s brush
opens up all shades of green
fronds’ laced extensions
stretching up skywards
new growth thickens as it blooms
springtime is unwrapped
supple scrollwork art
invites guests through every door
welcome mats unroll
Saturday, April 17, 2021
Thank you to Herojit Philem of Ambrosial Literary Garland for publishing my poem in the April issue.
https://literarygarland.com/c-issue/
All Roads Lead To Your Enlightenment
On each road, even the less travelled, intersecting paths exist,
meeting your trail from the left or the right.
At these intersections, you might face others
who can help you gather your thoughts, show you respectable new ways
to roll these new understandings into a cohesive whole.
Passersby who may help you develop
more positive thoughts,
experience new reactions.
These roads offer a form of time travel,
to remind you of past success,
complete your awareness of the be-here-now present,
and offer recognizable hope for the future.
Paths, focused in their intent,
that bring clear messages you can carry with you on your journey.