Thank you to Stephanie, David, and Jeff at The World Of Myth Magazine for publishing my poem this month.

https://jayzohub.com/darkmythproductions/theworldofmyth/98/poems/the_tragedies_of_the_last_ice_age.html

The Tragedies Of The Last Ice Age
By: Linda Imbler 

Erratic boulders, serpentine eskers, 
the fits and starts of quarantine's dissolution. 
Separately, folks are weathering the glacial age, 
doing their best to escape extinction within the spread, 
as hunter-gatherers of peace and prosperity 
strive to avoid any fall through the ice. 
Successive waves of harsh, bone-chilling 
standpoints and frames of mind 
invade our freedoms. 
Rights and protections as written 
by the language of our elders, 
frozen out, all while disrespecting those heroes 
who never had the luxury of staying in their caves.

-

 Thank you to Dagmara K and her team at Spillwords for publishing my prose today.

https://spillwords.com/sometimes-it-takes-so-little-to-break-a-heart/

SOMETIMES IT TAKES SO LITTLE TO BREAK A HEART

written by: Linda Imbler

 

I walked into the store feeling perfectly chipper. I was stopped in my tracks by what was in front of me. I reeled out as a blubbering mess. I drove home with gushing, swollen eyes. You see, Walmart had lemons. A huge bin of that brightly colored and small sized fruit.

She had lemons in her fruit basket when we stopped by the house after we buried her only six weeks ago. Five small lemons. That number had not appeared significant then. But today, was it just a coincidence that there had been one for each of us kids? Also, it had occurred to me only yesterday, that isn’t six weeks a reasonable amount of time to begin adjusting to such a loss? I must be on my way to healing.

When life hands us lemons, we are supposed to concoct a pitcher full of what is called lemonade. When death hands us lemons, although they never told us, I guess all we can concoct is a pitcher full of tears.

 Thank you to Agron Shele of Atunis Galaxy for publishing my "what if" poem.

Sweet 16

How would human behavior change

if our life expectancy was significantly decreased 

to the set age of 16?

Would there be greed if a want went beyond basic needs,

knowing full well they can’t take it with them?

We only imagine as adults

that sometimes we have reached another.

In this shorter life, would we finally begin 

to understand each other as only children do?

There would be the same sadness of lost days,

just not as many,

and each reminisce would be just as deeply felt,

at the bend of each year,

as the end draws closer.

Yet, I also imagine

that these children will study shadows

to learn the truth of light,

a wonderful, mystic light 

shining on each kid’s unique ties to others.

And, to childhood’s end,

there would be an unusual intensity of seeing, 

in love itself, a transformational magic

that only the young can create.

 Thank you very much to Strider Marcus Jones of the Lothlorien Poetry Journal for publishing three of my poems today.

https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2021/07/three-poems-by-linda-imbler.html

A Wash Of Stars

 

There was a great tremble

in the sky.

What could terror rend?

A wash of stars fell.

Pieces echoing foul tones as they bounced,

but we were too decisively assailed upon

to hold still 

and listen

to the calculated atonal hammering

that assaulted

even the ears of the deaf.

 

And the new stars gleamed. 

Lazarus, The Refined

 

The once dead Lazarus

wakes, stands up, steps over

the dull coins that fall from his eyes.

He feels the power of his old death,

which came without warning, 

and supposedly no remedy,

as a dreamy memory.

His awkwardness falls away as the vanishing heaviness,

once laid upon him, becomes forgotten. 

 

He escapes 

the hazy straitjacket of his passing, 

the ratification of his death is repealed.

He greets Joshua like a friend from the ages. 

When one helps you rise,

it is one’s duty to transform

into a courageous, yet genteel gentleman.

Although even as a corpse,

he behaved quite well.

 

Snakes In Church

 

Trying to prove belief,

confident there will be no wounded effect,

each a fortunate recipient of protection of faith

as you spell out all your sins,

and give a fitting commitment, 

expressing penitence to other worthy ears.

 

Within a bottle of absinthe, something sinister lurks.

Those who partake return with a stranger’s face.

The endless green of liquid jade,

creating a synthesia formed 

from sunlight spilling corona rays as castanets.

 

Flowing heaven or hell on earth,

from each a power overcomes.

A power to feel something grand,

but too much of either is a dangerous thing.

 Thank you to all the editors at the marvelously mad publication, Mad Swirl.

They published this poem in their July issue.

https://madswirl.com/category/poetry/

Featured Poem

Silver Screen Shots

by Linda Imbler on July 15, 2021 

That sad day when she had no will of her own.
A birthday cake pop-up,
but wearing a mask, wearing a TRUE mask,
troubled in a bikini.

Try screaming louder.
A $700 an hour who?
Leave the earth, after cocaine.
Delete, delete, break your silence.
Flash, flash, she should flash her midriff.

Leather pants, still single, why so sad, why so serious?
An illusion that will not die.
Cozy, cozy, after a terrible fall.

Rent, rent, rent, the world has changed.
One hour before his death,
still no will for the one who raised the bar.

editors note: 

Exeunt icons. Arrive eulogies. – mh clay

The radio interview I did last night with host Scott Thomas Outlar was so much fun.  You can click on the link on the right-hand side of this page under the heading "Radio" and be taken to the site to listen to the show in its entirety.

This was such a blast. Scott had great questions. I appreciated hearing from the callers. Shout out to Tim who I know was listening. Hope everyone gets a chance to have a listen in the days to come. Much gratitude to all.

 

Thank you to Soma Publishing for this beautiful ad about my guesting on Songs of Selah with the amazing Scott Thomas Outlar on Monday, July 12th at 6p.m. EST.

Songs of Selah with host Scott Thomas Outlar

5 p.m. CST

Monday, July 12, 2021

17 Numa Radio presents an interview with poet Linda Imbler.

Call in at (646) 668-8757 to talk to the host (Scott Thomas Outlar) 

or the guest.

Songs of Selah
July 12, 2021

On tonight's episode I'm pleased to welcome Linda Imbler to the program...

When not writing, Linda Imbler is an avid reader, classical guitar player, and a practitioner of both Yoga and Tai Chi.  In, addition, she helps her husband, a Luthier, build classical and acoustic (steel string) guitars.  Linda is a life-long learner and she spent the Covid shutdown learning the geography of the world and being able to locate all 197 countries on a map.  She also learned to read Braille. She lives in Wichita, Kansas, U.S.A.  She enjoys her 200-gallon saltwater reef tank wherein resides her 21 year old yellow tang named Antonio. 

Linda’s published paperback poetry collections include Big Questions, Little Sleep,  Big Questions, Little Sleep: Second Edition, Lost and Found, Red Is The Sunrise, and Bus Lights, Travel Sights: Nashville and Back. She has four e-books published by Soma Publishing;  The Sea’s Secret Song, Pairings, which is a hybrid ebook of short fiction and poetry, That Fifth Element, and Per Quindecim. She is currently working on the illustrations for her next book: Spica’s Frequency: One Poet’s Perspective of the Here and Now and the Then and There. Linda has written her first children’s book titled, The Fairy and the Frog.  Her 6-year old niece is currently working on the illustrations for that book. Linda has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has five Best Of The Net nominations.  Examples of Linda’s poetry, a listing of publications, and a timeline for other future projects can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. 

Thank you to Freya Pickard of Pure Haiku 

for publishing my Haiku today.

https://purehaiku.wordpress.com/2021/07/08/5-23-5/

nature's vellum book
unscrolls as you read each line
each tangent explored

© Linda Imbler 2021

Linda’s haiku were shortlisted for the featured haiku writer for this current theme!

This haiku is part of our Unfurling series…

 Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart  for 

publishing my poem in the July Issue.

 

An Omnibus From My Head To The Page

 

 

Each new volume carries its own title and theme.

 

Each new volume constructed using my own contextual progression,

the realized linkage of imagery from piece to piece, all rightfully mine.

 

Multiple dream works, and literary references contained 

within the nutshell of a new publication.

 

A lingual flaming of concepts and conjectures 

 poems or stories are read aloud.

An inky powerhouse of feelings exploding 

across the pages of a new book 

for which I can be pleased to share.

 

So much created during wholehearted moonlighting,

and sheets of delightful introspection

whether I’ve penned a series of uncorroborated misadventures of fiction

which have so been stirred by my imagination,

or the supported version of events lying within non-fictions,

carefully researched and retold using 

 personally crafted unique combinations of words.

 

Visions, revisions, redivisions, 

formulations, reformulations, fabrications, 

remodeled, rebuilt.

 

 Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my poem in the July issue.

https://www.arielchart.com/2021/07/spurious.html

Spurious

 

Only fictitious hurt sets upon

your haughtily and artificially shrouded heart.

You felt it was so right

to claim non-existent torments.

Your skin slick with fright

when you thought

you might be sought

to explain your accusations

to those you had chosen to malign.

What streamed from your eyes

was purportedly vanquished sleet,

but your tears lacked any pedigree.

 

A fireproof gig you’d come to play,

like so many before you,

who’d never learned how to entertain,

properly, 

without brute jabs

from a quiver of sharp words strapped

to your tongue.

You let loose your volley.

The cast of your bow,

surely you meant to hit the mark

of those supposed victors

you claimed had smeared you.

 

Now the jig is up.

You’ve been caught dead to rights,

but all you’ve blamed

will simply turn and walk away,

and let the mirror sit as your judge.

 Thank you to Janine Mercer of Corvus Review for publishing my poem in Issue 16.

https://img1.wsimg.com/blobby/go/611fabd3-8220-45e3-bf9d-d2a394260000/downloads/Corvus%20Issue%2016%20SS.pdf?ver=1625191787284

Crumpled Paper 

Every heartache’s gleam seems dim,

compared to the one you have at this moment. 

Your grief being cultivated on the fertile ground 

of this thin, smooth, pulped wood.

Marked by your pain,

as you contemplate the meaning 

of the deep marks upon the page.

Sorrow now found only in distance, 

lies, and your misleading imagination.

Anguish is transitory.

This once bad reality,

you can toss away.

You, feeling the casualness

 of this now crumpled paper.

 Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for 

publishing my poem in the July issue.

https://www.arielchart.com/2021/07/some-advice-on-courage-of-love-and-atoms.html

Some Advice on the Courage of Love and Atoms

 

Splitting atoms takes courage. And acclaiming the rot of wax platitudes dripping from a 

cotton candle wick won’t improve a situation.  It’ll do as much good as picking 

up tossed beer cups at the height of a rock concert. That pounding in your head 

is probably just the universe telling you necessity breeds so much more than the 

promises of invention’s result.

 

Like sunshine, be content enough to be found outside of the shadows. When they 

tell us that some lost their minds, we should ask if that’s an imperative for knowing 

that any mysteries the dark side of the moon once held are now common knowledge.  

Grow yourself, and build your stadium large enough to hold one thousand horses; 

trojans if you can get them, and invite everyone. There’s gladness to be found in a hall of 

mirrors. 

Just put the most suitable things in front of them to be reflected. The wisest will 

laugh at the proper occurrences. Swan dive into mystic waters. Enjoy the ride on the wind 

upon every single nameless thing carrying you away. Remember, one can’t touch hate, 

and sometimes love doesn’t speak; it just suffices.  

 

Let your mind rest once the curtain falls. Don’t let your head be filled with too big of a font

for the word “me,” because in the end, the all of you that was visible could fit inside a small urn.