Thank you to Stephanie, David, and Jeff for publishing my poem in this month's issue of The world Of Myth Magazine.

http://www.theworldofmyth.com/?fbclid=IwAR0MuogcE4U7q7xtrTygj8ku4G2Hkbk9a9nvrwuB4MrydSaPEmSxnvM4H58

What's Taught In The Full Of The Moon
By: Linda Imbler 

Above where mountains meet the sky, 
the fate of lovers modified 
by the glints of love light in their eyes. 
Remember what's important and what still shines, 
in the early close of daylight, 
in serene and dignified night. 
The excellent lineage through four phases to this one. 
Missing dreamers recovered every month, 
lunar mystic fun. 
Shadows swim in front of the high-hung moon's lustrous dress, 
we're suddenly absorbed in the truth hard-pressed. 
Clouds dissolve before orbs of night hanged, 
obeying fully lit moon's commands, 
fold all knowledge in our hands, 
all once sought beneath the full of the moon.

 HAPPY NATIONAL DOG DAY

For her:

Dreaming of Dog

Come to me while I'm sleeping,

show me that you are trusting of me

and that you wish to go home.

Show me that you wish to see your backyard,

that you like your doghouse

on the porch - with your bed.

You’ll find your soft blanket,

you’ll settle into deep and restful sleep,

where dreams of rabbits are waiting

for you and you’ll watch them frolic. 

Come to me while I'm sleeping,

show me that you love your dinner

and the crunchy treats that follow

after that last bite.

Then you’ll follow me inside

and I will pet you while you nap,

pet your head, then chest,

pet your back down to the tail,

recalling your busy day

and looking forward to tomorrow.

Come to me while I'm sleeping,

show me that you are happy

that you have found me. 

You'll come to me,

walk into my arms and not squirm,

rest your head on my breast

and let me kiss the top of your head,

and I will smell your fur and feel its thickness.

Come to me because I have called you,

and you have answered.

© Imbler, 2017

 Thank you very much to Pomona Valley Review for publishing two of my poems in their latest issue.

https://pomonavalleyreviewcom.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/pvr-15.pdf

SHOW ME HOW TO RECONNECT .

No demons found behind trees,
nor on curtains thick and dark. Nothing found within any shadows. 

So where and how did it all go wrong?

The world has shut itself off,
no longer able to offer a song,
but only the rot of once securely linked ropes.

Advancing, all becomes subdued from within.
The disassembly of fairy tales,
and least remembered dreams,
making us indifferent to the memory of things long enjoyed.

I continue to seek input
on how to reconnect all things. Show me how.

SENTIMENTALITY OF A FEW SENSATIONS IN DEATH? .

Do the dead fear the color and scent of a rose?
Perhaps a soft breeze blowing through their spectral figures? 

Do they cringe at the sound of music, of birds,
of the voices of loved ones left behind
as they watch over them?

In truth, they only fear the fade and loss of memory of such things. 

For to believe that the dead do not mourn,
that is the most senseless folly of the living.

Thank you very much to Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing three of my poems in August.

https://www.arielchart.com

The Unworkable Puzzle?

 

When introspection goes awry.

Rumination,

the thinking tease of deep consideration,

scratching the brain.

 

The wrecked development of once lucid plans

by poisonous clumps of stacked thoughts, piled askew,

compulsive spiral schemes developed

to bring forth mad truths that are not actually truths. 

 

Or,

indecisive trudges back and forth, 

born of buzzing restlessness.

 

Or,

Repeated attendance

to details that were already long concluded,

readdressed,

now once again not completed.

 

Caustic enticements, 

obsessive notions held tightly by meshed rigor.

Weedy stragglers,

clogging passageways of thought,

strengthening obstacles, 

and causing withering deflation to what might work.

 

We must find our way 

past becoming redundant, sullen customers 

in the shops of sorrow,

selling cloaks of collective misery,

while brooding on negative events.

 

We must stop and weigh

all our options for moving forward,

close doors to what has never worked,

pull all other choices into the light of day,

so that no more doubts can be obscured by shadows.

Forgiveness Within The Web

 

Remember those

who forgave 

you,

and know that

your own act 

of forgiveness 

will

make you 

immortal.

This is the heroism

of losing

personal ego,

and

of you

remembering not to allow

the web 

to thrum 

with your own 

vibrating enmity.

A Completed Person

 

Religion to scare us,

the Devil to snare us,

God only loves you if you’re good.

 

Original sin,

Do you only believe in

the diamond glint of angel wings?

 

There’s two sides to the coin.

It’s important to join

the nice you,

and the naughty you together.

 

A completed person

makes a better version,

which we all can understand.

 Thank you very much to Annette Nasser and her team at ILA Magazine for publishing my poems.

https://www.ilamagazine.net/post/poetry-of-linda-imbler?fbclid=IwAR2AMRSb5LozlgcU_LsEl-oPBvAezXF2jG_6pZIBkAObmIF0PxFM60TWNxM

That Turgid Timekeeper Blast the turgid timekeeper, that bombastic ticker of opportunity and occurrence, always congesting time with seconds, minutes and hours. There's no mercy in the hourglass. The sand has no choice but to drop, and expose the depth of all that has been, even for those who have made no progress. An oblique sense of time given to us

by that experienced jester of intervals,

who presented to us,

upon and inside the constant stream,

scenes from life's footage. Who presents a jumbled lace of occasions, which turn our world into a living, breathing strand of sentiment

within the sediment.

Prime Mover

You’re the pedal that rotates and moves the bike,

a helping hand boosting others’ climb to the top of the vine.

You make sure ventures never blink,

but instead clear a line of sight to courteous consideration.

You, a humane intellectual. Not afraid to tackle the question,

how can problems between and among us be resolved?

Your heart tells other hearts the lasting solution.

You, aiding others to stand on level ground,

and hold the line of dignity steady:

None to fall back,

None to fall down.

You, the prime mover of kindness.

Your greatest power is in your smile.

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

https://www.arielchart.com/2021/08/the-unworkable-puzzle.html

The Unworkable Puzzle?

 

When introspection goes awry.

Rumination,

the thinking tease of deep consideration,

scratching the brain.

 

The wrecked development of once lucid plans

by poisonous clumps of stacked thoughts, piled askew,

compulsive spiral schemes developed

to bring forth mad truths that are not actually truths. 

 

Or,

indecisive trudges back and forth, 

born of buzzing restlessness.

 

Or,

Repeated attendance

to details that were already long concluded,

readdressed,

now once again not completed.

 

Caustic enticements, 

obsessive notions held tightly by meshed rigor.

Weedy stragglers,

clogging passageways of thought,

strengthening obstacles, 

and causing withering deflation to what might work.

 

We must find our way 

past becoming redundant, sullen customers 

in the shops of sorrow,

selling cloaks of collective misery,

while brooding on negative events.

 

We must stop and weigh

all our options for moving forward,

close doors to what has never worked,

pull all other choices into the light of day,

so that no more doubts can be obscured by shadows.

The Unworkable Puzzle?

 

When introspection goes awry.

Rumination,

the thinking tease of deep consideration,

scratching the brain.

 

The wrecked development of once lucid plans

by poisonous clumps of stacked thoughts, piled askew,

compulsive spiral schemes developed

to bring forth mad truths that are not actually truths. 

 

Or,

indecisive trudges back and forth, 

born of buzzing restlessness.

 

Or,

Repeated attendance

to details that were already long concluded,

readdressed,

now once again not completed.

 

Caustic enticements, 

obsessive notions held tightly by meshed rigor.

Weedy stragglers,

clogging passageways of thought,

strengthening obstacles, 

and causing withering deflation to what might work.

 

We must find our way 

past becoming redundant, sullen customers 

in the shops of sorrow,

selling cloaks of collective misery,

while brooding on negative events.

 

We must stop and weigh

all our options for moving forward,

close doors to what has never worked,

pull all other choices into the light of day,

so that no more doubts can be obscured by shadows.