Thank you to Dr. Ahmad of The Beautiful Space

for publishing my poem.

https://www.thebeautifulspace.co.uk/a-journal-of-mind-art-and-poetry

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.
 

A big thank you to Editors Sunil Sharma, Anurag Sharma, and Scott Thomas Outlar for including two of my poems in the Western Voices 2020 segment of Setu Mag.

https://www.setumag.com/2020/04/linda-imbler-western-voices-2020.html

Father Music Along the Seashore

Lavender ink

writes what was held back.

Lyrics,

so colorful.

The day’s troubles

cried out, and then

assembled into song.

Pale purple sky opens,

and a chorus of green leafed blooms

waking after a long rest,

composed of harmonious sounds

suggestive of Heaven and Midnight.

People audibly yearning, 

who will not dismiss the wind.

Even sirens in ships

singing the melodies,

as all ears bend

to accept swarms of music.

Journey on Knees 

During the long afternoon,

while victories and histories are resolved

under a wretched abundance of broken dreams.

As the sorrow of madness grows,

and all tyrants’ venom is choked out,

under the demented kingdom

of the moon’s shadow.

A cheap fling

circles forth,

as new shadows are wearing away,

exposing angels, in that murk,

wearing ancient robes.

Squelches my breath,

while floating within 

a climate of sacraments,

worshipped, playful, obscene,

obscure, adverse.

All viewed from the wild road,

with favorite corners.

All this,

as I crawl toward the offbeat, freaky

Shangri-La of your eyes.

Conversation

Justice spoke to Death,
asking when to intervene.
Death replied, "At all times,
for you have seen
what I have seen."


Spanish Translation:

La justicia habló a la muerte,

preguntando cuándo intervenir,

la muerte respondió "en todo momento,

porque has visto

lo que he visto.”

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

https://www.arielchart.com/2020/05/looking-beyond-steel-machine.html






Looking Beyond the Steel Machine



Who should we curry favor with

in this age of science and steel?


If we must agree

there are useless things,

do not let those things be:

Spring’s hand 

waving nostalgic forest fragrance

into the air.

Scarred hills

reminding us of the trampled wildness 

of the land when we trod too heavily upon the Earth.

Silken love passed between

spouses,siblings, and parent/child.

Blissful sleep enjoyed while

candles’ wicks are softly bowing.


We’ve allowed the fate of time

to fill our yesterdays, 

and shape us in ways 

we were not meant to conform to.


Must we sleep until our futures melt away? 

And yesterday’s tomorrows 

become tomorrow’s yesterdays?


We must hope to never be frightened into corners,

seeing the world through fearful eyes,

creating a new religion of the steel machine.

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

https://www.arielchart.com/2020/05/holy-water-in-age-of-covid.html






Holy Water In The Age of Covid


The priests said

the world was ever right

if we sit with calm,

a bottle of holy water

run from the tap 

of our self-contained houses.


We left the rhythm of the womb,

and the rocking of the cradle

to learn the rocking of beats

until the silence exploded.

Wise men held their tongues,

as should those at the poker table.

People obsessed over 

the depths of their breath,

through their noses, their skin.


A haven of things discovered

within new messages 

of what the night told them,

and the day concurred.


There’s still thirst 

now that the wine has been drunk,

but that water from the tap is not only holy, but wet.

 I am very honored and thrilled to have had my ekphrastic poem chosen to represent Lynn Chadwick's amazing sculpture.  The Ravinia Festival in Highland Park, Illinois has been postponed due to social distancing, but all of the poets' signs will eventually find their way to their respective sculpture partners and then the fun will commence! Thank you, Jennifer, Sylvia, and Lynn.

Thank you to Nilavro Nill Shoovro for publishing this poem in the May issue of Our Poetry Archive (OPA.)

https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2020/05/linda-imbler.html

Gambler’s Choice:  

Odds, Seven To Ten

Well within this century

People gamble cleverly

Employing all their energy

Depleting their own treasury

While placing themselves in jeopardy

Their touch on the real world feathery

They forget one rule elementary

Debtors can’t live their lives exemplary