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


https://www.arielchart.com/2020/09/when-parakeets-disappeared.html

When The Parakeets Disappeared

I remember what you were,

although I dreamt of you becoming

something else.

I recall your actions of brilliant deviltry,

while wearing so well your anthropoid sneer,

remaining so nonplussed while I bled.

You brought home to me two parakeets in a cage

during one of your rare, dolorous frames of mind.

But, I learned that you were

a bungling traitor on whom

I had wasted worthy love while

smothered beneath your lustiest mockery

of expressions of affection.

I also discovered that you

sought to use the birds  

as a means to confine me, as they themselves were confined,

and all heard my grief.

I thought your shallow inputs to help 

cure my oblivion were real.

But, your sad and cruel refusal to abjure trickery

showed the truth.

You promised to re-orient yourself, but continued 

to rule your roost,

laying down petty rules,

as if formulated by an emperor.

Your haughty fabrications

brought me to the point of leaving the cage door open,

and as I exited through the front door,

those beautiful birds, now free, chirped,

and I felt no despair, pain, or anger at their escape.

We all got away,

and all heard my relief.

Thank you to Annette Nasser and her team for publishing my two poems in the inaugural issue of this beautiful new publication ILA Magazine.





https://www.ilamagazine.net/poetry-and-prose-1

Arabesque Beauty

The inhale, the exhale, the pranayama of breath,

while displaying an array of backward and forward bends.

Braid of ankles, weave of arms,

spine lines curved or straight.

The set-up of vinyasa flow for new asanas, 

physical poses in twists, flexes, folds.

Intertwining elegance of the lotus,

practice within the stretch, mesh, and groove.

The soft sound of mantra

at body’s relaxation 

while we continue the drishti gaze.

Namaste.

Parnassus

At its mountain top,

a summit rife with harmonics,

and commanders of verse

on this limestone mount,

where all who scale its well-shaped peaks

are taught to sing down their learning.

Centuries of knowledge stacked,

Kings and Princes,

Demons and Daemons,

Queens and the Jester,

heeding,

the clarion, the harp, the dance,

the arts that make the world good,

comedies/tragedies,

stars, spheres,

inspirations of divinity,

the enthusiasm of sacred revelations.

Forget evils,

seek beauty and love in all future creations.

Imagination’s a precious thing.

Artistry from the pen, from the harp, the song.

A thousand faces of new birth.

No emulation, each muse to its own talents.

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.