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.

© Imbler, 2015

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.

Thank you to Editor Robin Barratt for publishing my poem, "What's Not To Believe" in 

The Poet Magazine's Faith Issue.

 

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. 

Thank you to Market Place, Journal by Forbidden Verses for publishing my poem, "This Is A Good Thing"  in the Skin issue.