Thank you very much to Editor Barbara Leonhard for publishing my poem today.

https://feedthehol.blogspot.com/2026/07/two-different-versions-by-linda-imbler.html

Photo by Brett Sayles

Two Different Versions

Why is it always so beautiful,

the day after?

Soft, dreamy blue skies,

wispy clouds that linger,

but do not cover the sun,

long grass greener than something

perfected in the Emerald City?

Why is it always so ugly,

the day after?

Harsh azure overhead

that burns the eyes,

grass that feels like sharp glass on bare feet,

clouds that look like they 

could choke you with their coils.

People passing by with happy demeanors

that give you hope that one day you will again

be one of them,

if just given time.

People passing by with smiles and laughter 

that seems arrogant and mocking.

Do they not know 

what has happened to you?

AC-DC, high and low,

I’m okay, I’m not okay,

I’m okay, I’m not okay,

I’m okay,

I’m not okay.

 

GOING LIVE THE WEEK OF JULY 6-10 IN PAPERBACK AND KINDLE VERSIONS,

 

THREE OF MY POEMS IN HERE

 

AVAILABLE AT AMAZON

There’s much to be experienced in a year’s time; much to be thought, much to be learned and taught, much to be felt, much to be imagined, and much to be remembered.

Our bodies work as systems that store thoughts, emotions, and dreams. And, as a result, we fear the insurmountable, celebrate triumphs, cherish memories of good times, and dislike the unpleasant.

This is my stroll through one great 365. It is a diary of sorts; of ideas, sentiments, and fancies.

And, although within these pages are the images of only one writer, each reader will find relatable notions to examine within their own physiology.

 

A big thank you to Editor Glory Sasikala of GloMag for 

publishing my poem in the July issue.

Norris

Apocryphal events

using his abilities

entertained us for years.

In the extensive field of martial arts,

he stood as a metro committee of one.

Equally true,

he carried the mojo of the masters,

crowds celebrating what he radiated,

his muscles ready to spring.

Crooks carrying lawless power

would be alarming.

They could and must be taken out.

Angry plundering,

to that he put an end.

The news at daybreak

fell hard.

He’d shown us how to bring justice,

his final lesson,

how to lament.

Thoughts in Saffron

The crown of the sun king,

regal austerity sent our way bearing heat and light.

Amber perceived shine within drips of rain

reflects glory upon cowslips and corn.

Whiffs of sulphur 

set off cautionary alarms

from which we will distance ourselves.

The bouquet of nectar,

and honey’s candied scent,  

embodied as bumblebee beacons.

Precious coins earned, 

a living wage,

gentles later golden years.

Upon the yellow brick road,

yellow taxis helmed by drivers 

with flaxen topped heads,  

follow our directions

toward the brass ring

holding our best choices.