Monday, March 19, 2018

A big thank you to the editors of Poetry Quarterly for publishing my poem "9/11" in their Winter, 2017 Issue.  

Friday, March 16, 2018

Published in Academy of Heart and Mind
One of my flash fiction pieces submitted for the Love Is In the Air contest.  I received an honorable mention.

Isaac's Robot

Third grader Isaac was different; smaller, quieter.  He smiled a lot, but he never spoke.  He listened carefully to his teacher, Mrs. Kendrick, and did his best, but he learned slowly and he read even more slowly. Choosing books from the library was a challenge and book reports in front of the class were all but impossible.

He watched other kids play at recess, but he never joined, even when asked. No one made fun of Isaac. They would just smile at him and he would always smile back.

On one particular library visit, a picture on the front of a book caught his eye. He chose this book, although he could not really read it. It was a book about how to build a robot. Isaac wanted to build a friend. He worked on his robot after school every day and on the weekends. He made some progress, but not much. It takes a long time for only one person to build a robot, especially when they can’t read the instructions. But he never gave up and he kept at it. When it was time for the next round of book reports, Isaac raised his hand to let Mrs. Kendrick know he was ready.  She got tears in her eyes as he stood up with the book, pointed to the cover, and smiled.  The class smiled back and ,wow, did they clap!

In February, Isaac was not at school one day, nor the next day, nor the day after that. That night, the teacher called Isaac's mother. Isaac was in the hospital and the prognosis was not good. Mrs. Kendrick shared the news with the kids. They didn't say a word. However, at recess, she noticed the kids in a tight huddle. 

Saturday morning, the doorbell rang at Isaac’s house. His mother was at the hospital, but his dad was home. After talking to the kids, Isaac’s dad took them to the garage. They were there all day that Saturday and again on Sunday, and the next weekend and the next. After six weeks, they had built Isaac a robot.

Mrs. Kendrick took the robot to the hospital to show it to Isaac. He was very weak, but he managed to smile. His mother asked her to thank the kids.

The next morning Isaac's mother came to the class with the robot. Isaac had wanted to share his new friend with the class because they were the best kids in the whole world. That's the last thing he told his mom.

The robot sits in Isaac's seat at his desk. It reminds the kids that they once had a classmate, a little boy who never spoke but always smiled. Just like Isaac’s robot.

Published in Creative Talents Unleashed

The Ticking of Winter’s Clock

My mother died in Winter.
My mother far away.

Spring was to rise in only a few weeks.

It was the fourth of March.
Brown grass and leafless trees
were in endless array outside.

I could hear
the ticking of the clock

as I waited
for the phone to ring.

I have my father,
I told myself.

My father died in Winter.
My father far away.

It was the seventh of March
and again, the green was still to come.

And again,
I could hear 
the ticking of the clock

as I waited
for the phone to ring.

Then, I was alone.

© Copyright, Linda Imbler, All Rights Reserved

(A Nonet)

White paper marked with black ink symbols
reflecting tales that need telling
some shapes standing straight and tall
or turned by curves and bends
from these lines and loops
we come to live
many lives
not just


© Copyright, Linda Imbler, All Rights Reserved

Thursday, March 8, 2018

Thank you so much to Editor Amit Parmessur for publishing my poem "Guitar" in this month's issue of The Pangolin Review.

Thank you so much to Editor Dagmara K. for publishing my poem "Say Cheese" today in Spillwords.

Say Cheese

written by: Linda Imbler

“Say Cheese!” my best friend told me,
in that quirky way she would whisper,
right before the photographer snapped the eighth grade class picture.
Before the prints could be returned, her family abruptly moved out-of-state.
I hope she has had the most hair-raising opportunities,
such grand hair-raising experiences to match those we survived
during most of that school year.
But more than that,
I wish for her to have had many beautiful, joyful ‘say cheese' moments
throughout all her seasons and in the many lands
to which she wished to travel;
on a beach covered by sand up to her waist as her skin turned pink,
wearing snow shoes and thick parkas while walk gliding across an ice glacier
as her nose dripped,
atop a camel before Giza
feeling as if she would be bowlegged for eternity
after the dismount,
wedding day cake cutting,
post birth photos as a new mom,
family reunions,
graduations, both hers and those of family and friends,
her eighth grade heart still intact.