Linda

POETRY IS WHAT THE SOULS OF THE ANCIENTS SPEAK TO THOSE STILL SEEKING WHAT IS MOST BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD. FROM: LINDA

Saturday, December 28, 2019

Thank you to Glory Sasikala of GloMag for publishing 'Dread" in the December issue.

https://view.joomag.com/glomag-glomagdecember2019/0321156001577443685?short













Thank you to Jay Faulkner of With Painted Words for publishing my poem.


https://www.withpaintedwords.com/view_submission.php?news_id=1393







The Hunter of Words


I was never a predator
until I discovered the prey of books.

Like the last call at the bar,
I tell myself I must finish
the current chapter
before closing the cover’s door.

My reader’s attitude never grows jaded.

Every re-read of Pinter’s Betrayal
is more bitter than before.
Each revisit to Narnia,
a fresh slice of Heaven’s sweet pastry.

For too soon the pulse of life is stilled,

And while, many say that at worst,
death is a nothingness.
I disagree.
At worst, it’s a place without books.

Friday, December 27, 2019

Thank you to John Patrick Robbins of The Rye Whiskey Review for publishing my poem.

https://ryethewhiskeyreview.blogspot.com/2019/12/frozen-face-by-linda-imbler.html?m=1







Frozen Face by Linda Imbler


To me:
Have you ever considered Botox?

Let me put it this way.
When I was a kid,
my mother used to tell me,
“your face is going to freeze like that!”
Back then,
I figured this was just
sloppy thinking on her part.

But, nowadays,
I realize there is a way
to prove that she knew
what she was talking about.

So, needle me all you want
about my opinion.
On second thought,
I’ll pass on the needles.

Monday, December 23, 2019

Thank you to James Diaz of Anti-Heroin Chic for choosing me as Featured Poet for the Peace, Kindness, and Sensitivity Issue.  I am deeply honored to be part of such a wonderful site.

http://heroinchic.weebly.com/issues.html





Advice One Can Use

What’s one piece of advice I’d offer
a newborn babe?  As you grow  and
as you live, find the joy in all things
and point it out, helping others see
it.  For there is so much
to celebrate in life and your happy
heart tends to rub off on people
who are not you.  The best things about
this approach will be the spreading of bliss.
The snowball effect of such emotion
tends to perpetuate
itself endlessly.  So, smile big, let your
eyes crinkle up grand.

Say thank you,
no matter how small the gesture.
Applaud warmly others’ wins. 
Train your mind to recall words which benefit your neighbor’s heart.
Words that cover all manner of kindness and love.
Think of a Christmas tree with bright green
needles upon which hang all pretty lights.  Now,
imagine the world covered with a lexical
bed of soft needles which do not poke. 

A bed soft enough for a baby.





A Message From Mom

Angels walk on Earth in guise of mortal manifestation.
A painted rock with one word, love,
written on it and placed strategically inside
a zoo rock garden
by a kindly woman.
Found by a recently motherless boy.
His thought,
my mother left this for me.
Through heat of summer
or chill of winter,
children will remind us 
that those who left us leave messages,
if only we act with the eyes and ears
of our early years,
and we look and we listen with the hearts
of the innocent.







The Gifting

Forgive your foes and give them grace,
Show them your happy heart with smiles.
Among your friends give them a place.
Forgive your foes and give them grace.
Gift unto them goodwill of face
That they may sit with you awhile.
Forgive your foes and give them grace,
Show them your happy heart with smiles.

Saturday, December 14, 2019

Thank you to John Patrick Robbins at The Dope Fiend Daily 
E-Zine for publishing this poem.

https://thedopefienddaily.blogspot.com






I’ll Carry Your Ghost. By Linda Imbler


I shall open all envelopes of complaint,
accept denunciation
by those passionate
in their stinging rebukes.
I’ll take the blame
for your past actions
having caused the current reproach.

I shall pocket your thirty pieces of silver
because you left me
in command of the purse strings.

My contribution,
however unknown to me at the time,
and however undeserved
demands I must now own your shadow.

You had so many rooms
with tightly locked doors,
but the key is now in my possession.

I’ll wipe down your walls,
and let my mind gather the webs and mold.
We have the blessing or the curse 
of the invisible thread.

I’ll not fight the old,
will work to construct the new,
and, in the process, protect your legacy.

And, when I am done making your excuses,
I will find time to finally make things right.



Monday, December 9, 2019

Thank you to E.S. (Earl) Wynn of Leaves of Ink for publishing my poem today.

http://www.leaves-of-ink.com





Putting Me Together

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People I’ve known,
their faces remembered
only in deepest dreams,
a highway of human automobiles
speeding through my mind

Emotional yo-yos of memories
bounce like balls on a court.
Bringing smiles or tears,
but all have taught me something

The jigsaw puzzle of my life,
pieces falling into place,
and as the last part snaps in,
I will see the complete me,
ready to recall each moment
as something which helped build me.

Thursday, December 5, 2019

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

https://arielchart.blogspot.com/2019/12/a-bluebird-sadly-flown-tribute-to-pop.html

A Bluebird Sadly Flown (A Tribute To a Pop Muse)




A Bluebird Sadly Flown

(A Tribute To A Pop Muse)


Edie,


Born into a cage.

A bird wearing a feathered veil,

Never pursuing tranquility.

A rolling stone of a woman,

sculptured in art and tailspins.

Publicly body untamed,

A Privately tortured mind,

A break, a collapse,

At times,

Her Cracks displayed to all,

Coming unglued.

All her bluebirds finally came to roost.

Such a shame she never learned

how to land.

Wednesday, December 4, 2019

Thank you to Mark Antony Rossi at Ariel Chart for publishing this poem in the December issue.

https://arielchart.blogspot.com/2019/12/a-parade-for-idol.html

A Parade for An Idol




A Parade for An Idol


Beautiful in his time,

seductive then as now.

His beat we will follow.

His words our motto.

We’ll stay in the parade,

carry his balloons.

Sunday, December 1, 2019

I am surprised and honored to have been chosen as Author of the Month for the Setu Bilingual Journal on December 1, 2019.
Thank you so very much.

https://www.setumag.com/2019/11/poetry-linda-imbler.html

Here is one of the four poems featured:



Spectrum Of Mood

Light switch
Happy bright
Pale cold sunset
Behind a curtain of lies

Heavy mind
Hatred’s backbite
Deepest, darkest night
Chant the sun to rise

Mocking sunbeams
Wasted dreams
Writers’ blasphemes
Frozen poets’ screams

Keats is dead
No longer read
Quills’ feathers’ spread
Inky blackness bled

Quiver of the balance
Ramped up talents
Meet mood’s challenge
Drunk from hope’s chalice

Light switch

Happy bright…..

My mother taught me to judge others by the content of their character, just like the Good Reverend.
This is an actual photo of me with my baby doll.







This is a Good Thing

The little white Texas toddler
Bathes her black baby doll
With her mother's help.
She changes the baby’s clothes
By herself,
Bestowing kisses and hugs
On the doll, a gift,
And her mother says
This,
Is a good thing.

The young white six-year-old
Plays with the black girl,
Her same age,
Sharing her toys,
Knowing the other 
Has few,
And her mother says
This,
Is a good thing.

The 13-year-old white girl
And her mother wait,
Standing behind the black man,
Getting a drink
From the same common water fountain,
And her mother says
This,
Is a good thing.

The 18-year-old white college girl
Gets a summer phone call
From her black friend
And classmate, Patsy,
During vacation.
They talk for a long time
With frequent giggles.
Patsy is smart, beautiful
And so very funny,
And her mother says
This,
Is a good thing.


Fifty years on,
I still have the photo.
Of these events,
I still have my memories of them.
And I say
This,

Is a good thing.

Saturday, November 30, 2019

Thank you to Marzia Dezzi and the Editorial Staff at Otherwise Engaged: A Literary and Arts Journal for publishing my two poems in their winter issue.



Winter Warriors

I have examined the night sky.
Seen appear the moon, stars, and meteors.
During winter’s freeze,
Orion, lost in Crete, stands tall,
his belt tight, against his waist,
hosting the seven sisters , glowing, - Pleiades, bright.
And to the North we view Perseus, 
holding Medusa’s head.
Taurus, the heavenly bull shines out.


Winter’s warriors,
guarding the sky,
large and luminous.
keeping individual watch within their own stars;
giant hunter, the solid horned one, and the helmed
slayer of myths.
Gathering strength, Earth’s dauntless protectors, 

working as a stellar team.




The Temple At Twilight

The temple at twilight,
soft the evening presses in.
No squeeze, just gentle pressure.
The susurration of the fountain
heard with open ears.
The shimmer of light
from candles’ glow,
seen with open eyes.
That soft embrace felt,
with an open heart,
as a hug given tenderly

by all the angels you can name.
Thank you to Editors Stacia Lynn Reynolds and Nilavro Nill Shoovro of Our Poetry Archive (OPA) for publishing my three poems in the December Issue.

https://ourpoetryarchive.blogspot.com/2019/12/linda-imbler.html


Ada’s Shoes

Ada learned when young
to feel the music of love.
She memorized, when a child,
the sequences and patterns of steps toward forgiveness.
She discovered, as a teen, the connections
made between dancing and dreaming.
She became very adept at both.

She knows how to dance the moment
with angels as partners.
Dancing her own dance
as tap or two-step.
Sharing her dance
as waltz or tango.
Learning the dance of another,
the sways, the paces,
the turns and bends.

She keeps her dance floor large.
No narrow vision, no narrow-mindedness.
She keeps her dance card full
of lots of friends,
and a smile for everyone.

These shoes,
never to be filled by another,
unless one follows the exact path
she followed, to obtain
the best of what the cosmos has to offer.










Middle

Stand right in the middle.
Too much to the left,
Too much to the right,
And they’ll walk past you.
They’ll never hear your words.
You’re unseen.
Uncomfortable drama.









The Lateness Of The Hour

Had I known what to seek as a child,
I would have learned
an extraordinary amount
so much earlier.

I would have applied it
all throughout my life.
Many opportunities passed
to use that knowledge.
But I am not the only one
to fail to harness human thought.

Heed my words as I explain where I went wrong.

We search to find
only those who understand us,
instead of seeking comprehension
of all other things.

If my legacy is told at all,
I wish for it to be thus.