Thank you to Editor Sand Pilarski for publishing my poem today!

https://www.pikerpress.com/article/11850/osmium/

Osmium

By Linda Imbler

Osmium

Blue-white brittleness
densifies the heart,
then heavy lies our thoughts and feelings.
We begin acting as strangers do.

For the old woman wandering alone
after the heavy door to her past is shut,
and the old man in the crowd wearing white whiskers,
slipping his heart in his pocket.

Tears swell in the eyes of not just the old.

The black-frocked goth horse-girl rides by.
She’s not immune to dreaming of what might be,
within a world whose sky can reflect a million hues of blue.

The boy drenched to the bone by tears,
who feels he’s in a world with
too many words in its head,
when all he needs to say and hear is “I love you.”

What do we do to brush away the pain before there 
will be no place to sing and dance,
when there seems to be no cure
for the many kinds of sadness and all our deepest regrets?

The time is right for getting back to sharing loaves and fish,
bringing forth the doers, thinkers, praisers, and empathizers.

There’s not a moment to lose.

Thank you to the grooviest, swirliest dudes I know, MH Clay

(Michael) and Johnny R. Olson for publishing my homage to 

Ernest Hemingway.

https://madswirl.com/poetry/2026/04/channeling-papa/

Channeling Papa

by Linda Imbler  April 14, 2026

The sun is looking low in the sky,
from this point on the horizon,
sailboats flying prone.

There are people dancing
at the Sunset Celebration in Mallory Square.

I guess it’s not so bad,
being air lifted from Africa
with a broken back.
When I learn how to walk again,
I’ll join the lucky ones on Duval Street.

In the meantime,
I’ll just let the mojitos flow
and baptize something.
That should be enough
to conquer all my shadows.

editors note: 

Nobody did it better! – mh clay

Thank you to Elliot M. Rubin of Rhyme Time for accepting 

one of my poems for inclusion in the Michael J. Fox Parkinson's 

Foundation Anthology.  The Anthology has not been published 

yet, so more coming later about this project. 

 Thank you to Doug Stuber of Heron Clan for 

accepting my poem.

Applauding The Page

How does inquiry begin in one’s head?

The answer is quite possibly

that it starts

near the magic of the archives 

where we discover the intrigue of emphatically vertical shelves;

used bookstores most noted attributes,

carrying:

a variety of tutorials,

the most eccentric ideologies of philosophers seeking truth,

poetry that shows tremendous range of emotions.

The emotional appeal of used bookstores 

is that they serve as a conduit to future worlds, 

or feudal lores

where, within pages, is found evidence of antiquity.   

The histories of ancient nations   

stand as castles of our most mental challenges.

There are also important works

on the fragility of humankind.

Patronizing a bookstore,

filled with writings,

frees us from too tight a niche of thought,

and lets us enjoy the gray of erudite contemplations.

Whether meeting a novel for the first time,

or renewing old acquaintances,

for a little while,

until bloodshot eyes set in,

and too full of a brain

demands we step back,

we can enjoy

woody scented charms,

books made of paper from trees.

Try it,

the walk through the forests will be stunning.

I am both grateful and humbled to have 

had a poem, "Redrafting A Soldier," included 

in this beautiful anthology.

Thank you to Robin Barratt for accepting 

my work.

THE BOOK - OUT NOW!

PTSD - Post-traumatic Stress Disorder:

A collection of personal stories and poetry about life and living with PTSD.

Compiled by Robin Barratt

It is undeniable that putting thoughts, feelings and emotions into words, 

on paper, can be both therapeutic and an incredibly effective method of 

self-help and healing. 

In PTSD - Post-traumatic Stress Disorder: A collection of personal stories 

and poetry about life and living with PTSD, 109 writers and poets around 

the world explore the themes of life and living with PTSD, either from 

their own personal perspectives and experiences, or from the experiences 

of friends, family and people close by. Thought-provoking and emotional, 

but also positive and uplifting too as, for many, putting their thoughts 

and feelings into words has set many on the road to creativity, healing 

and ultimately recovery.

Over 29 countries represented including: Australia, Bahrain, Belgium, 

Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Canada, Catalan (Spain), England, 

Germany, Greece, Hungary, India, Iran, Kurdistan, Malawi, Nepal, 

Pakistan, Philippines, Republic of Ireland, Romania, Serbia, Singapore, 

South Africa, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, USA and Wales.  

Note: some author's have not listed their country.

Please support Poetry for Mental Health - ALL profits from the sale 

of this book go towards promoting and publishing poetry for 

positive mental health.

Available from Amazon websites worldwide as a larger format 6 x 9 inch 

(15.24 x 22.86 cm) paperback and Kindle, and directly from us as 

a pdf e-book.

ISBN: 9798255872770

277 pages, 109 contributors.

Thank you to Dagmara K. of Spillwords for publishing this poem on

Easter Sunday, 2026.

WHAT THE MARYS SAW

written by: Linda Imbler

 

The tree, the tree,
barren,
except for the fruit of life,
hanging,
too weary and stunned to sway
after the knocking stopped.

Cedar limbs
bleed crimson sap,
grief exuded,
then joy,
a mariner steered toward the lighthouse
within the placidity
after the battering.

X marks the spot!
Hope flown
from a single rafter,
like Eden,
Golgotha stands
as the main history of Man.

 

Thank you to the groovy dudes at Mad Swirl for publishing my tribute to Little Bit.

https://madswirl.com/short-stories/2026/04/little-bit/

Little Bit

by Linda Imbler on April 4, 2026 

photo "Where's Your Sign" by Tyler Malone

Little Bit loved her Daddy, Virginia Slims, her long-distance boyfriend, Chal, her tub full of lip gloss, always liberally applied, and eye makeup to make her eyes look as big as chestnuts. Add glasses, and the chestnuts became crab apples. Like Elly May Clampett, she never met an animal she couldn’t charm, or that couldn’t charm her. Brown hair slightly past her shoulders and silky. She stood no more than 5 feet tall, and soaking wet, weighed approximately the same number of pounds a dozen chickens on a scale would weigh.

I never had a more neatnik college roommate, except for the cigarettes, nor a fiercer friend. Kind to all, soft-spoken Little Bit lived her life as the good book suggested, except for the body temple part (see Virginia Slims).

She drove a fancy red sports car that played nothing but shit-kicker music and when set at full volume, Tammy Wynette. This was the car she drove home every weekend to spend time with Chal (see Chal). At least until they broke up during winter break after that third semester. She returned to the university with a trunk of Christmas presents from Daddy (see Daddy) and vowing within her heart eternal spinsterhood.

When I found out two years ago that Little Bit had died some years earlier, I was sad, then realized she had spent her adult life after graduation with all those critters while working for the Parks Service (see Parks Service.)  Most importantly, she had kept her vow of spinsterhood and was happy about it.

I figure that now she and Daddy are in Heaven, Chal’s in Hell, and the angels know all of Tammy’s songs.

Virginia Slims: very thin smokes.

Chal: jerk.

Daddy: giver of gifts, cash, and other perks.

Parks Service: access to more critters.

editors note: 

We all want to live like we don’t want to get into Heaven. But where do we want to go and when do we want to go there? ~ Tyler Malone

 

Thank you to Editor Mark Antony Rossi of Ariel Chart for publishing my poems in the April issue.

Defying The Odds

 

In One’s Favor:

 A winsome cardsharp,

 ready to ante up,

 feeling that tingle that precedes 

the accumulation of silver coins.

 

Out Of One’s Favor:

 The ministry of chance,

 making pithy observations,

 trying to manage the scandalous,

 eager to tighten the grip

 on a catalog of activated and far-flung probabilities.

 

In or out, 

both,

 such seemingly fathomless pipe dreams.

Learning Curve (Fibonacci)

I

once

believed

that to hear

one’s lament is the

most beautiful thing in the world,

but I am now aware that our most breathless moments

come from positive experiences that lend themselves to the best consequences.

No Critique Too Small

 

My spiteful, antagonistic co-worker,

mistress of the pipeline that scowls and gripes.

 

A savage bobcat with far-reaching mandibles,

a windstorm, a prickly cactus,

a winged basilisk that sees me as carrion,

a pitchforked wolf

digging into a deep canyon, 

shoveling up doggerel with glee.

 

I sit inside a mini hoop of self-protection.

I am penned in.

I handle my boo-boos

with the intent to not draw attention to myself.

 

Yep,

everyday,

there’s no critique too small.