OCTOBER, 2025

Thank you to Maurtian Poet Vatsala Radhakeesoon for translating my poem into Mauritian Kreol.

Pulse

Through a net of dreams

engraved in memory,

I sensed the tempo of love

between us, redolent kisses

beyond midnight that kept me

yearning. I dreamt your music

was all I could hear from where

your gentle spirit sung the psalm.

At the start, I had no music.

Only a plenitude of need to learn

the lilt of love,

performing.

Then, came awakening,

rhythm, rhythm,

within sinews, into our very cells.

Now, the pulse breathes

on and on

for as long as time itself.

We will be, for as long as time itself.

Pou

Par enn file rev

grave dan memwar,

Mo resanti kadans lamour

ant nou, bizou dou

apre minwi ki les mwa

anvi sa. Mo finn rev to lamizik

ti tou seki mo ti kapav tande depi kot

to nam dous sant Psalm.

Avan, Mo pa ti ena lamizik.

Zis enn dezir konple pou aprann

fason lamour,

performe.

Apre, finn ena levey,

ritm, ritm,

dan misk, dan nou selil.

Aster, pou respire,

kontinielman

ziska ki letan exziste pou nou.

Nou pou la, ziska letan pou nou exziste.

 

APRIL, 2026

Thank you so very much to Editor Robin Barratt for publishing and then featuring my poem.

Shared post from PTSD - The Book

PTSD - The Book

 · 

NEW - featured poetry taken from the book PTSD.

REDRAFTING A SOLDIER

By Linda Imbler

Stand up, soldier,

Stand up, and be at attention.

Don’t linger there on the ground,

letting time soften

those creases in your khakis,

its fabric’s value growing less with each tick of the clock.

You wish for your weary gallantry

to join that of others

who have shared your distress,

have smelled the scent of combat,

leaving sympathetic widows behind.

Rise, soldier.

Rise without effort.

Exert your own personal conquest over death’s battle.

I see you have your eyes raised to the stars.

Very well,

at this time, it would be correct for me

to say a few words in honor

of you and of your silent comrades.

Now that the end of your cycle is here,

I will make sure history records

the last edition of each of you.

ABOUT THE POEM: "I’m not sure how much has been written about those who not only have survived combat, but were the ones directing the soldiers into the theater. These officers have to face not only the initial loss of those under their command, but are then tasked to recognize the sacrifice of the dead through medals, reports, etc. My grandfather told me this burden carried never left him. It manifested itself through insomnia and depression. Throughout his life, he would tell stories of some of the brave ones who laid down their lives in World War 2. He felt he could never apologize to them enough, even though they were not there to hear his words."

 

NOVEMBER, 2025

Thank you to Poet Vatsala Radhakeesoon for translating my poem into Mauritian Kreol.

The Cards Spoke

On the day no one was looking,

everyone aged,

only by a day,

but that day went fast,

as the cards were shuffled so quickly.

It was as if

a parlor trick was being presented.

And people wept, knowing

the chance to slow down time

had eluded them.

The clock’s hands would spin.

When no one was listening,

life spoke secrets

for earning immortality,

long lost knowledge was confessed.,

and all were deemed unlucky.

The flip of the cards

was so loud that they drowned out

any chance to catch the words.

And people wept, knowing

that to live forever

had eluded them.

That last day would come.

Bann kart finn revele

Enn zour personn pa ti pe gete,

zot tou ti vieyi,

zis dan enn zour,

Me sa zour-la li finn pas vit,

parski bann kart ti bate bien vit.

Li ti koumadir

enn vre trik ki ti prezante.

E bann dimounn finn plore, kan konn

lasans fer letan pas dousman

finn anbrouy zot.

Zegwi revey ti pe marse.

Kan personn pa ti pe ekoute,

lavi finn revel bann sekre

pou gagn imortalite,

konesans perdi ti konfese

e zot tou ti sorti malsanse.

Batman kart

ti telman for ki zot finn touy

lasans resezi bann mo.

E bann dimounn finn plore, kan finn kone

ki lide viv pou touzour

finn deles zot.

Dernie zour pou vini.

Thank you so very much to Dr. Rachna Singh 

of The Wise Owl for publishing my work in the 

October issue.

https://www.thewiseowl.art/linda-imbler

Uns

locking 

 

Thank you to the editors at Mad Swirl for publishing my poem, "Crossroads."

Photo courtesy of Thomas Reisner, published in Mad Swirl

CrossRoads by Linda Imbler

When Saturday night bands
seeded the air with song,
and the groovy people gathered
to rap, to trip the light fantastic,
The CrossRoads brought dreams
into the light,
beyond strobes.
People mottled by summer sun
prayed
the phrase book of God,
and didn’t mind
where anyone had started from.
A new family conceived
on the dance floor.

September 17, 2026

editors note: Wherever two or more are gathered together… – mh clay

A HUGE THANK YOU TO THE TALENTED TIM SANDERS FOR PUTTING MY POEM "CIRCADIA" TO MUSIC AND VIDEO.  PLEASE ENJOY THIS REMARKABLE PIECE OF WORK.  I LOVE COLLABORATING WITH TIM!!

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?ref=saved&v=1572797011057353

 

Thank you to Editor Sand Pilarski of Piker Press for publishing my poem today.

                                                                   

                                                                         Oh, Snap!

She thinks she’s one of the piquants,
but in reality,
she’s just a tenderfoot at wit,
always mining for pageantry and ballyhoo.
She’s a self-proclaimed hotdog of the educated,
with more than a drip of the fatuous and silly.

In her own mind,
she’s no caboodle of careless shenanigans,
she’s a collage of impressive handwoven 
and tangled farces.

More’s the pity 
that this ignorant dingbat,
continuously manifests a wince in the rest of us.