Insensate

A distracted, harried woman on her way to work,

Collided with a truck,

Now an ersatz depiction of a sleeping woman,

Amid tubes and drips she lies.

She concentrates on the doctor’s light,

She knows it is important.

On the outside, appearance is insensate,

“Brain-dead,” the diagnosis.

An autistic Amerind of the Navajo,

He has never laughed, spoken nor cried,

Present at the tribe’s night dance,

“Poor kid doesn't even know his own name.”

He concentrates on the firelight,

He knows it is important.

On the outside, appearance is insensate,

His eyes lock with an image at the center of the flame.

An orchid in a greenhouse tucked amid blooms of gladiolas,

Full of color and fragrance, useful for formal events,

And gives pleasure when viewed,

But it won't interact or are we just confused?

It concentrates on the sunlight,

It knows it is important.

It shows a smiling countenance, lifts, grows strong,

On the outside, appearance is insensate,

“You can't carry on a conversation with a flower.”

How little regard some have,

For that which they judge unfeeling,

How fragile the connection, the understanding,

For that which they feel is incognizant.

Judgement from unfeeling minds and hearts,

From my point of view, such disregard-insensate.

Creating "Insensate"

My reaction to the way we judge.

Afterthoughts for "Insensate"

Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.

Theodore Roethke

All things share the same breath- the beast, the tree, 

the man, the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.

Chief Seattle

Sunday Roast

Stop tearing your hair

you frightened child, young sad boy.

Pressure cooker meal is the thing you smell,

pressure cooker family you see and hear.

Household dysfunction, all things blowing up,

screams of parents bouncing off the kitchen’s walls

and you sob as you rock madly

back and forth within your invented universe,

with the  pressure cooker whistle all around you.

Yours, they shriek, blaming each other,

just admit it this time, your fault, they howl

under this roof beside the metal stove. 

Then all noise ceases at once.

You wake from this shrill dream.

Please, come sit,

The family is broken still, but hungry.

Afterthoughts for "Sunday Roast"

Memory is not particularly linear - it is associative, repetitive, subjective and porous. 

But the writer needs to convey disorder and dysfunction without making the novel 

itself disorderly or dysfunctional. 

Dana Spiotta

I want kids to have a chance to dream of becoming something like I did in my life, 

and when you're living in a home that's dysfunctional and unhealthy that way, you 

don't dream like that. 

Picabo Street

Tell the negative committee that meets inside your head to sit down and shut up.

Ann Bradford

My Drawing:

Thank you very much to Editor Nilavronill Shoovro of Our Poetry Archive for including three of my poems in the Romantic Edition.

WE

Whene’er we sit upon the hassocks,

knee to knee and drink our brew

and gaze into each other's eyes,

just we two.

No dirges for the both of us,

those are a long way off,

for faces uncreased and easy laughs

abound our days.

While strength and hope

and fearlessness fill this season of our lives,

we’ll keep our spirits high

and spirits we'll kick back.

For all too soon, time wears on

winter comes and darkness falls

and all those moments whene’er we sat

will seem as distant as the stars are far.

Promise me you'll not forget

nor look back at that time with any regret,

but hold each memory close to heart

and always picture just we two,

when we were the best we’d ever be.

PETALS

Sepals fall off softly, one at a time, floating to the ground

Underneath like silk, a satin welcome

Exposed

Now sun kissed and laid bare; feel the breath of Spring on your stem

The breath of new Spring, connect with the seed

Exposing the rose button

Within this opening; feel the breath of Spring on your stem

So close, the flowering petals

Exposing the rose button

Inflorescence

So close, the flowering petals

Spring’s mounting ascent

Efflorescence

Exposed

Spring’s breathless release

Sepals fall off softly, one at a time, floating to the ground

SAILING

You have seen my soul.

We stood at the edge of the world

where both the sky and the sea mate.

No uncertainty about both our needs.

We ride sparkling waves to our next life port,

there's so much behind us,

but then, we have so much more ahead.

You've taught me how organic love is

as we float the world together,

the rattling of our bones together,

day after day, our connection twangs,

we've done without many things,

most of which would trip us up,

except those things that really matter.

You add light for my benefit,

you keep the skies and seas blue

even on the cloudiest days.

When I break you glue me back

with starlight from inside your eyes.

You have awoken something real in me,

you always take care of me,

your hands hold the key to me.

You have the ocean waves to sing your song,

my kind brown eyed man.

We jumped the broom and shattered the glass.

Our unconventional life, somehow,

this grand sail with you never grows tiresome.

I love you most when you check out the fancy girls

and then turn around and beg for me.

I am so very pleased to have "Ensorcelled Within the Eyes of P'aqo" be nominated for the 2018 Pushcart Prize.  Thank you to Editor Mark Antony Rossi for this honor.

Ariel Chart: Pushcart Prize Nominations 

I’ve had the enormous pleasure to be an Editor in Chief this year and bring to life my dream of a different online literary journal that would accept well written poetry and short fiction and personally reply back to everyone regardless of acceptance or rejection. 

It’s been a blessing, a task and sometimes an adventure to helm this ship into uncharted waters of communication, education and ultimately admiration of writers from around the world. 

The following are the six nominations I and Fiction Editor Marchelle Young submitted to the Pushcart Prize Committee for consideration for their Prize. 

Fiction:

Anna Kander — Hydrangeas
Amber Colyer — Eine Nacht
A.D. Hurley — At the Other End of the Barrel 

Poetry:

Elidio La Torre Legares — Dead Father in the Storm 

Linda Imbler — Ensorcelled Within the Moonlit Eyes of P’aqo

Ann Christine Tabaka — Disorientation 

I thank all of our contributors and hope to see more of your work in the new year. God Bless.

Mark Antony Rossi
Editor in Chief
Ariel Chart

COMING DECEMBER 1, 2017!!  THREE ROMANTIC POEMS PER POET.

Thank you so much to Editor Shirley Bell for publishing three of my poems in The Blue Nib.

http://magazine.thebluenib.com/article/3-poems-by-linda-imbler/

3 poems by Linda Imbler

---

Linda Imbler is the author of the published poetry collection “Big Questions, Little Sleep.” Her work has appeared in numerous journals. Linda’s creative process and a current, complete listing of sites which have or will publish her work can be found at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. This writer, yoga practitioner, and classical guitar player lives in Wichita, Kansas.

Pristine

Tall tales
woven around you
that protect.
If you fall the landing will be soft
as each new myth saves
injury like bubble wrap.
All accounts create
your perfect world.
Absolved of all your crimes,
blameless,
due to scribes in the press.

Last Train

The railroad tracks sound as the rattle of bones.
Do we dare clip-clop over the bones of our kin?
That stretch of track that only the ticketed may ride,
Yellow lanterned men at the sides,

Guiding

Like Charon with his lamp
Leading us across the Rubicon,

Or a reflection off St. Michael’s sword.

There’s a station up ahead,
We’ll know in a minute.

Wailing

The whales returned our legacy,
after each had lost at least one child
to the shallow zone,
where the young ones drowned
and internal organs collapsed.

Returned all
that never should have been
scattered deep
on sea beds in the first place:
car engines,
the remains of buckets,
shrimp fishing nets,
Waste, plastic and steel.

They carried all
up from the depths,
and placed upon
our shores our shame
and the evidence
of the greed of our kind.

So, where do we go from here?