Linda Imbler (Western Voices 2023)

Bio: Linda Imbler is the author of five paperback poetry collections and four e-book collections (Soma Publishing). This writer lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband, Mike the Luthier, several quite intelligent saltwater fish, and an ever-growing family of gorgeous guitars. Learn more at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com.

 

Figments

Everyday fears,

daydreams,

nightmares,

a trivial phantom,

an awful shadow,

denigrating,

a decaying tragedy,

woven on a primitive loom.

Benevolent fortune, 

a vista of possibilities,

richly patterned.

All one can blithely muster,

of rational imagery.

***

 

Wendigo

Associated with harsh winters,

breeding under darkened skies.

We, building fires in vain attempts 

to protect ourselves,

heightening our senses,

hastening defensive skills by using 

a more widespread auditory range

to safeguard, 

to shelter our essence from

predatory storms and winds,

from blizzards, tornadoes, 

menacing cyclonic tribulations.

The pure silver glow of bony withered hands,

a grave heart of ice, 

destroying others’ innocuous pleasure.

It’s headed our way,

malignant.

Wendigo;

trespassing into homes through openings

never before known to need protection.

It grows with every meal,

attaches its tendrils to other storms.

Always hungry, a maw never filled,

non-selective for whom it hunts:

Wendigo, ruthless, lord of the shattered,

blows away our pyres and disregards

our legions’ increasing supplications 

for the end of days.

***

 

Smile With Conscious Will

Picture yourself marching mentally through corridors,

splendorous rapture reflected from your eyes.

Delight in reawakening those past regions of your brain,

spurting memories from an open scrapbook of the mind,  

remembering tangerines in a stocking

on Christmas Day.

Pay forward your service,

stimulating transmission 

toward a felt smile.

Work to improve your talents,

and the status of your upcurving reputation.

Be the jocund kindred,

carrying prolific recollections

pulled out from an adored cupboard,

where you packed away what once was foul,

but now is beautiful.

Smile.

***

---

Western Voices 2023 :: Setu, February 2023

Linda Imbler (Western Voices 2022)

Bio: Linda Imbler is the author of five paperback poetry collections and four e-book collections (Soma Publishing.) This writer lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband, Mike the Luthier, several quite intelligent saltwater fish, and an ever-growing family of gorgeous guitars. Learn more at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. 

Stopping The Impossible

A new vision of equidistant pigeons,

stuck mores tangled in imposed grinds.

No one gets an uptown lease.

Predestined railroad tracks,

and running upon them, irrelevant trains.

The engineers feel we live

within the trapped understanding

of invented occasions, useless styles,

and give expected, sweet patronage

to every complete infringement,

to every exact approach of all they prescribe.

There are solid objections

and revolutions inside us,

instilling a rabid reacquaintance

with the questioning of governing headlines.

Even half a turn

will change those,

and reconstruct each person’s individuality.

The unsuccessful wrong now stands corrected.

***

That Certain Pure Light

When eyes critique the sky,

and views of silvery stars above astonish,

each like a diamond, 

with carats and memories sharply defined,

what is seen and felt is:

Pure illumination of the sacrosanct

perfect sparkle of the devout

sheer bright of the honorable

unsullied luminosity of the enshrined

immaculate twinkling of the hallowed

radiance and shine of the omniscient

saintly blaze of the pure.

Each of us sees our individual heaven there.

One favor to grant as we wish upon any star.

There’s an unspoken elevation of the heart,

inspired by all the lamplights of the sky,

making us dream,

and search for serenity.

Within the stars we share one soul.

There everlasting peace is found,

and all good remembrances are saved.

***

No Seasons In The Dark

Talking forests of inspiration

stand profusely appareled with green,

or bare branched umber.

Yet, the clad and unclad both speak in riddles.

Neither is clear,

because communication is in the roots below.

That’s where the codes of honor

are laid in the silence of the holy, 

but exhibited in the strength of the earthly.

Seasons do not hold sway here

in this unlit sanctum.

All that’s inviolable is buried, 

lucky in the dawn, day, or dusk,

the undefiled that reaps the benefit of incisive artifacts, 

of things that grow best for us.

---

Setu, April 2022

Linda Imbler: Poetry (Western Voices 2021)

Bio: Linda Imbler is the author of five paperback poetry collections and three e-book collections (Soma Publishing). Her newest collection entitled, “Per Quindecim” is a book of poems containing 15 lines or less. It will be published by Soma Publishing in late January, 2021. This writer lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband, Mike the Luthier, several quite intelligent saltwater fish, and an ever-growing family of gorgeous guitars.

Learn more at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com.

 

Down The Center of Sin

 

Who would know best any true goodness,

any sweet reason, and be content

to move as virtue’s majestic sunset moth?

 

Down the center of sin,

torments or graces croon.

Fatal fruit gives the impression

of having been divinely hung.

There’s a strange scourging

upon the Earth, sea, and sky

where lies glorious desolation.

 

No longer wanting to see

the finger of painful judgement

wagged in my face,

down the center of sin,

I will weave my colorful moth cloth,

and wear it as protection

from others seeing

my soul’s dark sorrow.

 

Paramount

 

Another entrance to Heaven leans toward me.

The abandoned rage continues to dwindle.

Truth beckons to the innocent,

and the faithful mount their art on the sacred walls.

 

There’s blood conjuring in the church.

I find my life still being drawn to its altar.

 

But life’s tremendous closure will come.

 

Faith betters the contract.

It’s never too late to make changes

that will ensure a smooth transition.

 

And even at the last,

the paramount thought in my head

will still be of you.

 

 

May These Truths Be Self-Evident

 

I see that we must disagree,

and I do not wish to be misunderstood.

You have more than a thimbleful of ego,

so what I have to say must not become distorted.

 

I can’t believe the balance of my human condition.

I’m not ready for another anxious conversation,

don’t want any more cruel wounds of the heart,

but there’s no limit to your ingenuity.

 

I don’t care for any grandstanding today,

should your obscure purpose intend to encroach on me.

I feel the wretchedness of my confusion deep down.

I will not become resigned to your imagined victory.

 

I will not become seasoned to a backwards slide,

nor will I lose my place on the squares.

All my acquired experiences will I bring to bear,

to forever cradle that trust I once so much enjoyed.

 

Your voice will not destroy.

My own plans I will deploy.

All lies will become white noise,

and hateful ways I will chose to avoid.

---

Western Voices 2021 :: Setu, February 2021

Be The Change (A Nonet)

Linda Imbler

India, South Africa his homes

Great souled Mohandas found his way

- To Bapu of a nation

- Jain and Hindu his prayers

- Kasturbai his wife

- Peace his spirit

- Be the change

- His truth 

- God

***

Bio: Linda Imbler is the author of five paperback poetry collections and three e-book col-lections (Soma Publishing.)

This writer lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband, Mike the Luthier, several quite intelligent saltwater fish, and an ever-growing family of gorgeous guitars. Learn more at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com.

---

Setu Special 2020 :: Setu, October 2020

Emigré- Linda Imbler

Bio: Linda Imbler has five published poetry collections and one hybrid ebook of short fiction and poetry. She is a Kansas-based Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Nominee. More information can be found lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com.


The bone tired man stumbled along the long, dark highway.  So far, he had met no one else and he thought that strange. Trees encroached on either side of the road, so all he could focus on was what was up ahead.  He was confused, and he was so very thirsty.

He’d left his family behind.  He decided he was going to make sure this new land he’d heard so much about was a safe place for them when it was their turn to travel here.

At first, he wasn’t sure.  He thought he perceived the dimmest halo of light up ahead.  As he dragged himself on, he realized he was indeed seeing light.  It grew brighter with each weary footfall.  He also recognized that he heard voices.  He found them faint at first, but they grew louder as he approached.  The problem was that he could not understand what they were saying.

He began to daydream about being reunited with his wife and children.  He did not acknowledge  how far he had walked until a large wall loomed up in front of him.  Following its perimeter, he came to a gate.  The cheerful man at the gate asked for his papers.  Checking his pockets, he found papers he didn’t even know he had.  He handed them over to the man at the gate.  The gate opened and he entered the new land he had sought.  Immediately, his fatigue fell away.  In that same instant, his thirst for knowledge was slaked.  In addition, he now understood the voices very clearly. They were welcoming him.  A huge smile lit up the face of this newly deceased man, having just crossed the border into Heaven.

---

Setu, May 2020 :: Flash Fiction 2020

Linda Imbler (Western Voices 2020)

Exclusive: Western Voices, 2020: Edited by Scott Thomas Outlar

Bio: Linda Imbler is the author of three poetry collections published by Amazon. Soma Publishing has published three more of her poetry books. In addition to putting pen and paper to inventive use, Linda is an avid reader and budding illustrator. This writer, yoga practitioner, and classical guitar player lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband, Mike the Luthier, several quite intelligent saltwater fish, and an ever-growing family of gorgeous guitars. 

Father Music Along the Seashore

Lavender ink

writes what was held back.

Lyrics,

so colorful.

The day’s troubles

cried out, and then

assembled into song.

Pale purple sky opens,

and a chorus of green leafed blooms

waking after a long rest,

composed of harmonious sounds

suggestive of Heaven and Midnight.

People audibly yearning,

who will not dismiss the wind.

Even sirens in ships

singing the melodies,

as all ears bend

to accept swarms of music.

Journey on Knees 

During the long afternoon,

while victories and histories are resolved

under a wretched abundance of broken dreams.

As the sorrow of madness grows,

and all tyrants’ venom is choked out,

under the demented kingdom

of the moon’s shadow.

A cheap fling

circles forth,

as new shadows are wearing away,

exposing angels, in that murk,

wearing ancient robes.

Squelches my breath,

while floating within

a climate of sacraments,

worshipped, playful, obscene,

obscure, adverse.

All viewed from the wild road,

with favorite corners.

All this,

as I crawl toward the offbeat, freaky

Shangri-La of your eyes.

Setu, April 2020

Poetry: Linda Imbler

* Author of the Month *

Brikx

Building something
and fearing it might fall apart
is not the right attitude.
Start being excited about
what will stand up.

When the ball is in your court,
make your best decisions.

Thoughts rising as dispassionate temples,
roofs placed atop edifices that give purpose.

Throw your hat into the bustle of life.

Do not stand alone and still because of granite pride.
***


Dream’s Garden

Dip beneath the whirring birds.
Accept the shine as polished silver
that scatters the light
like woven sunbeams.
Remember your purpose.
You have your house to build.
Learn all that you are capable of,
and remember that worm becomes butterfly.
***


My True Self

If memory was lost to me,
what kind of person would I be?
A joker or a mischief maker?
One whose condition appears sad?
Or one whose lips show glad?
Surely not a security taker,
Whose manners stand unrefined?
No, let my heart be unconfined,
and always, let me, please, be kind.
***


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…

Setu, November 2019

Poetry: Linda Imbler

Clear Window

My early admiration
of dawn’s neon vibrancy,
through cold window panes,
on a crystalline morning.

The normal thick traffic
of feathered creatures
which passed across the yard-
absent.

What lay on the ground,
a small bird,
clearly in need of rescue,
its tiny wings semaphoring at me-
someone’s abandoned child.

In time, I healed it without naming it,
and on the day of its release
wondered to where it might now fly.

And although present time is unique,
thus, it is so for later days
my hope, that some echo of kindness
will fly into my future.

This is paid back yearly,
when my plumaged friend
returns each Spring,
and peeks through
my clear window,
and waves at me.


Beautifully Broken

I dreamt last night,
but never slept,
unfolding my story
as loose images,
without plot,
without resolution,
trancing along to the blur
of the ceiling fan above me.

The woeful shatter
of my soul,
felt and heard,
above the dissonant void
of this room,
as relevant tears.

I, beautifully broken.

Setu, May 2019

The Voice Within Me: Linda Imbler

In what part of the body is my say so?

Wherein lies my inner speech,
that place from which
my internal monologue holds court?

In whom do I place my trust?
And how should I find the courage to
entertain the strange fancies there?

I believe it’s my heart
that tells me whether to tarry
in shady places,
or to find respite on the sunny side of life.

I am honored to be
the mistress of my own head,
to weigh my own decisions,
by approving my private visions,
public opinion can hold its own parade.

Setu, April 2019