"talisman" poems
The beauty of the heart
is the lasting beauty:
its lips give to drink
of the water of life.
Truly it is the water,
that which pours,
and the one who drinks.
All three become one when
your talisman is shattered.
That oneness you can't know
by reasoning.
17.2k
Everyone said I had such great potential:
A bright eyed lad, adept with word and song,
an angelic voice, a wordsmith like a lawyer.
They look at me now and wonder-what went wrong?
If I could put my finger on the problem,
Procrastination did beget my fall.
I had, at times, an ambitious plan and project.
I just never got around to it, that’s all.
I dallied in my summer’s afternoon,
Listening to other siren’s songs
Now winter comes upon me with a vengeance
I realize now I never sang my song.
But on my cluttered desk, a wooden talisman!
A round wood carving- a Tuit tis
And now, in possession of a round Tuit,
I’ve no excuse for wasting time like this.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 5:37 PM UTC
Young Liam loved Orange
and liked to wear ties.
To his firehouse friends
He was one of the guys.
He had his own locker
a slicker and hat.
He also had cancer,
and a bad one at that.
From early on in his life
he fought neuroblastoma ;
An invasive tumor
a metastatic carcinoma.
His family who loved him
labored to save
their dear little child
Prince Liam the Brave.
He faced surgery bravely,
engaged in his fight..
He endured radiation
Chemo and knife.
When many a New Yorker
complains about stress,
Prince Liam was stoic
When put to the test.
Then just before Christmas
he suffered a relapse
He became neutrapenic-
His immune system collapsed.
With blood in his *****
And a spot on his lung
Liam grew weak.
his defenses undone.
An Amethyst stone
he received from a friend
was his talisman of hope
that he held to the end.
The worst part of the journey
was when hope was gone.
Then Liam lay, still and silent
in his mother's arms.
There are brave fire fighters
Who’ll be fighting back tears
Brave Prince Liam has died,
He lived only six years
There are many old people
still avoiding the grave
Who know less about love
Than did Liam the brave
We will gather together
In St Francis’ nave
To remember the life of
Prince Liam the brave
i
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC
That you are fair or wise is vain,
Or strong, or rich, or generous;
You must have also the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There is a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea.
Toil could never compass it,
Art its height could never hit,
It came never out of wit,
But a music music-born
Well may Jove and Juno scorn.
Thy beauty, if it lack the fire
Which drives me mad with sweet desire,
What boots it? what the soldier's mail,
Unless he conquer and prevail?
What all the goods thy pride which lift,
If thou pine for another's gift?
Alas! that one is born in blight,
Victim of perpetual slight;—
When thou lookest in his face,
Thy heart saith, Brother! go thy ways!
None shall ask thee what thou doest,
Or care a rush for what thou knowest,
Or listen when thou repliest,
Or remember where thou liest,
Or how thy supper is sodden,—
And another is born
To make the sun forgotten.
Surely he carries a talisman
Under his tongue;
Broad are his shoulders, and strong,
And his eye is scornful,
Threatening, and young.
I hold it of little matter,
Whether your jewel be of pure water,
A rose diamond or a white,—
But whether it dazzle me with light.
I care not how you are drest,
In the coarsest, or in the best,
Nor whether your name is base or brave,
Nor tor the fashion of your behavior,—
But whether you charm me,
Bid my bread feed, and my fire warm me,
And dress up nature in your favor.
One thing is forever good,
That one thing is success,—
Dear to the Eumenides,
And to all the heavenly brood.
Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,
Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.
3.8k
A collection of brilliance in moving parts.
Galaxies of stars painted green and blue rest in
perfect circles upon the gentleness of her face.
A woman who carries power in her voice,
one who demands your attention upon entering a room.
Her giggle so darling it commands the affections of men pursuing her heart.
You hear intelligence in the way she speaks,
see pride in the way that she walks.
She wears her confidence like a talisman around her neck,
her personality draped along broad shoulders.
The woman has kindness in her heart,
the capacity to bear love in her bones.
A strong spirit, unique, passionate and bold.
High cheek bones with a full smile.
She’s got mystery webbed in the danger of her desires.
The true definition of beauty lay in everything that she is.
One must thank the Heavens for creating a woman such as this.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
You carry your life on your shoulders; a swing in a park in a city, with a lonely, shadowy, ghost of you sitting so delicately. As people pass you, they stop and look, and words come to their minds such as "passion" and "sorrow," "broken benches," "spilled dreams" and they couldn't even tell you why.
You wear your heart safety-pinned to your sleeve; a grave declaration that you are not your own person. Someone has marked you, taken something without asking; this you show everyone, not meaning to, in hopes of finding a semblance of relatability. Was it normal, what happened to you? Is this a dark fog everyone lives in? You hope not.
You have an everpresent effervescence of the wrong kind. It's a nervous habit, a shuffling of the feet and a glance to the sky. It's the reincarnation of life before that day, with the tender rips of who you are now. One can only paint over paint so much; mix the colors, they will all become grey.
You've a vague sense of relief when you look around and see no one. It's a talisman, a testimony to your independence, and your dependence on lots of human-free air. It's the writing on your arm, words you shan't forget, words like delicate innocence shame tragedy naivete melody sorrow blame identity apology and the biggest, boldest of all heartbeat.
It's a short cry from here to insanity and you remind yourself that your heart beats in pride, in admonition to the evil. "I am alive. You couldn't **** me. You won't **** me. I have a heartbeat."
I have a heartbeat. I have a heartbeat. I have a heartbeat. And the little girl on the swing smiles to the sky, a premonition of her future, a confirmation of her strength.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
Ingénue, Ingénue
mellifluous intonation;
within my ear
intangible embrocation!
Emollient to my inure
lithe and lilt affections-
A panacea, a talisman
fetching provocation.
Ingénue, Ingénue
Why must you fall
into such fugacious
dalliances?
Becoming and comely
are you
The cynosure of men
dissembling by demure
Ingénue, Ingénue
how easily I imbue
sempiternal scintilla
into naive little you
Lo, during my brooding-
arrive in halcyon gambol,
Dulcet or Saccharine
Is it me or you?
Ingénue, oh Ingénue
an epiphany, so true
a furtive labyrinthine
past the offing of you
None so opulent
cast more than penumbra.
T'would simply be Pyrrhic
to go on, continue.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
There's this guy who constantly gives me grief online
as if I need a reminder that I am not funny or smart
that I am incapable of posting any story without his remark
as if he should impart and bestow all of social media
with his divine and seraphic academia:
what is with that?
He posts comments about how illiterate my poetry is
how it doesn't follow the rules; the do-nots and the do's
pontificates how its not properly punctuated
as if I should give up altogether and just shine shoes
and forget trying to construct sentences
just wander in the carousel of nebula's
eternally seeking the tentacle of enemas:
what is with that?
This guy enjoys winding me up like a persistent hobby
the reverent devilment of sadistic entitlement
pushing my head under water for a digital baptism
that I should thank him for his rhetoric enlightenment
as if he was blessed with a correspondence talisman:
what is with that?
This isn't even a poem.
I am letting off steam like an overused kettle
fed up of his mortar forever rammed in my pestle
the temples are raging and my brain is just draining
to explode on cue on the next digital heckle
the cracked and broken vessel
into a vengeful steam-driven projectile:
what is with that?
This, < here > , is my only escape
and creative cathartic vent
I'll post this lament
with the stench of discontent
and tag his name and then just wait
for his feverish malcontent
that I should dare to
prevent his God-like dissent:
memo to self
to a digital antagonist
and his verbose verbal cyst
and the keyboard of twists
when you push
sometimes you get
a big shove back
so don't be surprised
by my riposte
and this poetic attack.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
by Sara L. Russell, 30/10/13 at 01:03am
I am a force of fiery integrity of soul; a garden sealed;
I carry my soul deep within, all of Heaven enfolds me;
My cross is my talisman, my banner and protector,
All of Dante's angels ascending and descending surround me.
My bed is a vessel of peace on a sea of tranquil clouds;
Oceans of rolling vapour bear me up in the azure sky,
Distant birds give voice in the soporific hush of twilight,
as angels sing out blessings of love and everlasting accord.
I am a harp of harmony, a lyre of languid repose;
My heartbeat as steadfast as any jewelled timepiece of gold,
My dreaming skies are filled with wingbeats of migrating birds,
Streams shimmer with moonlight; all the forests thrum with life.
I am a force of fiery integrity of soul, protected from the night;
I carry my soul deep behind the portals of my mind,
My Lord and Creator guides me through the labyrinths of dreams,
Shadows flee from angels, wingbeats carry me till dawn.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
Carved in purest precious stone
so rare and undoubtedly unique.
Endowed with natures fortune,
the perfect Amulet of which I speak.
A talisman of unmatched power,
to ward every dark cloud from the sky.
So lustrous in its beauty,
that it just captivates my eye.
A something so uncommon,
to fire and ignite my imaginative mind.
So magic and so elusive,
dreams and hopes of such to find.
Glimpses of the wonder and the beauty,
that have caught me in their spell.
A desire to hold the Amulet,
my future and my fortune time can only tell.
Mar 16, 2022
Mar 16, 2022 at 12:03 PM UTC
Preponderant enchantments written
With dawns bereft tears
Of a hircine mendicant
Upon a necromantic acorn
Thirsting times wild-wize monition
During a week of sundays
Atide sins wake awash
Clarities purification.
Natures immure debt drawing
Maledictions masterpiece,
Leys bane web mercifully mirroring
Obsidian sibilant eyes
Peccably prenouncing the portent
Languid whisper inquisitorially;
Heavens augumented vestments
Distinguishable amid eternities
Pensive shade as thuriferous
Hallowed tombs loom black
As ink, somewhere that was
Thought to be void far between
The dark hour anchoring the
Fractured talisman of loves memoirs.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 11:49 AM UTC
Ötzi
Even in my long sleep,
I dreamed of this.
A waking by strangers
A grasping of my wrist
And I wrench it back from them!
My dreams beneath the ice
Were warm, in summer vales,
Where children played
Under my watch, old but hale.
An easy thing, my guard was then.
I tend sore limbs as supper warms,
And aching joints inflamed,
And muscles tough as ibex horn;
For a while I can be lame.
And see my copper ax in the red-gold flame.
I dream of how it came to me,
After vanquishing a headsman.
Intruders fell before me!
And I earned this talisman.
Weapon, scepter, power of my clan!
Then I was sent across the mountain,
A lone journey I knew well.
To trade with kinsmen in a the northern glen,
With gifts, arrow shafts and tales to tell,
Never guessing betrayal that walked behind.
Alone upon the highest peak
I ate my last meal by the fire.
To me the gods seemed trying to speak,
As men I knew climbed higher.
We had words, but they were my kin!
In my long sleep I wonder why
These false friends turned to hate.
I’d watched over them, yet they cried
That my rule was done, and it was too late,
So I turned from them and faced my doom.
I crossed the last protruding rock
And now felt safe from them.
But then a blow, beneath my heart: a shock!
I fell in a soft, snowy glen,
And then a dull pain in my skull…and black.
Beneath me, I can feel the ax;
They’d never take that from me!
Nor my arrows, quivers and packs;
And risk the fury of the gods.
They’d taken my power and left a naked soul.
Five-thousand years I spent beneath the frost,
Until I was found and freed.
My scattered ions watched, angry and lost.
They dragged my body from its bed
And my soul from another life.
Now part of me lies in a crypt
Another frozen tomb.
If only I hadn’t run and slipped,
All those ages ago,
I would now lie in sacred ground,
Back in the earth to which all are bound.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC
Following Friday's sins,
I'd usually sleep in.
That Saturday Mammy called up;
There was Daddy dripping blood,
Clinging to his thumb.
He was stubborn.
He sat back,
I drove fast,
And left him in emerg.
Hours later,
Back at home,
The phone.
The power switch
Was already off,
But on the floor,
Next to the saw,
I saw the thumb
Lying strangely alone,
The skin, the nail, the bone.
He died incomplete.
His stump was a talisman.
Grandkids got a kick from it
Asking him to count to ten.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
Broken for some time now,
As the abhor is no good to me,
Proved me a counterfeit personality how?
Feeling bilked, she said to me.
I wanted to regret to her,
But she won the argument with the same technique,
Asking questions, made me felt reprehensible,
But her expressions were so unique.
She left me in the dark holes of the universe,
When I needed her the most,
Kept waiting for her to absolute me,
But the time had already gone.
Took time to plaudit myself,
But ended up making things knotty,
She was my lovely talisman,
Who made me realise how hypocrite I'm.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
Waning dappled moonlight mantles
the margin at the wild-wood edge
Stiff tufts of summer dried grass spears
sporadically sway — raking against
the scarlet poison oak leaves
gently sweeping away the moonlit silence
airing the sounds of velvet antlers rubbing
barkless mountain willow trunks bare
Subtle nuances constantly animate
twilights rhythm; heaven flickers
upon a dark umbrage of forest pillars
softly as a candlelight’s fluttering glow
evanescing half way across the sky;
the sparse illumined clouds stream through
the lambent halo around the rutting moon
fleeting in the blink of sleepless eyes
and like the silent touch of a talisman,
transfixed eyes are entranced by all
the restless night disrobes,
captured and cocooned by the seeker’s
awakened senses
An erratic, familiar feral bark peals haughtily;
a pack of maturing spring pups yip, bellow and shriek
in youthful pursuit; the howling report back,
ignited by the scent of a rabbit's paling squeal,
aroused by the pulse of brother wolf
rippling deeply through their blood
The dried grass game-trail crackles towards the ridge top:
an aging full moon is not enough skylight
to see beyond a seeker’s stirring silent reverie
the coyote choir’s sudden reveling echoes rekindling
an extraordinary sheltering intimacy within;
bending slithers of moonlight into a dull moonlight mantle
but I can feel its weight breaking me ,... forlorn I can't physically
reach out to touch them in an absolving moment —
understanding love was always the purpose of being ,...
futilely repining — I can't face myself alone again
harlon rivers ... October 2019
.
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 8:39 PM UTC
In a crowd of familiars
I pass through
of proust effect lingers
and someone greets me.
I see you at the dead of night
You of I thought long gone.
It just gives back the stare.
As its right hand lifts
with auras cast in awe,
energy flows through my spine,
I helplessly mirror what it did -
It points itself,
Then at me.
Spirits spell a curse or divine,
You of I thought killed,
Vanished into lucid flow of energy.
Dust permeates
and whispers my ear,
I never leave.
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 9:09 AM UTC
I found it on the floor of
the women’s dressing room
after a concert.
The ladies were long gone
and I was clearing up.
It was one inch long and
the wings were one inch wide.
The dragonfly had
two overlapping oval wings
on each side
and a long curved tail.
The body and tail
were set with butterscotch
yellow rhinestones.
The wings held chartreuse stones.
Two white rhinestones were the eyes.
The quality of the stones
was extraordinary
though the setting
was not really gold.
When I took it to my office
to put it
in the lost and found
my extra many ceiling lights
made it sparkle
like in a jewelry store display.
I put it on a stack of tissues
I keep at the ready on my desk
so I could see it
any time I wanted.
When I moved my head
just slightly, it would make
the sparkles seem to move as well.
It made me very happy
just to look at it
and I have no idea why.
Nobody called to claim the pin
It’s value is likely very small
But it’s come to symbolize some of
The shiny things I hope to capture
In the time remaining of my life.
It won’t be long ‘til I
am forced to
spread my own frail wings
and fly
from this cocooned
career of work.
Perhaps the dragonfly
will be a talisman
and lead me to
the meadows
I have dreamed of:
awash in creativity,
accomplishments rewarded,
and never any gales
of jealousy
or the thunderclouds of
evil that
rattle my windows here.
On the day when everything
is packed and shipped, my
keys turned in,
lights turned off
for the last time
and I am free, I will pin the
dragonfly
to my collar and
and take us looking
for that meadow.
ljm
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 2:00 AM UTC
There's a certain uniqueness in being strange
*The thought of being different,
Unique with words,
Best amongst equals*
*The thought of being the light amidst the dark
Invading all chasms
Shining forth*
*The thought of being strange,
Like a talisman abstruse
Strong, yet soft in approach*
*Tall, yet bend when the wind blows,
Cold, yet melt with emotions,
Better by far*
Best amongst equals
Ovi Odiete© Jan, 2017
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
Where encased is the secret of bliss
Is it encoded in any talisman abstruse?
Does it linger unseen on the face of angelic babes
Who with smiles and laughter create such heavenly vibes?
Can it be in the eyes of charming belles
Who hold the world under their mesmerizing spells?
Or is it in the heroic deeds of valiant men
Who on the face of death, undaunted remain?
Can we behold it in the brilliance of the rising sun
Or in the serene calm of the misty twilight dawn?
Does bliss hover on the banks of streaming brooks
Or on the heights of snow clad mountain peaks
Can it be with fair Venus- Queen of Love
Or in the arrows speeding from amorous Cupid’s bow
Does it glisten in the silvery beams of the shining moon
Or in the setting sun’s embers of amber and maroon
Can it be somewhere in heavens so high
Beneath the fluffy clouds quietly gliding neigh
Can sweet Paradise be the seat of bliss
Where seraphs sing, angels dance and nothing is amiss
Nay, it surely resides not in worlds beyond
But here on Earth, in the union of hearts with love abound.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC
Sorceress of hello poetry
She posesses powers that pull me back
To a dark world of desires and fantasy
Late at night to her page I sneak
Seeking power and a lover's dreams
Her words my talisman of luck
With every line she drops
A spell veils my senses
Filling my mind with steamy clips
Of us in a world of two
Smoking my senses in her couldron of words
She got me believing those magic words
Giving in to her
She is a witch
She drafts her words skillfully
She conjures the sweetest feelings
And incarntations
That I chant and accept
And love and comment
Every day that I rise
On her illusionary wings
Feeding on her magic mushroom
Sorceress of Hello Poetry
With your stupefying allure
I lose the sense of time
And keep reading your rhyme
Till morning finds me wasted
And I am thrown back to reality
Against my wishes
Sorceress of Hello Poetry
Teach me to cast love spells
And I will guard you
When witch hunters come
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
I heard through the grapevine
The Gestapo are out tonight
Weaving their tapestry
Of violent sport and time
So I duck into alleys
********* my talisman
Praying for personal glory
A reordering of the cosmos
But all I get is an enigma
Enigma with mystique
I hear the chanteuse sing
It makes the colors bleed through
I heard through the grapevine
The star police are out tonight
Weaving their tapestry
Of karmic sport and time
So I duck into nightclubs
********* an eyeball glass
Praying for personal triumph
A reordering of the past
But all I get is an enigma
Enigma with mystique
I hear the chanteuse sing
It makes the colors bleed through
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
I like to talk **** when I write - so
-
Astro management
Secure the banished talisman
Martyrdom and ice cream
Melt of the establishment.
What's that? You don't recognize this as a style in your text book?
Doesn't fit inside your box, eh?
It's poetry **** face!
I'm not writing for a grade. This isn't meant to fit anywhere other than outside of my head.
Can't relate to me?
Chances are you've fit in with the normalcy of manufactured lies - I admire your blissful ignorance.
Go ahead and cite your work. I do this to get relief from the APA format.
What's it feel like for someone who ***** at living?
Keep reading, you're not alone.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 8:51 AM UTC
My talisman was destroyed
by a sorcerer, who, much annoyed,
bade me worship only him.
I worship not a lowly man
who lacks the power to understand
beauty beyond the realm of man.
Plato’s archetypes are real
in our creations and what we feel.
The innocence of childhood play
The setting sun at end of day
The work of every artist great
Brings me to a better fate
My talisman returned to me
Resurrected, in a different guise.
There is somewhere of no lies,
only adamantine ties.
Where love is indivisible from art
and only death tears us apart.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 1:44 AM UTC
The spring’s efflorescence,
the sunshine halcyon,
the withering rose fetching,
the ripple in the lake a talisman,
and the birdsong mellifluous,
is ephemeral,
yet quintessential.
Through wherewithal of it all,
we find ourselves pyrrhic,
because it passes like a scintilla,
but in our hearts, it’s eternal.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC
Thou didst guard me, Amulet--
Talisman, whose destruction I regret.
Thy spell held me in eternal safety.
Alone I was never, when thou wert with me.
I gave up thy secret to the sorcerer,
for promise of a gift he could not deliver.
Poor bargain, and I am now wiser
and would not trade treasure for lowly desire.
The sorcerer broke my talisman,
and I was broken, and now alone, I stand.
Too late I realized my error
and was stricken with mortal terror.
On the bridge I screamed, above the frozen river,
under a sunless sky, facing a void forever.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC