"talismans" poems
I.
I wonder if you remember me.
You said, “Go out. Find me
that universe, and take these
with you.” Talismans.
Good luck charms like Mozart
and fifty-five ways to say hello.
Navajo night chant,
Peruvian wedding song,
diagrams of ribcages, gender,
bushmen and bones.
Gifts for a people you said
I may never meet.
It has been thirty-four years
and I wonder if you remember me.
II.
Less and less,
we call across the distance:
sixteen-point-twelve hours
between transmissions
and I wonder if you remember me.
I nearly kissed Jupiter for you,
nearly skimmed Saturn’s bright rings,
but you said, “Go out.
Find me that universe,”
so I sail out into the dark for you.
I keep a photo of you,
twenty years ancient,
to keep away the quiet
between your calls:
pale pixel, distant dot,
my origin receding,
I wonder if you remember me.
III.
I know now,
you never meant
to call me home.
Dutifully, I will go out,
but I wonder if you forget me.
I am still here, sailing.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:23 PM UTC
I. St. Luke The Painter
Give honour unto Luke Evangelist;
For he it was (the aged legends say)
Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.
Scarcely at once she dared to rend the mist
Of devious symbols: but soon having wist
How sky-breadth and field-silence and this day
Are symbols also in some deeper way,
She looked through these to God and was God’s priest.
And if, past noon, her toil began to irk,
And she sought talismans, and turned in vain
To soulless self-reflections of man’s skill,
Yet now, in this the twilight, she might still
Kneel in the latter grass to pray again,
Ere the night cometh and she may not work.
II. Not As These
‘I am not as these are,’ the poet saith
In youth’s pride, and the painter, among men
At bay, where never pencil comes nor pen,
And shut about with his own frozen breath.
To others, for whom only rhyme wins faith
As poets,—only paint as painters,—then
He turns in the cold silence; and again
Shrinking, ‘I am not as these are,’ he saith.
And say that this is so, what follows it?
For were thine eyes set backwards in thine head,
Such words were well; but they see on, and far.
Unto the lights of the great Past, new-lit
Fair for the Future’s track, look thou instead,—
Say thou instead ‘I am not as these are.’
III. The Husbandmen
Though God, as one that is an householder,
Called these to labour in his vine-yard first,
Before the husk of darkness was well burst
Bidding them ***** their way out and bestir,
(Who, questioned of their wages, answered, ‘Sir,
Unto each man a penny:’) though the worst
Burthen of heat was theirs and the dry thirst:
Though God hath since found none such as these were
To do their work like them:—Because of this
Stand not ye idle in the market-place.
Which of ye knoweth he is not that last
Who may be first by faith and will?—yea, his
The hand which after the appointed days
And hours shall give a Future to their Past?
3.9k
She sits at night, spinning spells of love and luck,
Splashes inscense over hair and hides it under a rock,
Chanting affirmations through a darkened midnight mirror,
Making talismans with earthly blessings for the wearer,
Waxing moon, waning moon, full or half or crescent,
She will make pain go away, or teach someone a lesson,
Your deepest wishes she will grant, for that is what she does,
She draws upon the ocean tides without a hint of fuss,
But never will she use her power to hurt, or maim, or ****
A hedge witch only beckons love, but not against the will,
An alter made from beauty with the softest female touch,
And vestments worn with good intent, to teach us all so much,
Next time you see a hedge witch, tilt your head and say hello,
As she may find you love some day, and you might never know...
Oct 29, 2009
Oct 29, 2009 at 6:00 AM UTC
There was once a child
born beneath the sign
of unburial.
She carried too much—
not in arms
but in tethered memory.
Things with no names,
only weights.
A cracked watch
that ticked in reverse.
A button from a coat
that no one had worn
in three generations.
A feather
from a bird
dreamt once
by her grandmother,
never seen again.
She believed—
as those marked by absence do—
that keeping meant remembering,
and remembering meant
nothing would vanish.
Others crossed her path,
offered to help unfasten the straps.
She refused.
They did not know
which talismans bled
and which only looked like wounds.
So she walked.
Through salt seasons,
through bone-rattling frost,
through forests with no floor
and skies that never asked her name.
The bag grew heavier.
She grew cleverer.
Silent.
And then—
on a day that wasn’t special,
under a sun that wasn’t kind—
she set it down.
Not as surrender.
As an experiment.
The earth did not crack.
The ghosts did not scatter.
Her shadow did not abandon her.
She sifted the contents.
Some were dust.
Some were still singing.
Some curled away like dried petals
and begged to be left behind.
She took a key.
She took the bell.
She left the rest
for the moss.
She walked on.
Not lighter, exactly—
but less governed
by the shape
of her grief.
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 10:23 PM UTC
you fall like umbilical cords
for the purpose of befriending
bacteria at the site of your
bloated corpse collection.
the way you make me vibrate is a
witch trial, my talismans shaking
as i grasp the embryonic roots. do you
know what kind of flora we found
in the red maple swamp today? do you
wrap around the left horn of dionysus?
there is a space between your lips,
not the upper, not the lower, but the
plane at which they meet. this is where i
want to stir my cauldron, this is what i
want to bathe in poison.
water bearer! do not bring me
indica, do not bring me purple orchids,
i am only pleased by small mammals
writhing from the corners of your fangs
(a secret that can only be sealed sanguinarily).
and now tell me: when your veins
turn like supernovas, when your minions
dance for you in throngs, do you exhale
the debris? do you eat the coral berries?
do you remember when we hunted that
mammoth in full cryogene, in full rhapsody?
i held you at the sun's eclipse as time slid by like timid snakes.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
Please do not wear your scars as labels
They are not your identity
They are not your name tag
They are not your talismans
You are so much more beautiful
Than a sad part of your story
And I’d much rather see
You embrace your Fighting Warrior
Than for you to cower
Before your personal hurricane.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
Amulets and Talismans
Hide your daughters, arm your sons
Something wicked this way comes
There's evil o'er the land
Coats of grey and coats of blue
Pick a side, which one are you?
The dead are many, survivors few
Freedom is at hand
The fields are littered with the dead
What once was gold, now bleeds red
Corpses now grow here instead
What cost does freedom bring?
Crimson now does paint the earth
The blood of boys scant years from birth
They gave their lives, for what it's worth
Hear the bells of freedom ring
Two hundred years and more since then
The tides of war begin again
An endless circle with no end
Arm your daughters, arm your sons
Talismans and Amulets
Don't protect from fighter jets
It's sad how soon the world forgets
Something wicked this way comes....
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
Where are we, Kaya?
Landscapes pock like amanita muscaria, fly agaria
the long-legged mushrooms, scarlet
and foot-cloven
and languages rage and quicken like seeds
Seated at the empty table
bloated from unrequited intentions
we refrain from embrasures
Your Garingau voice & throaty laugh
ripple over our eyes
Ha liya youn dabib?
You ask: Where
are we
going?
from here, with Lighthouse Caye in sight
on this sea of blighted corals beyond Seine Bight
where you were born as a footling--
inked though it became-- sole dark, Soul bright
emerging from the long dive
talismans training in your toothless mouth
foretelling the deeper plunges
off Billy Hawk Caye at Solstice
soulfully spearing our Sole--food without strife
And there is richer fare
where
we
are
going
into the night Kaya.
~ Lin Ostler
December 23. 2011
all rights reserved
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
FIRST ONES
She sits by the fire and stirs her ***
the day has been a long one and tonight's new moon means no sleep tonight
for there are times right for harvest and can be done no other time
The folks of the village depend on her art for to bring new life
and easing the pain of the living as well as honouring the dead
There is no Rede or three by three here
no shiny wands or talismans
she is elder here and thus respected perhaps feared
but she lives her life alone
She was the beginning
a first footer here
seeking only to serve
little profit is found outside of the town
What would she thinks of our books and our Rede
She who never learned to read
Was She more or less then I?
Did She seek to lead?
Would she smile at our toys our trinkets and beads
or shake her head and turn to leave
I wonder what the First Ones would see looking now at me and thee
Solita - 2007
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
Cast one more stone
In a well void of water
To sustain you
As if your trebuchet barrage
Scattered talismans at my weathered feet
Will bring the deluge
Pour out sacrifice
Redolent offering to the god in you
I want nothing more
Than to sharpen my sword on the bones
of your unreachable dreams
Draw this blade across your saline skin
Etch my grievances in blood and mortar
The panacea of fools
Are you even capable of feeling pain?
What a waste
This dance
Your ineffable demesne
Is nothing but gossamer threads
Smoke and mirrors
Cannot contain me
I refuse to move to your
Susurrous litany any longer
I'll cut out your tongue
For my standard
And leave you silent
To decay
TL Boehm 11/09/12
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
Alert the Ankobeahene and Kontihene
To secure the women and children,
For the language is war,
Remind the Kyidomhene,
Nifahene and the Benkumhene
To caution their men
For a possible storm,
Men of war!
Fill the mighty *** of fire
With the water fetched
From the Godstwi river,
Do not forget to mix it
With the divine talismans,
For the pale-skin men
Who knocked our doors
With their good news,
Are now knocking our
Doors with their gun news,
Represent their commanders with stones,
And place them in the boiling mixture,
Has the omnipotent Kwame and
Mother Earth approved of this?
My servants, check on the ***
Whether it has disintegrated,
Then we expect defeat,
If not, play the drums
And blow the horns of war
In delight and strength,
War!
War!
War!
Who is to lead us?
For the *** on the fire has
Expressed our defeat by
Wailing and disintegrating,
Oh yes, nevertheless the
Gods and ancestors have chosen
The vibrant queen mother of Ejisu,
Ah, though we are fighting
A war of contempt,
Her Royal majesty,
Nana Yaa Asantewaa
Shall lead the entire Ashanti army,
Weep for your children,
Oh, great Krobea Asante Kotoko,
For they are going in
For an unpleasant defeat,
But for the sake of
The courage of Yaa Asantewaa,
We shall fight!
Fight!
Fight!
Fight! Till we see defeat,
For the moon moves slowly,
But by daytime it crosses the sky.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
We're not human
Riding on what waves
The length of our spines will flex to
Shiff ff fting focus as if from congealed lenses, blushing crimson worries
I forgot what I was meant to be told
I lost the talismans given me
Pupils leave glass classrooms
And can't be hoped for any more
Than in the grim mission they're handed, but we're not human
For we aren't sorry, not grieving the passing off of pleases
And the absence of grace
No churches, ties or classrooms push us forth no more
We're no longer human
For we forgot how to spell that word
With every ounce of our body
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
I have a great piece coming up. This isn’t it, I misplaced it,
but as soon as I find it, I’ll post it. This one is less-than-perfect.
The less-than-perfect summer felt like love.
There were some genuine moments of glamor
and a few new, intense, sense-memories to relish.
It wasn’t easy but we performed that magic called
holidaymaking - things in life don’t just happen.
Ok, some things just happen, like slip and falls,
heatwaves, hurricanes, car accidents and aging,
but the good things, like love, and hotel bookings
usually require a little planning and effort.
On the beach there’s a sense of infinite space,
but it comes with its own kind of circumscription.
You know, deep down, that it’s only summer,
and the paradise offered is slippery and temporary.
It’s the dark side of long holiday freedom, that
the discordant noises of fun soon fade, like tans.
Strips of perfect polaroid pix, will be stuck to my dorm room wall -
scenes that will act as talismans, tchotchke-like reminders of
overly straightened hair, sweet kisses and foolish shenanigans.
So, bring on the less-than-perfect hours of study,
I’ve done it before and I’m just about ready.
Bring on the weeks of less-than-perfect sleep,
It’s senior year, the experience should be unique.
Bring on the less-than-perfect social submission,
I’m a less-than-perfect girl on a less-than secret mission.
.
.
Songs for this:
Don't Forget the Sun but The Explorers Club
Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man
08.18-2:15p
Aug 18, 2024
Aug 18, 2024 at 1:42 PM UTC
It was an unknowing spot
In the fight between good and evil
As many such places are
The walls won’t keep you safe
Or protect you
There are no talismans at work
The humours
Swirl
One night upon descending the stairs
My heel
Caught my hem
My hands both full
A cigarette in one and wine in the other
I began to fall
It would have been a tumble
I was leaning severely to the left
No balance likely
one foot in the air
Going nowhere good
At the foot of the stairs
Yes
There was a dreadful man
His arms opening wide
His legs spread
Ready to catch my calamity
I tried to prepare
An impossibility about to occur
And how would it end?
Me on the floor, wine stained and puddled
In the arms of
And yet
I felt a push on my side
Straightening me out
Pushing me over
Up and down
Tip top
I lowered my foot, set free by my dress
And with both hands still fully occupied
Stepped down the stairs in quiet saucy triumph
He was awful
That night I knew that there were indeed angels.
As for evil and
Stairs
Years later the winds began to change
I sat above on the second floor with
a wine glass and a full bladder
I decided it’s time
Watch your step
I was slow
Cautious
Looking straight into the darkness
And despite just two steps down
total
I fell
The arc of red wine
Flew across the gallery hitting the north wall
Already hung
Yes wine on the wall
Between the paintings
Me on the floor
But the glass still in hand
I began to think
That there is something here.
Unseen.
Something’s around.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
the year we dissected a squid and ate its tentacles piece
by piece down at the pier next to your house was the year
you expanded while I grew into myself .
we kissed one another
like good luck charms ,
like talismans , and used
our bodies in place of
fortune tellers .
I read your palm lines
and came to the conclusion that we would be together forever .
you hated the word forever and settled for a long time .
as we grew more familiar
with one another’s skin ,
I watched my intake .
I wanted nothing but you ,
would inhale nothing but you ,
counted my calories
like sheep before
drifting off to sleep .
the less I ate , the more
room I saved for you .
you wanted to swallow me whole
so I fed myself to you
piece by piece , the tender red flesh of my thumbs
and ******* until they grew bruised
by your mouth .
In those days I ate nothing
but a cup of cold cereal .
when we watched the whales dive in the surf ,
slapping the water like winners of an arm wrestling match ,
you were almost as giant as their cavernous ribs .
I was smaller than the smallest school of fish .
I wanted to fade into you, into the house of your lungs ,
so I spent hours ******* in my ribs in front of the mirror .
we became opposites of one another .
but in the end , my wish to become part of you failed ,
and I simply became the skeleton in your closet instead .
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
I think it's okay
That I romanticize you
Because I will never have the chance
To be disappointed
With reality
We will never waver
Awkward unsure of a hug
So I see you through a sun-exposed camera
Laughing brilliant smiling
Shaggy black hair
I scoffed when people
Wore crosses like talismans
But my idea of you lives likewise in a necklace
You gave me as a joke while
I was falling in love
'Q
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
What is mind?
Do we fall into a black hole of subconscious influence
ever to wonder if we are truly in control
The ideals we hold
Our aspirations
Our fears
Do these institutions we put faith in make us who we are?
The self, one, being, pure,
Us
Many bodies with one mind
The downfall of modern-day civilization
Colors flash talismans of control
Shrouded in esoteric deceit
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:03 AM UTC
Born of cosmic dust and fire
The curse on her would never expire
She had been born out of rage and fear
Her mother taken at the point of a warrior's spear
Given to the gypsies to raise
It was the start of her dark days
Passed around from man to man
Each one imprinting their own brand
Making her feel less than
Her skin is burnt with all their marks
They scream out to the spirits dark
One kind gypsy branded one to let the bright rebound
So even in darkness, the light could be found
She had her mother's chants
She had her father's rants
And the agony of her years made her something to fear
She was not afraid of pain
To her that was a daily game
Don't threaten her with death
She'll show you how easy it is to take that last breath
She begs for it just as much today as then
Her want for the reaper's release is written from within
They thought the darkness would take her over
It would make it easier for them to control her
But that one magic symbol for the light was powerful
It would not let the darkness be her downfall
She learned the chants, she studied the plants
She knew what all the talismans ment
And how to control and use the elements
Till she was strong enough then she broke free
And the gypsies in terror before her flee
She stepped over the bodies of those that had done her wrong
She did it singing the sweetest song
That made even the bravest of them wish their life would not be prolonged
She now wanders the woods clothed from head to toe
So all of the symbol branded scars don't show
With people she has no use
Alone she suffers no abuse
She prefers the solitude
She's always in a sullen mood
The curse on her is still to be shown
Because no good deeds has she yet sown
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
FIRST ONES
She sits by the fire and stirs her ***
the day has been a long one and tonight's new moon means no sleep tonight
for there are times right for harvest and can be done no other time
The folks of the village depend on her art for to bring new life
and easing the pain of the living as well as honouring the dead
There is no Rede or three by three here
no shiny wands or talismans
she is elder here and thus respected perhaps feared
but she lives her life alone
She was the beginning
a first footer here
seeking only to serve
little profit is found outside of the town
What would she thinks of our books and our Rede
She who never learned to read
Was She more or less then I?
Did She seek to lead?
Would she smile at our toys our trinkets and beads
or shake her head and turn to leave
I wonder what the First Ones would see looking now at me and thee
Solita - 2007
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 4:24 PM UTC
Granite and marble talismans , sugar white sandbars and felled Oak
bridges .. Smallmouth bass explode with hunger at the surface , soft shelled turtles in meditative bliss , fill driftwood and sun drenched rock islands , dancing waters and bank head flora lend a thousand different colors to the afternoon palette of a Kelleytown Summer ...
Water striders communicate with dance to the ballad of a bold Bluejay .. Young anglers test their skills with creek minnows in search of Yellow Perch and Black Crappie as the last hour of daylight swiftly begins to pass ..
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
it’s amazing the sheer number
of supernatural powers people
have attached to things over the
course of history
charms, temples,
talismans, totems
all forms of the same
misguided ignorance and
fear
it is funny to me that
I feel something when
given one myself
water
that’s all
water from the south of france
dug out of the moat of some a
church that’s older than legend
that surrounds it
supposedly, this vile of *****
fluid can heal, better than any
doctor or medicine
now I, and the person who gave
it to me, both doubt it’s powers
that doesn’t shake
it’s meaning
it was a token,
a gift,
from one sickened
soul to another
that’s touching
that
is
real
so perhaps that’s why
humanity has been giving
gifts like this since the
dawn of time
it’s not a magic, unnamable,
but the simpler wizardry of
friendship
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 8:58 AM UTC
it all adds up
but you can't love
what you can't
have mock
you.
you most certainly can’t do that.
you will not consume.
Consumption will usurp you epically.
your talismans are annulled eventually.
your bulimic heart will divide shadows
with darker shadows.
a darker
dark.
cut them like cake. divide your passing into long spikes of utter void.
it all adds up
but you can’t love
what’s not there
to love
you
but quite the opposite.
and the opposite
of love
is watching Nothing
die -
but you thought
it was something
before it devoured
you
like a morsel
of speck.
like a light.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
I navigate, I
swear I do.
This crew will not believe me.
I have charted far and wide across the seas,
but now I hide down in the doldrums.
'twas foolish of me,
this motley crew would like to do me in,
hush
was that a pin that dropped?
the silence stops my breath.
Nearer to and to thee I ask
to let me curl up one more cask
before this day is through,
before this scurvy crew discover me.
'Land ho', I hear,
a cheer topside,
I hide no more and am
instead
feted by this crew and
led to be
yet once again.
the Master of
the sea.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Four-leaf clover, rabbit’s foot, horseshoe from the barn,
Wishbone, even black-eyed peas, all these have luck’s good charm.
Good Luck! We shout to those we know, entrenched in tests of skill.
Good Luck! We hope for those whose hearts are set to climb the hill.
Cross your fingers, close your eyes, make a wish and blow;
Don’t wait too long, wish on a star, good luck is there you know.
Don’t walk under a ladder – No! And don’t step on a crack!
Bad luck is there, be mindful or you’ll break your mother’s back.
Ten long years of luck undone in broken mirror shards;
Your future told of good or bad in talismans and cards.
Luck ‘O the Irish, Leprechauns, and all such magic things;
We’re told of wondrous luck and wealth all these to us will bring.
I wonder if ‘tis luck at all or choices made at will?
Is luck the thing that guides my feet to riches or to nil?
Do I not choose which path to take, decide what’s right or wrong?
Those choices made, good and the bad, to me must all belong.
Not luck, I think, our future rules, but One who bids us well.
In Him we find the choices that will keep us out of Hell.
If suffering comes, tis not bad luck, instead -- a chance to grow!
To understand that He, not luck, is Sovereign of this show.
No lucky charm can truly bless or guide our steps for good;
The look, the sound, the feel of luck deceives us like a hood.
He gives us skill and aptitude to make our own lives bright;
We’ll trust in His design for us and look to Him for sight.
Our future’s too important to trust in lucky charms;
Eternity’s a choice we make, in that we’ll find no harm.
So let’s expect the best from Him, we know He wants to give;
Though life is hard, we need no luck, for in His truth we live.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
Grim,grim and looking down within the valley far so far below
I watch as arms swing to and fro
and dreamers hope that all is well as marching one by one, they step into their heaven or is it hell?
All is well as profiteers sell talismans to men of learning,burning with desire to not fall and burn inside the fire.
And galley slaves,another time and still the drum beats to that time,another song, the galley slaves still row along and dream until the dream has gone and then the time begins once more.
Grim so grim and yet I lean to look within, for I am not a man who knows no sin and thus I need to peer within to set the course that I must take.
It was the sin that led me to this rim above the valley,where the quietness of death is matched only by the quickening of my own breath,
I stand alone to watch the rag and bone men going to their fate and wonder what's in store for this lazy good for nothing sore that is my life.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC