Best Talon Poems
*The Dead Poet*
Many blocks along the road,
Kicking down walls of heavy stones,
Yet no one could draw through the walls of her lonely bones.
A poet who could not write what's inside.
Her pen had gone ink dry.
Her beady eyes lost the feel of an angelic realm.
She tried!
She tried until she could no longer cry!
A poet who stuttered with the mind and out came no words.
This poet hangs on a mound with a picture that tells a sad tale.
A poem that broke verses in a Carpe diem dream.
She ruffled her arms once more as if she could fly.
Still nothing,
Everything felt dead inside.
Trap in a mental state that clots the willing vein.
Isolating her form in a room with no door.
She stays this away from the feel of the marvel pen.
To never go back, and feel again.
In the most ominous way,
She lets out a cry,
A cry, never heard before.
Running from this evil, that stain her world.
Words buried deep and behind a new exterior box,
Her insides grasp all the air of air once alive.
A talon drop into the next,
This troublesome poet gave up on everything.
Had nothing left, but the empty space within.
Next!
She curls herself into a fetal world.
At last, she closes her eyes, to feel no more.
A poet who died the day, joy wiped the glee from her face.
by;PD
Categories:
talon, beauty, death, deep, emo,
Form:
Ballad
Every flower has its own color
With annual observation,
this we springtime discover
Give a womb kernel cede
of acknowledgment
To the spectrum birthright
of each other
We are all one,
tho’ from a different umbilical mother
Notice the bloom of time,
come rain ... come sunshine
First eclipse dawn —
tyranny tares grew with the
the golden amber grain —
The face of nightshade oppression
had a dark tone
Steel magnolias was the fetter fragrance
of the pyramid rule chain
Pharaohs, (of no melanin discretion)
who wore the ornamental godhead,
sat atop the pinnacle
While the slaves were downtrodden fed
at the bottom below
Their crowning achievement
was to erect great tombs
But papyrus thieves in the temple
stole the toil of the ruins
Skin for skin,
this is a-fertile sowing season true
Each summer solstice empire
passes into autumnal decline view
Every bird has its own color
And the length of each wingspan
differs from one another
Take an umbilical hover,
acceptance flight
To the spectrum birthright
of each diverse other
We are all one,
tho’ tear delivered
joyously from a different womb mother
Notice the migration of time
come swaddle skybound ... come burial ground
Last obscure sunset
was the Legion silo bane talon —
The thorny wrinkles of oppression
had a pale monotone
Caesars, (of no pigment distinction)
who wore the prickly spiked laurel bled,
sat atop the carrier chariot
While the plebs were commercial shackle led
to the amphitheater above
Their crowning achievement
was to deify great destructive bombs
As scrip crooks in the palace
pilfered the taxable gift of the palms
Skin for skin ~ Epidermal blend,
this is birds of prey a-nesting season true
Autumn equinox tech empires
passed into cold war, nuclear winter view
The nature of wisdom
teaches cross-pollination pure acceptance love:
Tho’ each fruit has its own color
Why then, doth this root of affinity divides us?
This is crystal clear!
Yet, what is the color of water,
of which thee Mist of Life doth bring?
It is snowflake known —
Tears of repentance
is from whence salvation doth spring
Categories:
talon, metaphor, nature, truth, wisdom,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Upon this yearly powdered dale,
where leafless birch in talon-ed stance
come begging in their circumstance,
the snowflakes fell in silent veil
as thick as densely woven cloth
to gale a new year's behemoth.
While seeking warmth to no avail
I hunker in my hiemal sleigh
when through the rime in gleeful spray
a fulgid sun does spritely hail,
goes dancing between limb and twig
and waltzing 'round each wizened sprig
to glisten on my rutted swale.
Each pixel glitters on this path
in afterglow of winter's wrath.
Upon this yearly powdered dale
the snowflakes fell in silent veil.
While seeking warmth to no avail
a fulgid sun does spritely hail
to glisten on my frozen swale.
Categories:
talon, snow, sun, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
Dusk seeps lapis
The horizon looms in blood and coral
Crows emerge from peacock plumes
shrieking caws of darkness
wings flap their incessant onyx
Talon wounds of starlight
multiply and meld
into the coming day
the cover of night perforated
into salmon blooms and cornflowers
6/9/17
Categories:
talon, day, morning,
Form:
Imagism
Panagiota is a whirling Galaxie
with her blue thunder words
a spirit like black diamond lightning..
She bruises the clueless and ignorant
not out of hate but of love
not with a brass knuckled fist
but with pearled wisdom
layered around grains of
life's relentless grit.
Her words are not fanciful or minty...
their always stained with the talon of truth,
She crushes the weak-minded and the oblivious
with her Olympian soul and rose scented boots -
She fears nothing and never spares the rod
while weaving a spirited ink to her parchment heart.
Atop enchanted moonbeams
she lances pit vipers and tangos with God.
Categories:
talon, courage, poetess,
Form:
Free verse
In the heart of the blackest abyss, down,
Down, in fathoms deep crypt, where light
Does not penetrate, and the structured protective hauls,
Of men, are crushed beneath pressures massive
Weight, of the oceans deepest depth.
This is truly inner spaces aquatic zone of the
Unknown, a realm of stilled silence frozen
In the icy currents of the barren straights.
Where prehistoric giants dwell, amongst the
Tidal flow, ambush predators, forgotten beasts,
From long ago, living krakens whom devour
All life, hidden within their dark domain.
In Poseidon's mighty anger, the waves answer,
To his fists of fury, hurricanes wrath of vengeance,
Gives birth to the perfect storms rage,
Vessels rise and than fall in the tidal surging
Waters.
Nay do the sailors cry out to the Lord God on high,
For redemption's salvation, but the sacrificial altars must
Be appeased, by flesh and bloods sacred offerings.
Summons does the mighty lord of the seven seas,
To release the last of the ancient Leviathans.
Two thousand hands, of a thousand dead men,
Heave and pull at the tethering heavy chains,
To this devil of the depths cage.
From within interments vaulted keep,
Captivities living spawn from hell, is
Unshackled and released, to reek havocs
Devastation above.
An aquatic spider, a maritime widow maker,
Flexing and in-flexing, its body’s motions,
Towards the surface, in pulsations rhythmic
Orchestrations, the gray giant is ready to strike,
With its killing arms extended wide, to grapple
At its unprotected prey, to engorge itself with
All living matter that it surveys, within its icy reach.
As bubbles shoot upwards breaking the waters
Surface, suction cups and talon claws are drawn
Outwards, aligning his eight legged tentacles of bone
Crushing death, behold the Giant Squid, instrument of
Lethal torture, a living killing machine from the fathoms
Deepest depths.
For it is the beast, the true essence of evil
Incarnate, and none survive its destructive wrath.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
talon, boat, fantasy, halloween, history,
Form:
Free verse
Violet
star stream
flowing
across
the
soullessness
of
mundane dream...
Whispering "everything's alright.
She's thriving like a spring fed rose in saintly gardens.
An angel brightly glowing.
...of this dream.
I staggered along a ragged path.
Through a battlefield of metal devils-called "quartered living.
Faith folding and unfolding.
Garnished with ogres slinging burning orbs of fire.
Halos of insanity...
This is when violet star sashayed in.
Soothing me
Shielding me
Her weeping rosary telling me.
That she loved and missed my heart.
Re-fastened our very being with a satin dream kiss.
That had tattered in the talon of time...
lifted me across the bloody broken battered fields.
...into the arms of forever
where the beat of pristinely only flies.
So fly my love, fly ever so softly into me.
If dreams mean anything
I know it won't be long.
till we dance the dance of butterflies.
Over green sprigs and lacy things in a warm summer wind.
In the heart pond of gilded tomorrows.
We'll gently drift about.
Make origami sunflower love.
High upon a gilded glade...
If dreams mean anything
death is just a splash
of black pebbles
in a violet starry stream....
If dreams mean anything,
Categories:
talon, death, dedication, loss, love,
Form:
Rhyme
"I've loved thee since I first saw thee as an adorable egg in thy nest!
Wouldst that thee would deign to marry me and put my pining heart at rest!
I hold thy delicate talon in my beak awaiting with bated breath,
For thine answer to my plea to be my beloved until parted by death!"
"All that I have to offer thee is a cozy nest in yon apple tree,
Safe from prowling cats and mean little kids to raise a family!
Please give me thy answer ere the sun sinks slowly in the west,
That I may begin to build thy dream home, thy cozy little nest!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Honorable Mention in Francine Roberts' "Enough" Contest - May 2011
Categories:
talon, funny, passionmay, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Potion number nine to six mixing instincts
Primitive passion possessed bodies boiling points
Love consuming lust traversing together past trust
Tangled hands mingle with talon arms lengthening lost time
United legs step to cross paths at the same rate different lanes
Claiming bottomless renewed nights holding on tight
Tossed and turning rolled up with wait filled yearning
Playfully pulling the hearts pleated burning branded heat
Blazing fire fuming fragrant sweet scent heads rush
Secreting supple skins sensitive soft tender touch
Invisible love that consumes dark atmospheric distant
Imagine life full of face forced fuel feeding feeling
Satiated daily indulging less thought more action
Lonely laps body traps tracking lack of love making
Consuming loss seeking body love instead of heart shaping
Categories:
talon, body, heart, lonely, longing,
Form:
Free verse
As I rummage through the cabbage patch of general affairs,
I’m made aware of certain signs of cultural decline.
I see it written in the talon marks of chem-trails overhead,
Confirming all my pet conspiracy theories.
It’s rooted in the topsoil of a flat earth conviction.
It’s every suburban legend’s low hanging fruit.
It’s the latest mass shooting as a Tik-Tok challenge
Teasing gut brain muscle memories with algorithms of outrage.
It’s all flash, but no drive, just broad-spectrum rhetoric
Inducing Karenoia and cultivating satanic panic,
All in the name of the Good Lord and Savior.
It’s the dog whistle only heard by those whose ears
Cannot think outside the Fox, where waxy yellow build-up
Is impacted, unyielding to the voice of Reason.
It’s, “OK groomer,” “Don’t say gay,” and "Let's go Brandon."
It’s the Battle Hymn of the Replacement.
It’s the influencers trending on social media.
It’s the meme that captures the lapsing of just a still moment,
Like a fly frozen in the amber of time everlasting.
It’s the universal selfie unapologetically posted on the Cloud.
You may be cool, but you’ll never be Korean cool.
And yet you try ever so hard to be.
When I slice with Occam’s butter knife
The loaf becomes a senseless pile of crumbs.
And so it goes.
Categories:
talon, allegory, america, anger, angst,
Form:
Free verse
Death's Messengers
by Rick Rucker
Death's messengers came for me today,
I eluded them, though, I crawled away.
Seeing just the smallest chance,
I sneaked into an ambulance.
I thought that it would surely fail,
That I'd soon be cold, and pale.
Noting that my blood did leak,
My future prospects seemed rather bleak.
One second, an iron horse riding,
And the next, my suit of leather sliding,
Down the road, at times bouncing,
My feeling of luck taking a trouncing.
I couldn't speak, my breath was leaving,
I knew my wife would soon be grieving,
I thought myself quite brave,
But I heard a medic say “Grave,”
Where I knew I soon would be,
On a hill, under a tree,
Thinking about the riding fraternity,
A biker through eternity.
Suddenly I felt a pain,
A searing blue flash went 'cross my brain,
Something just wasn't right,
Don't people say to “Go to the light?”
The only light that I could see,
Was red, and on a CHP,
Cruiser that was straight ahead,
Probably thinking I was dead.
Could it be that I would live?
How much fluid can one give,
And unfailingly survive,
Or , possibly even thrive?
I had to get into a hospital bed,
Before “THEY” knew I wasn't dead!
How fast can a medic go by rights?
Use the siren and the lights!
I wasn't feeling too nice,
But we got there, in a thrice.
Many doctors rushed me in,
Just one pain, from toes to chin.
To ease it, they gave me juice,
Soon, I began to feel quite loose.
Knowing that this dulled pain's talon,
I asked, “Could I take some home, a gallon?”
Seeing me under the weather,
The doctors all gathered together.
Discussing all the effects most tragic,
The witch doctors began to work their magic.
Soon enough, I knew I'd live,
I thought to take the time to give,
To The One that let me stay,
Above the ground another day!
I don't think about it much,
There's little pain to the touch.
The only legacy I carry,
Past cemeteries I do not tarry,
I haul as fast as I can go,
If I go a little too slow,
Death's messengers might see,
The one that got away-that's me!
Categories:
talon, recovery from..., me, me,
Form:
Couplet
You say you've seen it all
but your not even close.
There's always more
twists and turns, ironic endings
to the comedy and horror show-
Given time, life will stomp the mind
you've only seen a vignette of its grit and grind
Fortunes can change slow and steady like the tide
or quickly spread like a wind heckled fire.
Life is a knife fight with an invisible foe
you'd be foolish to stand in one place
and go toe to toe.
The key is to be humble as a weed, lay low
in the champagne glass and bouquet of victory,
be hard as a diamond when in the talon of grief
keep the mind humming from glade to glade
because crazy will try to keep stride with life's pace.
Categories:
talon, life,
Form:
Free verse
The Hell That I Deserve
At the top of a cliff
Surrounded by darkness and doubt
I see you in the valley
Surrounded by a light
I can hear the slightest sighs of angels from the valley
Drowned out by the screams of my demons
There is no pathway down to you
The cliff is lined with talon like rocks
Fallen angels hold my arms back
Holding me against my will
All I can do is stand and look down at you
You would never hear my screams
You would never hear what I want to say
I will die on this cliff
All alone while you thrive in God’s light
I can never meet you
Never talk to you
Never gently kiss your lips
It is true that I have sinned more than once
Standing alone on a cliff with you below
I know that this is my hell to endure
If only the demons would quit screaming
I could hear your voice
I could hear the sighs of the angels surrounding you
Then my hell
The hell that I deserve
For one moment this cliff would be a paradise
Categories:
talon, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
"The Queen's Slippers - Part 2"
There goes my heart
with bags packed
no turning back
or final wave
seated hooded next to huntsman
innocent, gauche, temperamental
There will come a time
to save,
but save oneself
on this dark road,
one must -
There will come a time
to talk,
but walk the talk
on this dark road by oneself
‘tis the True Lesson,
to Win-Win,
one must.
A gold wedding ring
A delicate diamante crucifix
An open heart
Some words inscribed
Latin to remember
casually tossed aside
Sterling Silver
broken in seconds
That is the past
Life now beckons.
Lost. Much later. Lost.
A Soothsayer sees –
A Soothsayer knows.
A Soothsayer has walked
the same Road.
Bluebird's and Cuckoo's nests
glittery material things
carrots dangled by withered carrion minds;
True wealth are the hidden maps
buried in the Lost Forrest of Time.
There is an owl it perches
on my heart
digs it’s talons in like
nine inch nails piercing
it softly hoots, too diabolical
for screeching
The Owl slowly turns it’s eyes
towards the Reader
a silent voyeur trespassing on the kill,
it digs it’s talons in sharper
blood flows claret stained
drop by drop
into the Poison Chalice, again,
blood flows warm and free
it’s pumping with life yet, see?
Soon, too soon it will come
tomorrows are never guaranteed.
Above it’s right talon a sterling silver anklet
it holds life in balance, still,
Warm with life
Cold with death
The fine line drawn between
Imperious over lifeblood’s flow
Inscribed, in font Gothic,
The Owl’s name is POE
Gently, the writer places the hood over POE’s eyes and kisses the top of his head. Our writer, dear reader, brings out her Queen’s Slippers. Hearts are in her mind, she’s playing “NO TRUMPS”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018)
1. In Australia, the Joker in the Queen's Slipper brand of playing cards depicts a Kookaburra, a bird native to Australia with a call that famously resembles human laughter. In Australian games of 500, the Joker is often referred to colloquially as "The Bird"
2. "Do You Love Me", Nick Cave
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZGPB4463mM
3. "The Day the World Went Away", NIN
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtmI6j3R-Y0
Categories:
talon, imagery, life, love,
Form:
Free verse
Atop a jagged pinnacle,
he sits, just waiting;
ragged wings stretch into flight.
Dragon eyes his prey;
downward sweep and clasp
brings supper for a dragon.
We all must face our dragons;
climb looming pinnacles.
Face-to-face, clasping
ourselves; we watch and wait;
we are our own prey
and can’t escape our truths, in flight.
Poetry in flight,
is the night dragon.
He easily finds prey,
from his pinnacle;
a patient specter…waiting,
with cold talons ready to clasp.
Downward swoop and clasp;
spreading wings in flight.
Tired of perpetually waiting,
fearless dragon,
with wings obscuring pinnacle;
takes unsuspecting prey.
There is no hope, for dying prey;
wiggling in talon-clasp.
Dragon’s spy pinnacle,
welcomes him from hunt-flight.
Famished dining dragon,
welcomes no more waiting.
Much too long, in waiting,
with no dinner-prey,
can leave a thinning dragon
in deaths abominable clasp.
Angels in celestial flight,
will carry him, to Heaven’s pinnacle.
When for death, you wait; face your dragon.
He’ll give up his prey, for miraculous, spiritual flight.
In a death clasp; souls reach the eternal pinnacle.
Categories:
talon, introspection, metaphor, poems, poetry,
Form:
Sestina