Long Talismans Poems
Long Talismans Poems. Below are the most popular long Talismans by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Talismans poems by poem length and keyword.
The
imagined force is recast and concentrated into an inorganic
material.
Intentional,
possessing the owner's future with satisfying
charisma.
The
talisman, as some are known to be, is the resulting
changeover.
Better
days lay ahead of the object holders, who will be the subject of good
fortune.
Prehension
of one's life worth and outlook will be exceedingly
awesome.
Blithesome
accesses the favorable
heart.
Impart
the wealth produced, amongst
others.
Effectuators
are doubly loved for that
realization.
Fruition,
when done unnoticeably, is agape
love.
Hereinabove,
the exceptional natures are
emphasized.
Harmonized
beginnings are the effects of the talisman's
aura.
he watched …
as it fell to the slate floor
glinting its polished golden husk in the
late morning sun
it should’ve bounced, as any
ring would of normalcy
but this, it was NOT …
leagues and lifetimes from it, actually
its behavior betraying the
dark matter within
as it landed with a single loud thud -
‘too loud’, he thought, as he
watched his dear little friend turn and
trudge away down the shire path …
he stood static to the floor
head dipped and eyes peering suspiciously at
it over half-lens spectacles -
as if looking at the devil himself
(not far from the truth) …
and after an overlong consideration
he stooped slowly and reached,
pausing a moment
(more debate)
then pinched it between thumb and
forefinger to lift it from the floor
but … it stuck …
he pulled harder, then harder yet
and finally picked it off the stone tile -
with much too much effort afforded an
object of its diminutive size
and this, as he placed it on the mantle beside him
(leering at it all the more)
quite disturbed him …
so, as was his usual custom at such
concerning moments
he ‘humphed’ to himself,
sat down on a leather hassock behind him
and dug his pocket, deep …
another pinch, this one unseen, and out
came a wad of Old Toby
straight into his churchwarden pipe
and lit with care -
weed-scented brume rings circling
his straggly silver locks
and disappearing high into the
shadowed eaves
along with his now shadowy thoughts …
this simple gold ring had
no simple history
this was a dark object of malevolent intent
forged in the fiery bowels of Mt Doom
and melded with an evil power to
obliterate all such talismans that
had come before it
and all to be made hence
he knew its history well, as any
wizard of import would
and he knew with dreadful certainty
that his life AND his path had now
changed in a troubling and
sobering way,
and that nothing in his once bright and
enjoyable existence
would ever again …
be the same.
A sweep of milky waves flood onyx sands
converging under endless summer skies
of northern lights in iridescent bands
Icelandic talismans of tales sublime.
A glassy sea of crystalline degrees
sustain a mass of icebergs in its pews
that lift their icy eyes in melting pleas
to wrest the dying of their waning hues.
Aurora beams reflect unearthly lights
against tall umber cliffs that stand below
the vivid landscape raises to grand heights
a trippy, tie dyed phosphorescent show.
In seldom witnessed, lonely obscure lands
a sweep of milky waves flood onyx sands.
Written on 5/21/2019
flag
a train runs over me and mine
indifferent to our
cries its moguls feed without blinking are incredulous
masses going to swell to occasion grace is it
to be sheep suckled on milks of
savage pride while honey-blessed malnourished
legions no longer bleat they howl with mutant
alchemy grey towers conjure only
more foul-magic talismans to throw dogs empty
bones will not satisfy even sparrows consume themselves in famine
they'll have to kill me i'll not taint myself in
their unholy rag i've seen them eat their children and pimp
their own to strangers
he began to weep rivers of flame and bleed armies of rage
too late to quench tiger-fire soon will femur
trumpets wail chod-rite cymbals crash all urns of sin spill forth
lava-like consuming marionette and masters in
ancient ways known to all
rb '90
3.
Death, the Master, wears a thousand faces.
The white smile of the skull
Lies behind the 5 O'Clock shadow
Beneath, perhaps, those laughing eyes
Looking your way across the bar.
When the shock begins to fade I turn off the news.
I turn once more to the business of living.
To ponder overmuch over why such things happen
Is to invite the spirit to drain down to hollowness.
Before we cast off at night
Onto the uncertain seas and shores of dreamlands,
We might do well to take a long look down within,
Call up and kiss the swarming demons goodnight
While they stir in the strange shadowgaps of the long dark
Resting there on the fringes of consciousness.
Give ear to the language they speak down there,
Learn dark things from the rumble of their mystic, thunderous litanies.
Call for an uneasy peace with the Legions within,
Hold them back, if you can, with our talismans,
The magic words: Reason, Judgement, Morality.
Tumble then into a warm bed
Forget the Furies roaming just outside
Awaiting dead hours to do their work.
The deeds of the night
Will be revealed
When the mist wraiths steal away,
When the sun bleeds rose light
Across the white face of dawn.
1/19/16
That is it
After this
No matter if
The road ahead is hazardous
Beside many establishments
Waters with or without halibuts
And areas where the ground and air has traces of contaminants
Bought her a lot of amethyst
And garnets that were called mandarins
So that whenever she wanted too, she could dress up and feel glamorous
In the liquor cabinet
Was bottles, some of which were extravagant
And they typically had either a cork or twist cap on it
Others showing their true colors
Fussing over nothing
Then being animus
Because they are desperate and ravenous
I told you you're soft and gelatinous
Stop trying to talk blasphemous
Or you'll get burned like a lot of cannabis
Bought some amulets
And found a box of talismans
What it said and meant, caused me to conduct my own analysis
Among the forests of ideas that get lost in dense fogs,
On high cliffs, beliefs carved into the mountain's root,
We stand bound by incantations, by formulas we recite like a litany,
With hearts full of ancient seals, whose deep mysteries are unknown to us.
It is a world of shadows we weave, from the word we speak without thought,
Rituals adorned in silver, with their echo of unanswered questions,
And we hide beneath these masks, the face of which we've forgotten how to read,
A fear of the heights, of the depths, a fervent desire for refuge, for a deceptively cozy nest.
We inscribe on aged parchments beliefs that aren't truly close to us,
Yet we honor them fervently, carry them on our backs like sacred talismans,
Clutching at our chests those formulas, those dogmas we hardly breathe,
In a melancholic ballet with slowed steps, hoping they will save us from drowning.
Ideology – behold! – a wall built not from bricks of clear conviction,
But a tiny labyrinth, made from the unrestrained desire to feel safe,
With every repeated ritual, we stray a bit further from the understanding of the sun,
And we warm ourselves by a flickering flame, of a light we never truly aimed for.
We, on the altar of the unknown, sacrifice meaning for the sake of form,
In a strange ceremony, where words become automatic gestures,
Hiding our fears under the mantle whose embroidery we no longer decipher,
We adhere to a ritualistic walk through which strolls, amnesiac, a poet who has forgotten what it's like to be human.
Sweet organic scents waft softly
through the vast and endless valley
where myriads of trees grow in tight rows
marked by long lines of rich, robust soils
that brighten with the rising sun.
I am happily lost in the incessant sounds
of bees buzzing, working in chaotic order
within delicate white orchard blossoms.
Their hum is mesmerizing and hypnotic
my fingers caress the ripe, orange talismans.
Dust and sweat mingle with hard work in this land
as farmhands goad the earth to produce its lot.
Strong arms dig the dirt in endless cycles
tractors leave their distinctive marks
sprinklers water the thirsty ground for miles.
I can see the valley’s shimmering lifeline
the wide aqueduct of the San Joaquin river
it flows like a liquid heart with precious water
thoroughly quenching the longing roots
that grow underground in quiet tranquility.
Those who work the land know it’s hidden secrets
I am just an admiring stranger, passing through
though I feel I have a small sense of it...a glimpse
…a place of laboring hands upon the earth
and a yielding of the elements within its midst.
There is a synergy of land and sky
a curve of the earth that intersects the horizon
a mystical union, a hint of heaven
a clarion moment in time.
5/15/2021
Big ups to my lyrical legends
From ground zero to the heavens they ascend
Crafting with precision they're the artisans
Their words etched deep, like ancient talismans
Ever vibe to a verse that cuts you to the core
Like a message in a bottle, washing ashore
Lines so profound, they touch the soul
Guiding us through life's labyrinthine stroll
Ever feel a line ignite the flame
Filling our minds with an electric frame
Clever rhymes, like thunder in the sky
Inspiring us to soar, to reach the high
Ever hear a line painting worlds so bright
Like constellations on a canvas of night
Mesmerizing verses casting spells of awe
Revealing beauty beyond the rough and raw
Lines that send shivers down the spine
Echoes of truth in every rhythmic line
Words that reignite our faith and creed
In the potency of words beyond all need
Ever resonate with a line that moves the soul,
Guiding us towards our destined role
Verses unspoken, yet deeply felt
Breaking down barriers, hearts begin to melt
Lines that cry out for change, a call to arms
Challenging the status quo, sounding alarms
Words that hit hard shattering the facade
Reshaping narratives leaving all enthralled
So here's to our lyrical luminaries
Their words echoing through timeless centuries
Masters of expression, shaping our perception,
Here's to their craft words of eternal affection
Note: Laura Leiser has been a good friend for several years and was the one who invited me to try Poetry Soup in 2016. She leads a writer's workshop that I am blessed to be a member of, and is a talented poet in many styles, writing of nature, family, faith, whimsical topics and vignettes from life. I hope you can take some time this week to check out some of her poems. Happy Birthday Laura! (June 10th)
Creation is your most beloved theme:
"Icelandic talismans of tales sublime".
So many forms you've written, it would seem
you never lack for metaphor or rhyme.
Your faith in God so strong, with nuance blest
in poems 'giving godly grace' to all.
Heroic crown of sonnets - I'm impressed!
a masterpiece that holds my soul in thrall.
You write of moments from the life you live,
of lovely grandchildren - one girl, one boy.
As you have given freely, so I give
my birthday greeting - may it bring you joy!
So grateful for the heartfelt, warm invite
six years ago that led me to this site.