Long Attribution Poems

Long Attribution Poems. Below are the most popular long Attribution by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Attribution poems by poem length and keyword.


The Christmas Tree

I just love the Christmas tree which we welcome into our homes, 
Symbolising nature, the natural, challenging our views and roams;
Settling in our cosy living rooms, the empire of many, each of us, 
Independent, not asking for anything: assistance, change or fuss.

The Christmas fir tree came from Denmark, from Christians there, 
From Hans-Christian Andersen in a short story in which he did care, 
About children and their thoughts of growing up and finding Christianity:
He pertained that process to the growth of the majestic fir tree, big and lusty. 

But I in my childhood related the tree to evolution, its process and sway, 
Said that I derive from it something steady, living and quite happy;
I just ignored the original drive of Andersen’s The Fir-Tree, 
For my own accepting arms for nature which accepted me. 

Evolution never possesses, but awaits eternally for recognition, 
Of itself, that relative, that descendant relation of honour and attribution,  
It gives the right the speak and not just about itself, but about anything, 
And marries a therapist in its act of anticipation, actively caring. 

Evolution includes everyone, excludes none whatsoever, none at all, 
The whole fluctuates by those who fall, the ordinary and the tall;
Every day behaviour ultimately affects genes which are passed on in time, 
So importance is bestowed upon all, saving each one from the dumb mime.


Premium Member Monoku Monday - Final Edition

"Final Edition"     Posted 12 Sep 2021

With deep gratitude to all of who visited and commented over these 12 months of Monoku Mondays, I am hereby retiring this series. Keep laughing and bringing a smile to one another, we all need a lighthearted break from the serious side of life once in a while... especially on Mondays! ~ John

Just Say'n	
    a clear conscience:     usually the result of a bad memory

Speaking of Memory…
    i've got great memory      if i could only remember to use it

Well If You Put It That Way
    the grass is greener on the other side      at least you don't have to mow it

Balance Is as Balance Does	
    a teen's idea of a balanced diet      a burger in each hand

Speaking of Teens…
    there's nothing wrong with teens      that a little reasoning won't aggravate

How Sad
    her birthday is april 1st      unfortunately, no one believes her

Politics In a Nutshell
    never forget the golden rule      whoever has the gold makes the rules

Why I Did Poorly in English Class
    I was always fated to mispell werds   it was just my density


"Bits and Pieces VII"     Posted 5 Sep 2021

I Wish I'd Said That 
    there is only one thing worse than being wealthy       not being wealthy

Isn't It Ironic?	 
     i express my non-conformity      with mass-produced bumper stickers

I Know, Right?	 
     all those who are opposed to speeding violations      raise your right foot

Clueless Clem - International Dating Dunce	 
     "like watching tennis, Cheri?"   "oui!"   "just a wee bit? okay, baseball then"

Little Red Writing 'Hood	 
     i live in a red house on a writer's block      but no one is writing

Quote of the Week 	
     i went to a fight last Saturday night      and a hockey game broke out ~ 

[humor attribution - #5 by Edmo Snord, #6 by Rodney Dangerfield, all others found online, sources unknown]
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Monoku

Premium Member American Psychosis

American Psychosis
The sun, the Son,

ECLIPSED 
Overshadowed by
Dark clouds of 
Bloated EGO and ID
Me supersedes We
The people1
Will weep

 DEADLY SINS
 More than seven
In one
Narcissist ‘king’ of
WRATH, HATE, REVENGE, 
Not a 
‘Dish best served cold2
But with anger 
Evil so bold
SCOTUS behold! 

Bunker-Busting Bully
Historical ignorance, ignominy
Big Beautiful Bombs or
Tariffs Coercion

Psychotic projection
Weaponized state
Now fully effected
No critic is safe

LUST 
When you’re a celebrity
You can do anything
Predatory
You want 
Assault, murder, rape, 
Cheat, steal, defraud

LIES 
Free speech
IF you’re with us
‘Fake news’
If you’re not
We have 
‘alternative facts’

GLUTTONY and GREED	
Never satisfied with 
What you have
Never enough!
Never enough!

IDOLATRY 
Genuflection 
To the ‘Golden Calf’3
Crown of Orange
No thorns4 
Nor Pain

LAZINESS, SLOTH
Reap rewards from
Work of the plebes
Let them eat cake5
Simple living, no steak
Accountability – None

ENVY
Look up to look down
The billionaires ladder
The one I will climb
Not Jacob’s sublime6
But the movie 
On the horrors of war7

PRIDE and VANITY
Peers, I can tolerate 
But
 I am the best
Losers and suckers
Make up the rest
OK to call on them
To squelch the unrest

Parade
Honors ‘Dear Leader’
Who dishonors
Misuses the troops
MAGA, sycophants,
And Nazi salutes

No impulse control
Chaos, Disunity, Autocracy
Unreined
Breaking Bad8

RESISTANCE
Inevitable 
‘No Kings’ 
In ‘our land’
Despite fear of 
The worst
Assassinations, arrests
Uncivil will be
Armed 
‘There will be Blood’9
On the streets
Where chaos will
Reign
Unless it be tamed
1 Preamble to the U.S. Constitution
2 Joseph Stalin
3 Exodus 32
4 New Testament Gospels
5 Dubious attribution to Marie-Antoinette 
6 Genesis 28
7 1990 movie on the horrors of war
8 Breaking Bad, highly acclaimed TV series
9 Gangs of NY 2002 movie			`Copyright @ Mel Gill 06/14/2025
© Mel Gill  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Aromatic Ambiance Accessed

Along the ambrosial garden alleyway 
of assorted colors, it appeared we ambled together 
for ages, until an atrocious angst of afflicting storm 
blew away all the flowers abloom for us.

As apathy rent asunder my dreams gone awry
the embrace of the empty amorous arms 
avidly amassed the splinters of my shattered heart.
In the pull-apart arcane aperture of anguish
my ardent ardor dissipated away in thin arid air.

After all these agonizing years adrift alone,
a dazzling day dawned above the debris of hope.
With auspicious aura of attractive future fascinating
my appetency arose afresh as the dust of my dream.

The allure of the affable smile on your face aglow, 
I once adored, amply assured me I could assuage 
my acrid feeling and absolve myself of 
the abysmal attribution of abject remorse.

When I accessed your aromatic ambiance
in abandoned garden with vestige assembled again, 
I became an aspirant butterfly afloat 
with the tapestry of winged ecstasy 
on the adornment of your amazing beauty.

October 12, 2019

Premium Member Monoku Monday - June 2021

"Give Me Your Tired"   posted 7 Jun 2021

i'd join the morning person's club     except their meetings start before noon

early to bed, early to rise     makes a man healthy, wealthy, and beat

they make clocks to tell me when to get up      i need one to tell me why

a bicycle cannot stand up by itself      because it is two-tired

my wife got tired of hearing my zodiak puns     it taurus apart

teen's concept of an early bird:      one who wakes up at the break of noon

[humor attribution - all humor found online, sources unknown]


"Just Asking (part III)"   posted 14 Jun 2021

wow, is that an optical illusion      or am I just seeing things?

why does the sun on the raisin bran cereal box      wear sunglasses?

why are wise men and wise guys      considered opposites of each other?

when styrofoam companies ship their product      what do they pack it in?

if swimming is so great for the figure      then how do you explain whales?

how does the person who drives the snowplow      get to work in the morning?

[humor attribution - all humor found online, sources unknown]


"It's All In A Name"   posted 21 Jun 2021

i visited a new dating website in Prague      they call it ~ Czech Mate ~

there's a new contraceptive on the market      it's called ~ i kid you not ~

my vote for the best beauty parlor name of all time    ~ curl up and dye ~

good name for an ultra-conservative fashion boutique      ~ clothes minded ~

maybe you shouldn't name your brand new restaurant      ~ eater's digest ~

perhaps this plumbing company is worth a gamble     ~flush or full house~

[humor attribution: #2 and #5 Edmo Snord, #3 and #6 are actual company names I've seen, others found online of unknown origin]


"Random Brain Guano (part III)"   posted 28 Jun 2021

children are hereditary      if your folks had none, neither will you

the best remedy for your bad memory      is milk of amnesia

buy your valentine a bikini      it's the least you can do for her

i tried making a belt out of watches      it was a big waist of time

my toddler kept chewing on electrical cords      so I grounded him

sometimes Bigfoot is confused with Sasquatch      Yeti doesn't seem to mind
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Monoku


Extreme Pattern Recognition

They brought me the child
long before he became a man feared for his deadly silence.

He sat at the edge of the chair
like the edge of the world itself,
watching fingers twitch,
watching mouths bend into counterfeit smiles,
watching fathers slam doors
two seconds before the storm arrived.

The others called us “too sensitive.”

But sensitivity is merely pattern recognition
without anesthesia.

He learned early
that love could arrive holding flowers
and leave carrying a weapon.

That footsteps in hallways
forecast weather better than television.

That a tightening jaw,
a shifted glance,
a laugh half a second too sharp
could predict catastrophe
with mathematical precision.

So the nervous system adapted.
Not badly.
Brilliantly.

The brain became a lighthouse
spinning across black water,
searching endlessly for wreckage.

And eventually
the search itself
became the illness.

Because when humans survive enough fires,
they begin smelling smoke
inside rainstorms.

They read danger into pauses,
betrayal into fatigue,
violence into ordinary human clumsiness.

The amygdala, overworked old sentinel,
no longer distinguishes
between a wolf
and the vigilant rabid memory of one.

This is how extremes are born.

Not from madness—
but from repetition.

A person cornered too many times
stops living in the center of the room.

One memorizes exits.
Studies eyes.
Measures tone.

Dissects every syllable
like a bomb technician clipping wires.

And the tragedy—
the terrible, clinical tragedy—
is that that child is often correct.

Just not always.

But “not always”
is where relationships come to die.

Because eventually
the loved one says:

“You think everything is an attack.”

And the wounded mind whispers back:

“No.

Only the things that look exactly like the last one.”

In my profession
we give this elegant names:

Hypervigilance,
trauma response,
hostile attribution bias.

But beneath the textbooks
it is merely this:

A human being
who learned survival then fare well.

Premium Member standing up

I write romantic poems and vignettes, these are leftover lines that were cut from them. 
I ran a Perplexity search and all these lines are "No attribution found" - so they're mine!

Sweet talk glitters like fireworks but fades quickly
into regrets that linger like afterglow

Cupid never aims, he enjoys chaos.

Don’t mistake a boy's attention for affection.

Love writes poetry; heartbreak edits it.

Romance begins with laughter and verbs
and ends with self-interest and subjunctives.

“Do you have any hobbies?”
“I collect romantic mistakes,”

In my youth, you’d know I was trying to get lucky 
if I was wearing mascara.

Are guys worth the hours of makeup?
I’ll let you know in the morning.

I believe in love and latex.

Nothing interrupts a good fight like sex.

Desire is want without conscience.

When I’m sweet talked properly, like a poet, 
I can forget that I’m cynical.

Flattery is incomplete foreplay.

Lust sneaks in like an opportunity

Romance is how we frame sex so it feels civilized.

Never confuse seduction with sincerity.

Pleasure is the first stage of regret.

Passion is mischief in poor lighting.

My mind usually outraces stimulations, 
which can leave me alone at the finish.
.
.
Songs for this:
The usual things by Marshall Crenshaw
Paprika by Japanese Breakfast

Seems like we slightly grasped it

Competition is supposed
Lowering the price

We didn't hire them
For these the contracts
And they their win conceptualize 

Intelligence aware
Which machine learning
And what is desired outcome

Production of products
Trades and agreements
Internal economy SRAM

This interesting lemma
And this is dilemma
And this real meaning of law

You cannot develop
The system of commons
Because those are for you foe

Find level
Attribution
You cannot exist in no context
To you I am talking?
Have life of your own
Is this the system of yours?
Who gave them the job this
In systems of meaning 
For what is now yours the remorse

Yes that in order
Computing of purpose 
Wrongly they want innovate

Defense cannot legal
Occur own computing
Where equality false

The most idiotic 
Period in history
Machine does exist for machine

There is no authorty
Because it's incompetent
For what do they want any peace

What if AIs of theirs
Really aren't valid
Cannot the true purpose serve

What if in a system
Of many publications
There is neither the point
Nor the force
© Kate Kelly  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Sunday Funnies V

maybe they just need some oinkment
when pigs get laryngitis
    i suppose they feel somewhat disgruntled

english teacher's nightmair
observed in a book store: 
    "sale - all spelling workbooks 50% of!"

too much of a good thing
poetry teacher:     "i can't say enough about not 
    saying too much"

paternal paradox
my grandfather once told me
    "never trust anyone... trust me on this"

where the h am i?
to a dictionary editor
     'h' is the middle of nowhere

such a critic
i tried that new restaurant on the moon
     good food but no atmosphere 

a pun further analysis
the bonfire sank my boat   
     you can't have your kayak and heat it too

Humor attribution: all humor found online and converted to monoku form by yours truly.
© John Watt  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Monoku

The Resolution Execution

Why do I make resolutions?
Will I ever change?
Every year a new solution,
yet I am still the same.

I inhale sweet pollution,
a different flavor every year —
but now with retribution
after ball-drop cheer.

My diet is a constitution,
guilty pleasures await.
My body, my institution —
I don’t care the date.

The ritual of absolution
of a commitment I must make
feels like personal destitution,
an action I’d rather fake.

Would you like my allocution?
Well, I have no remorse.
There is no attribution,
because I won’t stay the course.

Here’s a substitution —
my offering to midnight.
My only contribution
is nothing, out of spite.

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