"attribution" poems - Hello Poetry

I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks I swim through the blur of chlorine pushing through the water when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds And at the bottom the city in ruins I take my plane and dive down below the clouds past the blur, until the city is in view just below me I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground Over the pale white shells of buildings I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune: Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me until I find a large television in a small corner. A few people are gathered around, solemn, the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room. First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb". The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field. The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent", or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own. Yet it feels different coming from this; on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by. And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence before it all starts again I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above the imagined city in ruins And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay; I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

0

Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC

daylight627

The Enola Gay is at the Bottom of a Hotel Pool

I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks I swim through the blur of chlorine pushing through the water when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds And at the bottom the city in ruins I take my plane and dive down below the clouds past the blur, until the city is in view just below me I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground Over the pale white shells of buildings I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune: Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me until I find a large television in a small corner. A few people are gathered around, solemn, the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room. First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb". The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field. The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent", or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own. Yet it feels different coming from this; on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by. And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence before it all starts again I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above the imagined city in ruins And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay; I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

36

We need a new constitution constituting a needed revolution revolutionizing our evolution evolving into a new attribution attributing to a new distribution distributing love is the solution

0

Dec 3, 2013

Dec 3, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC

GaryL

Constitution Solution - Short Double Quantum

We need a new constitution constituting a needed revolution revolutionizing our evolution evolving into a new attribution attributing to a new distribution distributing love is the solution

6

I heeded that you are married no attribution against you I the one to rebuke I could've been a man sufficiently when you said: man up I became less a man you yenned I was dark to scope your worst of love I blundered to enroll, only love is to rescue I exclusively thought you had a disease that you can't breathe in general though I am envious, but I still say: God bless you and your remedy He should be me to rescue you But I was dark to cognize affection is the only thing you need to meliorate I urge I could just turn back the hands of time Began a fashionable living with you Instantly that I cognize, you are a love patient I'll man up, I'll provide sufficiently I'll satisfy your breathe Just so, I cognize you are mated to him He's better than me, better than anyone else In him you belong, stay blessed.

0

Dec 3, 2015

Dec 3, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC

edwill-makamu

Love is a disease

I heeded that you are married no attribution against you I the one to rebuke I could've been a man sufficiently when you said: man up I became less a man you yenned I was dark to scope your worst of love I blundered to enroll, only love is to rescue I exclusively thought you had a disease that you can't breathe in general though I am envious, but I still say: God bless you and your remedy He should be me to rescue you But I was dark to cognize affection is the only thing you need to meliorate I urge I could just turn back the hands of time Began a fashionable living with you Instantly that I cognize, you are a love patient I'll man up, I'll provide sufficiently I'll satisfy your breathe Just so, I cognize you are mated to him He's better than me, better than anyone else In him you belong, stay blessed.

24

The way your porcelain skin touches light Your waterfall curls provocatively grace the wind Those brown eyes take away my virginity That scent you carry with such promiscuity You want my intellect You want my drive You want me to want you Don't you...? I am yours. The way your jeans caress your curves Your voice sings to my every being And the sky delights at the sight of your smile The celestial sway of each step you take Each gaze my way, an attribution to my euphoria My mind wipes clean and thinks solely of you How I yearn to be get so deep into your imagination I'll find you beautiful girl And I'll take your darling breath away.

0

Sep 25, 2012

Sep 25, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC

jay-8

Beautiful Girl

The way your porcelain skin touches light Your waterfall curls provocatively grace the wind Those brown eyes take away my virginity That scent you carry with such promiscuity You want my intellect You want my drive You want me to want you Don't you...? I am yours. The way your jeans caress your curves Your voice sings to my every being And the sky delights at the sight of your smile The celestial sway of each step you take Each gaze my way, an attribution to my euphoria My mind wipes clean and thinks solely of you How I yearn to be get so deep into your imagination I'll find you beautiful girl And I'll take your darling breath away.

18

Pity you didn’t stay away Shame you came and didn’t stay Pain, a boomerang, it goes both ways You’re gonna have to learn today I told you to run Away from the sun Pity you had to lose it all Shame no one picked up your call Painful desire to drop the ball You’re gonna have to take the fall I told you to run I’m not the one Pity you didn’t fear the flames Shame you hadn’t learned my name Paintings of every life I’ve claimed You’re gonna have to lose this game I told you to run A girl is a gun - A Girl Is A Gun by Ines Rose is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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Dec 28, 2017

Dec 28, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC

inessrose

A Girl Is A Gun

Pity you didn’t stay away Shame you came and didn’t stay Pain, a boomerang, it goes both ways You’re gonna have to learn today I told you to run Away from the sun Pity you had to lose it all Shame no one picked up your call Painful desire to drop the ball You’re gonna have to take the fall I told you to run I’m not the one Pity you didn’t fear the flames Shame you hadn’t learned my name Paintings of every life I’ve claimed You’re gonna have to lose this game I told you to run A girl is a gun - A Girl Is A Gun by Ines Rose is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

20

Most people don’t know That two halves don’t necessarily make a whole Half a shoe plus half a butter knife makes something infinitely more useless than either halves alone. Or it makes something much more interesting But still, whatever it is—it is not whole. Most people want more Than only half of things I wonder: is it greed or just a desire for completion And if something is complete, is it also whole? And if someone were to search for long enough, would they find the missing half to everything? Unstructured Musings by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

0

Oct 28, 2012

Oct 28, 2012 at 12:31 PM UTC

nicola-em

Unstructured Musings

Most people don’t know That two halves don’t necessarily make a whole Half a shoe plus half a butter knife makes something infinitely more useless than either halves alone. Or it makes something much more interesting But still, whatever it is—it is not whole. Most people want more Than only half of things I wonder: is it greed or just a desire for completion And if something is complete, is it also whole? And if someone were to search for long enough, would they find the missing half to everything? Unstructured Musings by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

13

you make my legs fill with lust and some sundance chemical I cannot explain. you make me feel like your pupils are the sun and the sun has little in respect to you aside from attribution to the very existence of the girl I love. you make me feel like free chai tea lattes, even if this analogy was used by an ex of mine to describe how she felt about me I feel it's still valid in context. you make me dance like thunder in a snowstorm and link arms with my lack of a bedside table and ring as true as my ears to the ashen corner-lounge love-drug-all-this-please. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. holy sweet good ********* you sweet, sweet soul, not even novels could properly explain how my universe swells into serotonin heartbeats whenever you're wherever with me.

0

Feb 12, 2013

Feb 12, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC

tread

sundance snowstorms and serotonin heartbeats

you make my legs fill with lust and some sundance chemical I cannot explain. you make me feel like your pupils are the sun and the sun has little in respect to you aside from attribution to the very existence of the girl I love. you make me feel like free chai tea lattes, even if this analogy was used by an ex of mine to describe how she felt about me I feel it's still valid in context. you make me dance like thunder in a snowstorm and link arms with my lack of a bedside table and ring as true as my ears to the ashen corner-lounge love-drug-all-this-please. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. holy sweet good ********* you sweet, sweet soul, not even novels could properly explain how my universe swells into serotonin heartbeats whenever you're wherever with me.

46

(Authors note: I realize this is more short story than poem. I hope you find it poetic as well. Apologies in advance if this is not an appropriate forum.) Have You Seen This Girl ? I sat sleepy eyed one morning enduring yet another cardboard and treebark bran flavored bowl of breakfast with milk, 2 percent of course, and I stared at the carton. First I reviewed the measures of various fat content, and nutritional values listed as a matter of law. And as usual, I thought of you. This time by way of pondering the plight of the American Dairy Farmer and remembering it was the “corporatizing” of the independent dairy farms which led your family to other uses for the land they had raised dairy cows on for over a century. And I missed you terribly. To quickly shake the associated feelings of loneliness, and your face from my mind, I was drawn to the deep dark eyes of the child who was missing and apparently exploited on the other side of the carton. She had innocent, kind eyes that indicated she wouldn't even harm an insect. Curious eyes that would watch an insect for hours as it munched on grasses and leaves she fed it. She would be two years grown and two years older since last seen in blue jeans and a t-shirt in Amarillo, Texas, in the company of her biological father who was possibly armed, dangerous, and driving a pickup truck towards Mexico. Or Canada. And it struck me. You needed to be on the side of a milk carton. 2 percent of course. At some point in our life together, you had been kidnapped. Whoever was responsible had gone to a lot of trouble to replace you, to carefully drop you right back into my life. It was a great attempt but finally my belief that the real you would never do the things you did to me were validated. You had the misfortune of actually having an “evil twin” and corporatized or not, it seemed only the Dairy Council could help, since there is no Center For Missing and Exploited Adults. Big red letters screaming “Have You Seen This Girl ? ” were what we needed now. God knows I had recent photos, and could describe all of your features-distinguishing or not. I think tomorrow, I'll have French Toast. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on my work at www.emotionalorphan.net.

0

Dec 11, 2009

Dec 11, 2009 at 9:13 PM UTC

jack-varnell

Have You Seen This Girl ?

(Authors note: I realize this is more short story than poem. I hope you find it poetic as well. Apologies in advance if this is not an appropriate forum.) Have You Seen This Girl ? I sat sleepy eyed one morning enduring yet another cardboard and treebark bran flavored bowl of breakfast with milk, 2 percent of course, and I stared at the carton. First I reviewed the measures of various fat content, and nutritional values listed as a matter of law. And as usual, I thought of you. This time by way of pondering the plight of the American Dairy Farmer and remembering it was the “corporatizing” of the independent dairy farms which led your family to other uses for the land they had raised dairy cows on for over a century. And I missed you terribly. To quickly shake the associated feelings of loneliness, and your face from my mind, I was drawn to the deep dark eyes of the child who was missing and apparently exploited on the other side of the carton. She had innocent, kind eyes that indicated she wouldn't even harm an insect. Curious eyes that would watch an insect for hours as it munched on grasses and leaves she fed it. She would be two years grown and two years older since last seen in blue jeans and a t-shirt in Amarillo, Texas, in the company of her biological father who was possibly armed, dangerous, and driving a pickup truck towards Mexico. Or Canada. And it struck me. You needed to be on the side of a milk carton. 2 percent of course. At some point in our life together, you had been kidnapped. Whoever was responsible had gone to a lot of trouble to replace you, to carefully drop you right back into my life. It was a great attempt but finally my belief that the real you would never do the things you did to me were validated. You had the misfortune of actually having an “evil twin” and corporatized or not, it seemed only the Dairy Council could help, since there is no Center For Missing and Exploited Adults. Big red letters screaming “Have You Seen This Girl ? ” were what we needed now. God knows I had recent photos, and could describe all of your features-distinguishing or not. I think tomorrow, I'll have French Toast. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on my work at www.emotionalorphan.net.

10

Hey, baby sing me a tongue lullaby I’ll dance for you if you would like that. Twirling along the lilt of your sounds as you utter them syllable by syllable. I find you in the darkness created by the infinity of whatever it is we feel and you sweep me off my feet—literally—and fly with me away inside the music you created. By then it’s only you and me, although it has been all along and it’s your body and it’s nobody; my body Entwined in the kasbahs of eternity. An Adaptation of a (Love?) Poem by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

0

Oct 28, 2012

Oct 28, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC

nicola-em

An Adaptation of a (Love?) Poem

Hey, baby sing me a tongue lullaby I’ll dance for you if you would like that. Twirling along the lilt of your sounds as you utter them syllable by syllable. I find you in the darkness created by the infinity of whatever it is we feel and you sweep me off my feet—literally—and fly with me away inside the music you created. By then it’s only you and me, although it has been all along and it’s your body and it’s nobody; my body Entwined in the kasbahs of eternity. An Adaptation of a (Love?) Poem by Nicola Em is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

16

A storm blew through early, left frost etched, lit, glistening, on a window's waking surface. I sit framed by that translucence, my daughter aligns, orders mirroring matroyshka doll members. I reflect on an essay*, how poems are a symbol of will, concluding a pact, perhaps achieved in diction, image metaphor, adherence to structure, rhyme, form. Might these devolve to decoration? Or, trace the transmission of "will to commitments," expressing “intent”, "weakly lost or strongly spent?” Frost etchings fissure, shift, glint, slide on their emergent effluence, configure in gusts of cognition. I sense a covenant in these lines. my daughter adjusts her doll's placements, the promise of one revealed in the other. Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks —————————————— Attribution: Stanzas 3, 4, and 5 are greatly influenced by my reading the Robert Frost essay titled *THE CONSTANT SYMBOL. The short phrases in italicized quotes are direct quotes from that essay.

0

Aug 28, 2018

Aug 28, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC

gary-brocks

INSPIRED BY FROST

A storm blew through early, left frost etched, lit, glistening, on a window's waking surface. I sit framed by that translucence, my daughter aligns, orders mirroring matroyshka doll members. I reflect on an essay*, how poems are a symbol of will, concluding a pact, perhaps achieved in diction, image metaphor, adherence to structure, rhyme, form. Might these devolve to decoration? Or, trace the transmission of "will to commitments," expressing “intent”, "weakly lost or strongly spent?” Frost etchings fissure, shift, glint, slide on their emergent effluence, configure in gusts of cognition. I sense a covenant in these lines. my daughter adjusts her doll's placements, the promise of one revealed in the other. Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks —————————————— Attribution: Stanzas 3, 4, and 5 are greatly influenced by my reading the Robert Frost essay titled *THE CONSTANT SYMBOL. The short phrases in italicized quotes are direct quotes from that essay.

26

It’s thought provoking and emotion evoking I feel like I’m choking, {Heimlich} Truer words have never been spoken by a dancing mime with only one leg. Minds have reeled Fates have been sealed Unknowns become real It’s a negotiated deal made by some lawyer with a soul. Tragic, Comedy- Tragicomedy Shipping-handling. As seen on TV. What’s the cost of free ? Nothing comes really, with a money back guarantee. Wash, rinse, repeat. Operators standing by- keep your seat. Stay out of the kitchen if you can’t stand the heat. And know your victory isn’t over defeat. Miller time- the best time of year But I’ll never need another beer, My life’s so complete when using Tampax. The latest miracle cure is as safe as anthrax. Who has time these days for voting, when I feel the blight of bloating ? There are no important politics or elections. When I have four plus hour erections but I bet my doctor won’t be the one I decide to consult. >>>>> Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on a work at www.emotionalorphan.net.

0

Oct 1, 2009

Oct 1, 2009 at 1:49 PM UTC

jack-varnell

As Seen On TV

It’s thought provoking and emotion evoking I feel like I’m choking, {Heimlich} Truer words have never been spoken by a dancing mime with only one leg. Minds have reeled Fates have been sealed Unknowns become real It’s a negotiated deal made by some lawyer with a soul. Tragic, Comedy- Tragicomedy Shipping-handling. As seen on TV. What’s the cost of free ? Nothing comes really, with a money back guarantee. Wash, rinse, repeat. Operators standing by- keep your seat. Stay out of the kitchen if you can’t stand the heat. And know your victory isn’t over defeat. Miller time- the best time of year But I’ll never need another beer, My life’s so complete when using Tampax. The latest miracle cure is as safe as anthrax. Who has time these days for voting, when I feel the blight of bloating ? There are no important politics or elections. When I have four plus hour erections but I bet my doctor won’t be the one I decide to consult. >>>>> Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on a work at www.emotionalorphan.net.

28

No need for panic. The heat of the moment is gone. No, everything is not alright. But the honey sweetness of Love, dancing on the tongue like a memory lasts forever. Only true love is truly innocent. Love and life are a chance, when there is a risk - self made. Give up Life for death? Love for friendship alone or romance? Not a chance. He is firmly entrenched on the one side. She stays feet planted in her land. The floating distance that’s between them is something neither understands. One may be able to run from true Love, but once it’s found them, it will always track them down. Sever an Achilles heel to stop the running. Yet they created the pain. Against Love they can be numbed. Then the only real pain is to feel nothing at all. How can lovers hurt when they have bridged the distance and are holding on to each other? Their souls need Love, and the soul needs a mate. And for what the soul wants it will patiently wait. Sure there is faith, hope, *** but it’s mostly fear. A million things that might keep them here. Floating in the distance between them. Told as fiction it is mysterious and engaging. Like a nighttime fairy tale story. Trust the author and the view changes. And in the morning you will see. We cannot continue to hurt this way When I am holding you, And you are holding me. 120809g Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on a work at www.emotionalorphan.net. >http://ow.ly/Ksxa

0

Dec 9, 2009

Dec 9, 2009 at 5:04 PM UTC

jack-varnell

The Mysterious Distance

No need for panic. The heat of the moment is gone. No, everything is not alright. But the honey sweetness of Love, dancing on the tongue like a memory lasts forever. Only true love is truly innocent. Love and life are a chance, when there is a risk - self made. Give up Life for death? Love for friendship alone or romance? Not a chance. He is firmly entrenched on the one side. She stays feet planted in her land. The floating distance that’s between them is something neither understands. One may be able to run from true Love, but once it’s found them, it will always track them down. Sever an Achilles heel to stop the running. Yet they created the pain. Against Love they can be numbed. Then the only real pain is to feel nothing at all. How can lovers hurt when they have bridged the distance and are holding on to each other? Their souls need Love, and the soul needs a mate. And for what the soul wants it will patiently wait. Sure there is faith, hope, *** but it’s mostly fear. A million things that might keep them here. Floating in the distance between them. Told as fiction it is mysterious and engaging. Like a nighttime fairy tale story. Trust the author and the view changes. And in the morning you will see. We cannot continue to hurt this way When I am holding you, And you are holding me. 120809g Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on a work at www.emotionalorphan.net. >http://ow.ly/Ksxa

39

You were the height of existence more high than view a poor man's whimsical consolation I'll give that to you and you took you took thigh then broke through you were an *** face askew You were the master of nothing lowly looking far from view heart beat inaudible; polemic attribution no want of memory and you smiled you smiled pin what you could held steadfast I don't know who you were I don't know that it was you I don't recall the sound or when it stopped I only remember when it restarted absent a shadow absent from view.

0

Jan 11, 2015

Jan 11, 2015 at 7:43 AM UTC

robert-ross

Non-existence after the fact

You were the height of existence more high than view a poor man's whimsical consolation I'll give that to you and you took you took thigh then broke through you were an *** face askew You were the master of nothing lowly looking far from view heart beat inaudible; polemic attribution no want of memory and you smiled you smiled pin what you could held steadfast I don't know who you were I don't know that it was you I don't recall the sound or when it stopped I only remember when it restarted absent a shadow absent from view.

23