Best To Run Amok Poems
1.
An irascibelephant whom no-one could trust
Had a whim to run amok, or bust!
Though roundly condemned by his peers as a skunk,
From interception they’d cowardly shrunk,
Saying simply, “Old boy, if you musth, then you musth!”
2. Elephants have as a favourite pursuit
A fondness for tasty doum palm fruit,
Though when of this delight they are sated,
The tuskers can become quite inebriated,
And stagger home in enormous wobbly-boots!
A Rare Rhinoceros
Nothing seems so rare as a robust rhinoceros
Trying to point long nose into business like us
And incredible case in point never could prove
Because with big mouth he wanted to behoove.
He was rhinoceros always being the rowdiest
With his nose's point many things had missed
Then ended up raising a really big fuss
From scratching poor skin all full of psoriasis.
They never would ever leave him alone
Until his level had been low on testosterone
And rumors started to run amok and amiss
Monstrous mate he might have forgotten to kiss.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran
Hate to say this butttt
How about this one for
humorous Horn poem of the
day? Don't want to horn in
on anyone's business though.
Ho-ho-ho
Upon a dead mound of rocks,
Approached a man, a horse,
With armored chest and visored face:
Well-shielded all across.
Looking back, he gestured motion
Then there was a shout
Of thundering voices in a parley--
Hark! A battle roust...!!
On and on went blade and sword:
Smote against smote;
The same action was followed as if,
The kill was conn'd by rote...
Insane, the enemy on which they charged,
Was forced to run amok;
A blow here and a blow there,
Death ceased those with less luck...
All at once--all was shaken,
All was left asunder;
Disaster had struck this land of dread,
Now all was left in plunder...:
No more of the smiling parched faces,
Covered in sandy gear;
No more were there happy looks--
None happiness left to bear...
They'd made a sudden chance
On those men, women and kid;
While none left to mourn askance--
The afterward's left placid...
The dead were being searched for life:
All alive left, were killed;
The loot was being gathered up--
The gathering hands were skilled..
A subtle cry was then heard,
And a hand was with hope raised;
The General turned around that way,
Scanned and sternly gazed...
It was here that he came down--
The horse he did unmount;
He neared the dying soldier's cry,
Then plunged his sword in ground...
A softer moan filled the air,
As steel pierced a mesh;
The bleeding heart bled some more,
They'd met--Blood, Steel, Sand and Flesh...
Woman! darkly gleam is your work I esteem…love it!
From mountainous mountain top to valley‘s belly
I hear you pluck…on eagle‘s wings…onward pluck
How nice, your device visits and forces in their smelly
Glamorous cells, a glad evening‘s grief to run amok.
Then ever, of flowing emotions savour. Oh their deeds befit!
Skip a stride, hop a stride, and gleefully grin upon
Their seeds too – in their please full bliss and homely homes.
But a seed… …he who wears my face and is adorn
With a talking tongue like that of his majesty Jerome‘s;
When you, him happen upon, spare an empty glance. Clickaty-clacks too,
Mine ears must hear not near. And my nose, free must it be of your flu!
On scribbled accounts, oh read, ever shall you in your shrine;
And content shall I be having inked my fourteenth line.
Beginning to be caught up in a state of evanescere
I began to fade to black
Despair begins to run amok
Forging her face from the fairest spector of weaving maidens
A polished perverted phantasm
In the mist of a slumber
Lying on a blanket of within temptations
Becoming enticed by sexual covet
A Nympheta hung by impulse
I was hooked by her resolution
Strung like Cupid's bow
Impaled by hankering arrows
Now starting the metamorphosis of flaring passion
Binding the corners of attentiveness
Like Black Swans being lead to the river
Paving the way for fair enchantment
Persuaded by her mesmeric disrobe
Strolling on golden days, dancing her to the moon
my parched eyes watch torrents of rain
lashing the glass windows
of my chic office on the seventeenth floor
can't hear the tinkling of drops
or rumbling of clouds though
the sound obscured by engineered acoustics
I shut my eyes and it comes singing to me-
the sound of dripping roof of my childhood home
the resonant chorus insinuates the clamor inside.
how I want to run amok in the rain outside these walls!
how my expensive suit and svelte heels stifle my desire!
I ache and pine, a bird with clipped wings
captive in a golden cage.
rain, rain-I pray, do me a favor today
wash away my sagacity and wise adulthood
reverse the metamorphosis I’ve been through
seep into my locked pores
free out the innocent child I was once
lick my tired hands
to once more transform scraps of paper into boats
cleanse my eyes of ambition
effulge the effervescent joy and energy
dilute my blood now viscous
into frothy ebullience tingling my veins
tousle and crush my silk parasol
soak me head to toe in sky’s curative water instead
drain away the worldly perfumes and essence
and fill my nostrils with pure petrichor.
Written on 06/04/2016
I've had an 'out of body' experience
So you can't blame me for what I did
My alter ego Oscar perpetrated the crime
To do such a thing I'm too timid
I'm totally innocent of this heinous act
Must have been devoid of all morals
Listen I still do have a few of them left
With that you surely can't quarrel
This heinous act of stealing a kiss
Had crossed my mind a few times
But being the timid soul that I am
Never thought of crossing that line
So I plead 'not guilty' to any wrong doing
It was Oscar my mischievous friend
Who tends to run amok every once in a while
And I'm always having to defend
© Jack Ellison 2014
I've had an 'out of body experience'
So you can't blame me for what I did
My alter ego perpetrated the crime
To do such a thing I'm too timid
I'm totally innocent of this heinous act
I'd have had to be devoid of all morals
Listen I still do have a few of them left
With that you surely can't quarrel
This heinous act of stealing a kiss
Had crossed my mind a few times
But being such a timid soul that I am
Never thought of crossing the line
So I plead 'not guilty' of any wrong doing
It was Oscar my mischievous friend
Tends to run amok every once in a while
This dude I'm always having to defend
But I give him props he's about to confess
To absolve me of any naughtiness
The only one thing I could be guilty of
Is fantasizing to the point of excess
The remnants of once laid footsteps oppressed my memory, Everywhere I traveled I would see memories of people that were once there, Disappear.
The memories were alluring, agonizing, and amusing,
The kind of moments that you never forget,
No matter how old you get.
I began to wonder as to how many people have walked in that same exact spot before,
But then my imagination would start to run amok,
All the history that occurred on a small scrap of land,
All that piece of land has witnessed and how many memories it holds.
I began to lose focus on my own life,
Everything I did seemed to lack purpose,
I tried, I tried, I really did,
But it was if I was powerless against these memories.
Staring out of a window of a moving vehicle you begin to notice patterns,
The schedules of different people that play out every day,
And I start to wonder if the ground knows us better than we do ourselves.
Soon I began to realize that as humans,
We can never understand the full extent of the world as well as the ground we place our feet on,
And the footsteps we once laid.
LIFE’S A GAMBOL – THEN YOU DIE
I am a woolly little lamb.
That ewe’s my mum, my dad’s the ram.
Mum told me how that came to be
But it seemed a little rude to me.
Dad’s favourite song is by U2,
The one called “All I Want Is Ewe”
I’m always full of mischief, I like to run amok.
The shepherd always calls me the black sheep of the flock.
He even called the vet in to treat my strange affliction.
He quickly diagnosed it; I’ve a gambolling addiction.
I have to live life while I can; so please excuse my bleating.
For as you know, life for a lamb is always somewhat fleeting.
Whether I am good or bad, one thing is sure of course.
I know I’ll end up on your plate, smothered in mint sauce.
Blonde bombers light my rusty old candle
Eyebrows and toes curl, causing quite a scandal
Tend to run amok
As I babble and cluck
Eyes roll independently, use my hooha as a handle
Who knows what sillies lurk in the hearts of man
All seem normal outside but inside, imagine if you can
A hidden desire to run amok
Act like a total schmuck
Screaming through the streets chomping on canned spam
You’re an *******.
Words muttered out of context, out of line.
A rage-shadowed truth,
but with such unexpected forthrightness,
it missed its mark,
serving only to deepen our divide.
Home is no longer where happy is.
I’m not sure it ever was.
There’s no abuse hurled or fists weaponized,
and much
— if not all —
is done with the intent of love.
But even so,
my nerves are frayed, and I can take no more.
Three hours pass,
and I begin counting down the seconds till escape.
Has distance weakened me so?
Have the miles between myself and that tumultuous guilt-laced anger
made me so fragile and contemptible of thought?
The fatigue enters my very bones from the moment I cross the threshold,
and anxiety-heightened feelings fight their short leash
with new resolve.
Where before I ruled my emotions and responses
with resignation and an iron fist,
I’ve become a feeble-willed sovereign,
allowing them to run amok with freedom previously unexplored.
No part of my reaction
or unbidden tears
are based in reason,
no matter the (harmless) judgments passed or words that can’t be rescinded.
Countless crueler realities play out
near and dear to my heart.
I must be pathetic and wicked,
(for others truly have a cross to bear; I have none)
and I should believe I deserve
to pay for my disfavor
in the very blood that runs through us all.
Matthew 15:4: “For God said,
‘Honor your father and mother’
and
‘Anyone who curses their father or mother
is to be put to death.’”
I cannot apologize enough
to erase the stains of my thoughts,
nor can I gather the resolve to twist this on myself
any longer.
I am unworthy of a love such as that which I receive.
#Precious
Day in and day out,
In my window,
my eyes lay low,
like a lion on its prey,
awaiting only to quench my soul
with your luminous glow.
Your drizzling laughs,
consistently sending shivers down my spine.
Wish you'd peep into my stomach
whenever you toss your eyes to my direction, constantly provoking the butterflies in my stomach, to run amok.
Shut my eyes,
clot my earsdrums,
in your distance my heart reverberates,
tie my tongue,
for my soul screams to your aura,
less these streets hear whats not meant for their ears to consume.
From a distance fell so hard,
bruises on my heart awakes
whenever I lay my eyes on you,
like demons in my spirits
evoked by your purity,
Owe it to bow to your parents
for slipping a goddess out of heaven,
without God's knowledge,
right into my vicinity
#Poetic_ink
Of energy that’s sent by you,
’Tis more than likely none gets through.
And when you wish upon a star,
The odds, more likely, aren’t than are.
And when you try to bring good luck,
things are as apt to run amok.
Enlist a specter of the dead?
Some things are better left unsaid.
It seems to me your influence
Possesses slight incongruence
When seeking on behalf of me;
Your means lack certain agency.
For energy and wish and chance,
Invoking spirits from a trance,
At risk of repeat, I must stress,
Seem not a pathway for success.
The wish and energetic bits
Suggest a certain loss of wits;
For undirected in the void,
What means is it they might employ
To guide the path which they traverse
and not attenuate or worse?
Contacting spirits of the dead
Who, when alive, unlikely led
You to believe all-knowing kin
Who never returned calls back then
Would suddenly then change their mind,
Give answer and be able to
Fulfill requests thus made by you?
Now it might really make you laugh
That I would pray on your behalf;
But channeling a beam at you
Just gives me migraines ere it’s through.
And if I tried to bring you luck,
The obvious by which I’m struck
Is when the coin shows tails, not heads,
Did my wish bring you ill instead?
At least the target for my prayer:
An all-wise IS who’s everywhere.
Can I aim true? I have a shot,
For there is nowhere He is not.
And further, He inclines His ear,
Assures us that our thoughts are clear
Received by Him, and better still,
He carries out when in His will.
Can He accomplish what I ask?
The universe: a simple task.
So humor me, I’ll pray for you
And leave to Him to see it through;
At worst, it hurtles to the void,
The gods, remaining unannoyed,
but that just causes inward groan
At thoughts of whether we’re alone…
So ponder if it could be true:
The Infinite considers you?
For that’s an elevated thought
that lands you in a bigger plot
eliminating luck and chance
Or raising spirits in a trance:
A God who knew you in advance
And wants to be with you.