Ungovernable Poems | Examples

Stooping Low

Madonna swelling at the Kilmore, 
every girl a wisp of ungovernable smoke, 
and vomit on my shoes as they threw me 
out the door, addled and clueless as I was, 
and, forgive me, still am. 
I hit the tarmac like a warm can 
but you stood at the step 
and watched me breath, 
and would do it again. 
I was not swallowed by the dark 
completely. An addiction way past taming, 
you were a shocking case.

A Scene To Be Not Seen

What on earth made the teen 
Go ahead to create a scene
That should not have been seen:
That I watched and was lean;
Ungovernable feathers happily preen?
Only yesterday did Mum him wean; 
Who had nothing thought but his well being  
An off and on “Where have you been”
And to his mum “What do you mean”

Always for the dead tattered jean,
By expulsion angered and shooting their Dean;
Can’t this be the handiwork of peers, not gene?

So I Write

Know, I know
Nothing is what I write

I know better
I don't know anything about what I write

But, this illiterate ungovernable feeling will decay
If I write nothing

Everything I have will die, I will die
Whatever I write, if I stop it

And, yes, so I write


Chattogram © Mahtab Bangalee

Man At Gunpoint

Man is often nervous at gunpoint,
Speedily answering an unasked question,
Bank account details releasing as a rescuing option;
Mr. Pile would scatter what he’d long piled up,
Ready for a new relationship with a plastic cup.

Man reveals peculiar intelligence at gun point,
Wonderfully streamlining every bogus speech,
A Breathing Ingenuity, magically of a peach:
The Fittest for an ambassadorial job,
From him taken, one did him rob.

Some men strike up humour at gunpoint,
Facing fingers patient on the trigger
And ears for stories with their surprises getting bigger;
A lurking hope the enemy would turn a friend
And a downright embarrassment come to an end.

Some men take risks at gunpoint,
Sticking to their ungovernable temper;
A crazy belief it makes matters simpler,
At worst, their hostage taker raves but soon is back
While they freely walk away, on their body no crack.

Some men get romantic at gunpoint,
When the pointer is the opposite sex
And her inviting looks summon his Present or Ex;
More thoughts of sweet sex than bitter death,
More memories of Love Gardens than a heath.

Local Champion

In the neighborhood, some conqueror born,
Another color blending with fawn:
On his forehead, a sitting half horn.
In the flesh of the rest, a thorn
But among them just brightly shone! 
All his moves of leniency shorn…
The others offering only the chances to mourn.
All these, after their True Champion was gone…
Nothing else Local Champions fully trust,
Their ungovernable hands  of iron, a must.

When To Slap Your Customer

You’re to slap a customer 
Stubbornly sticking to a thousand
For an article clearly worth ten thousand
And he to it, not a new- comer:
Buyers, after receiving your warm Hello’s
Trying  to force out your hot bellows,
For which you could a head clout
And its owner disgracefully walk out!

You may customers slap
Who deny others a gap,
In your shop remembering The Armageddon
Or strenuously proclaiming’ The kingdom’:
Who purchasing spirit poison
And no more picking up what would one’s lips moisten;
One’s butchered interest hurrying to a grave yard
Ta later rise with The Saints, very hard!

You should a customer slap 
Or his knuckles rap 
After touching an edible 
And in minds this becomes indelible:
What could’ve sold itself before the fingering,
Another buyer’s decision eternally lingering…

Aye, the ungovernable customer
Making sentences and no comma!
Partly debating the price of a good
Partly eyeing your wife and swinging her mood:
Be ye right handed,
Connect your sparks-discharging slap to his left cheek,
For there it is urgently demanded:
The Peppery Hot for one full week!

Land of the Free Liberia

Land of the Free


Oh! Thou sweet land of the free, ????

You paved the way so others could find their ways

Where men of letter fought for a better day, 

And find solutions without delay.
 

Oh! The first daughter of Africa ????

Your children lied in a chronic state, 

 as certain 'negatives' have long assumed the 
roles of 'positives' in their internal system, 

And the govern has become ungovernable.


Oh! Belove mama Liberia ???? 

Your children are ruled by People who only let their bias egos and emotion speak for them. 

People who cannot address their fellow people without reading it from the papers!

Every word they say is what their hearts never possessed nor desire.



Oh! The first star of the white man's grave????

Agony has become the crying concern of your children, 

Crying for liberation in the hands of the oppressor 

Their cruel wicked hands have turned our situation into a desperate one


Oh! Mama, you children can't bear it any longer????

They are now surviving instead of living, 

Should they die hoping for better days, 

Or keep surviving the horrible ways,

True North

The direction not the distance signifies, 
a single needle smitten by the sun
sets bold trajectories which scare and stun
unwitting and ungovernable eyes.

Points of departure, points of no return,
beginnings which intrigue both dull and keen,
destinations flash, unsighted, seen,
vistas known, and vistas yet to learn.

The sea is home, the waves and sky above
are comfortable with the kind of love
it renders, be the weather harsh or kind.

There is a kind of symmetry, e'en though
the elements be blithe or brutal, even so,
stay the course, leave foul weather far behind.

True North

The direction not the distance signifies, 
a single needle smitten by the sun
sets bold trajectories which scare and stun
unwitting and ungovernable eyes.

Points of departure, points of no return,
beginnings which intrigue both dull and keen,
destinations flash, unsighted, seen,
vistas known, and vistas yet to learn.

The sea is home, the waves and sky above
are comfortable with the kind of love
it renders, be the weather harsh or kind.

There is a kind of symmetry, e'en though
the elements be blithe or brutal, even so,
stay the course, leave foul weather far behind.

True North

The direction not the distance signifies, 
a single needle smitten by the sun
sets bold trajectories which scare and stun
unwitting and ungovernable eyes.

Points of departure, points of no return,
beginnings which intrigue both dull and keen,
destinations flash, unsighted, seen,
vistas known, and vistas yet to learn.

The sea is home, the waves and sky above
are comfortable with the kind of love
it renders, be the weather harsh or kind.

There is a kind of symmetry, e'en though
the elements be blithe or brutal, even so,
stay the course, leave foul weather far behind.

It Isn'T In the Time

it isn't in the time, neither in the dream 
nor in the feeling's vagueness 
but it is to what uncertainty 
as well the ungovernable hopelessness 
- which here outline the notes 
of a forgetful page, like a mark 
will be going to melt away in the snow - 
nearlier fix themselves onto, it is to that 
you hand over, what of yourself 
the memories leave behind and what never 
admired you won't be able to gaze at 
anymore... but it's the instant 
it is the instant which snows of memories 
ancient and lost, ravagely fascinating 
memories, unforgettable emotions which 
bloodily plunge their cutting sword into 
your soul, and you, you aren't able to bear 
your bundle of rags and doubtful intents 
further on anymore, as under the dismayed 
light of the misted illuminance life vanishes

In This Day of His

~In distress, life is a stress~

Changes is in the heart of a man
The pain he feels is also in the heart
The subconscious will and wish of a man
Is also the subconscious action within the heart

Rejection is a reflex and a weakening
That makes man helpless
The only solution to his problem
Is also from the heart

Battle of sexes and battle to be free
This same unforgotten battle
And battle for freedom
Also resides within the heart

Maternal admiration 
And battalion slaps
Are what makes a man
To become a man

If can’t be barbarian
And weep nil to the sky
Then the man -in this heart-
Is unworthy of a man

To withstand boredom whispering
And ungovernable temptations
It all requires a pure heart
Like the heart of a real man

Away from home
And success- a want to hold
It all requires tolerance
Like the heart of a real man

Changes is inevitable
It happens to every life
Far from what minds could say
Perhaps in time immemorial

The way to be steady 
And grab the destiny
Is to remain being that real man
With the heart of his own.

True North

The direction not the distance signifies, 
a single needle smitten by the sun
sets bold trajectories which scare and stun
unwitting and ungovernable eyes.

Points of departure, points of no return,
beginnings which intrigue both dull and keen,
destinations flash, unsighted, seen,
vistas known, and vistas yet to learn.

The sea is home, the waves and sky above
are comfortable with the kind of love
it renders, be the weather harsh or kind.

There is a kind of symmetry, e'en though
the elements be blithe or brutal, even so,
stay the course, leave foul weather far behind.

True North

...inspired by 'Compass' by Richard Wilbur

The direction not the distance signifies, 
a single needle smitten by the sun
sets bold trajectories which scare and stun
unwitting and ungovernable eyes.

Points of departure, points of no return,
beginnings which intrigue both dull and keen,
destinations flash, unsighted, seen,
vistas known, and visions yet to learn.

The sea is home, the waves and sky above
are comfortable with the kind of love
it renders, be the weather harsh or kind.

There is a kind of symmetry, e'en though
the elements be blithe or brutal, even so,
stay the course, leave the cyclone far behind.

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