"amuck" poems
The parasympathetic nervous system
is responsible for regulations
unconsciously transpiring
within the organs and
the glands of
the body.
Such as:
urination, salivation, digestion, defecation, and
lacrimation
(noun. ‘the flow of tears’. Latin.
from lacrimare (‘weep’) and lacrima (‘tear’).
It’s why I cry
even when I don’t want to.
You are the parasympathetic nervous system.
The (ortho-)sympathetic nervous system
is responsible for the mobilization
of the fight-or-flight response
and constantly maintaining
homeostasis within
the body.
It acts
rapidly, enacting an attempt at stability and
the necessary and critical ability
to suddenly escape
on pulsing legs or
cling to survival through
brandishing adrenaline-doused knuckles
and dilated pupils.
It’s why you live
even when you don’t want to.
I am the sympathetic nervous system.
The parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems
are two of three essential nervous systems which
compose the autonomic nervous system
(a part of the peripheral
nervous system)
that manages
involuntary
functions of the body. Such as:
swallowing, perspiration, arousal, breathing, and
heart rate
(noun. ‘the speed of the heartbeat’.
usually expressed in beats per minute. mine speeds up when I see you).
Individually these two systems oppose
but compliment
each other like our hands do—
pressed together and omitting equal force;
veins meeting
at the fingertips and throbbing at the wrists
but running amuck on our respective digits otherwise.
You are the invariable and unspoken reminder to
breath,
love,
sweat,
and live.
I am the sudden snap of reality always aiming to save you
but grudgingly willing to fight you and
ready
to
leave.
From the deepest lower half of my brainstem
and from every nerve
in my cycling body,
I’m sorry.
From all of my chromaffin cells
and from the truest parts of submandibular ganglian,
I am sorry.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
I couldn't let him always have the last word
Watching as people died and killed in the name of his holy Lord
Who cares what happens to those humans?
But I couldn't let it go
I broke away from his pasture
Covered myself in ash
Was discarded out of the Holy Land
And became my own God
Being the black sheep casted away from Heaven
I learned what it truly was to be broken
Building myself up to put a stop to these
Commandments and scriptures set in stone
I overestimated the humans
They ran amuck with every power I lent
Turning my idea of love into lust,
Enjoyment into gluttony and greed,
Sloth, pride, envy
Everything I tried turned into another
Deadly sin
Now my name is said in destruction
Evil is a synonym to my existence
I guess I don't mind as long as things aren't mundane
Isn't this what I wanted?
Always a figure to blame,
These humans have taught me to not trust,
Have hope in anybody,
And how to go insane
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
Imperialistic meddlers,
men of power greed and wealth
Western Imperialism
not too long ago
was once put on the shelf
Not too long ago
this name was never heard
Its name is New Order of DiSoRdEr
But still us folk of sanity
with eyes wide open
we see their compliance
lock-step herd vanity
In White House spin gone amuck
they throw their bolts of anger
to all countries on the globe
And with more and more displeasure
we witness their destructiveness
from sea to shining sea
But now I hear, see and feel
a distant faint rumbling the rising Valorous
the rumbling stampeding of democracy
by the forceful rightful anger,
the free-spirited valiant word
a word of truth and dignity,
the echo of today,
and aaah yes
to hear the thundering of the mass
To hear the thundering of the mass...
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
The topography of my mind
Maps the beach at changing tide.
From low to high it's all washed clean
Footprints, castles and trails alike
Unetched slate of flat leveled sand
Grains aligned by blessed wave strike.
From high to low it's all exposed
Fragments, jetsam, seaweed entwined
Littered, scattered on shore amuck
The sting of empty shells combined.
Yes, the topography of my mind
Maps the beach at changing tide
From low to high and high to low
A gloriously exhausting ride.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
Ah deceit, you wicked *******
creeping up uninvited, as always
no one sees you coming
none will know when you’re gone
your delicious lies stay but for an instant
and here still, you find a cue
to salt the exposed wounds.
You were never missed
your many forms, vibrant faces
the infamy and calumny
stories unchecked and forgotten
buried under the moniker of bygones.
Yet the scars remain,
deep cuts betrayal, but never fills.
The entrusted deceiver
your snake in the grass
silence is deadlier than a sharp tongue
this venom cannot drown a writhing heart
hope, kindling another tragedy
the reasons are always above par
emotions run amuck behind bars.
The tongue blackens every time
you sever the threads which bind loyalty
leaving the void to **** away the remains
into a crushing dark abyss
the face carries a smile that never fades
the heart has long since withered to naught
now, it cheats itself to bitter death.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
aerial ladder truck, amok, amuck, awestruck, bad luck, black buck, black duck, bruck, buc, buck, by luck, canuck, chuck, cluck, cold duck, collet chuck, cruck, dabbling duck, delivery truck, diving duck, donald duck, druck, duc, duck, duk, dumbstruck, dump truck, dumptruck, fire truck, fish duck, fishbach, fluck, fslic, garbage truck, garden truck, get stuck, give **** gluck, good luck, grucche, guck, hand truck, hockey puck, huck, hucke, icing the puck, ill luck, kachuck, kluck, kruck, kruk, kuc, kuck, kuk, ladder truck, lake duck, lame duck, laundry truck, luck, lucke, luk, mandarin duck, megabuck, moonstruck, mruk, muck, musk duck, naugatuck, nuque, panel truck, pickup truck, pluck, potluck, puck, queer duck, raybuck, roebuck, ruck, ruddy duck, schmuck, schtik, schuch, schuck, sculk, sea duck, shmuck, shuck, sitting duck, smuck, snuck, sound truck, starbuck, starstruck, struck, stuck, stucke, suc, **** suk, summer duck, thunderstruck, trailer truck, truck, tuck, tuque, unstuck, vhsic, wild duck, wnuk, wood duck, woodchuck, wruck, young buck,chuck-a-luck, yuck, yuk, zuck, zuk
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
(song lyrics)
Verse 1:
Now I can’t go fishin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my rod and reel
Can’t go snow-racin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my snowmobile
And I got flaws - that’s for sure - and sometimes run amuck
But the final straw that I can’t take: Ya’ sold my pickup truck
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 2:
I didn’t care when ya’ bought that stuff on TV’s QVC
Or ‘cause ya’ always thought of me as your private Money Tree
Or catalog-orderin’ ever’thing from within ol’ Sears Roebuck
But I’ll be danged if I’ll sit still since ya’ sold my pickup truck!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 3:
So I went and saw a gypsy gal, and a curse on you imposed
To put sand in your chewin' gum and runners in your ***** hose
And all your clothes and accessories to never, ever match
And chiggers in your bed sheets - so you’ll always have to scratch!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 4:
I seen ya’ last Saturday night at Bubba’s Bar and Grill
The image of you in stripes and checks remains within me still
And them red chigger welts upon your nose and face
Tells me that the gypsy curse is workin’ ever’ place!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
My heads pounding
My necks twisted amuck
think I'mma stop giving a ****
Light up a blunt and do what I want -
woah wait -
ain't that the **** that got me
here in the first place?
Worst case I nervously pace
the halls for a day - two or a weekend
Blasting the weeknd
Entire enviroment reeking
shrieking -
Nah -
I'm better than that.
Can't latch onto the past.
That's the trash that got
us there at the start - instead
I prepare it in art
And share from the heart, with you.
And you.
And you and you and you.
Because why not?
It helps forget about that pinebox looming-
Thinking outside the winebox lucid -
I mean Windex, clean em out
And a win decks, stacks paper chips
You can't say this isn't some matrix blips
I am not losing ****
I am manuevering this beautiful thing
up past this ******* Nuva Ring
Cause that's life - you can get beat
or keep it on a leash - jeez
that's sexist. I don't know
where this became an accepted
comparison, its embarrassing
comparing them - to K9's
But we hear it through the grapevine
Turns of phrase we make fine.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
Where does this zero go?
when is it o.k to say yes or no?
my transactions arent lining up
and my expenses have run amuck
and i think my buisness has gone to ****
i think that i am out of luck
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
there comes that feeling
again
hopelessness and fear.
do I let it run amuck
again
or do I let my soul
jump up and down?
at last!
looking forward to this challenge
hopelessness and fear
at last
turns into excitement and wonder
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010 at 6:26 AM UTC
Inside-outside, upside-down. Constant motion, spinning round.
Conscious split, two sides torn. Personalities are born.
Balanced, stabled, falling down. Spilling over onto the ground.
Thoughts amuck, frayed and tattered. Sanity beaten, bruised, and battered.
Sailing, drowning, waters of my mind. Washed upon its shores I might find.
Forgetting rhythm, losing time. Blacking out, right here is fine.
I'll end this now, my own terms. I'll perplex them, their thoughts will burn.
Gathering together my person, my flock. I'll lay it's all down on the chopping block.
Panting, sweating, head in hand. It's okay... Im normal again.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
Weepy is my heart as it mourns hard this day
Muddled is my head with thoughts all amuck
Muffled is my voice with the words I try to say
Stifled are my screams as they try but all seem stuck.
Tense are my shoulders with the load that I bear
Wet are my eyes seeing everything so blurry
Heavy is my chest as it sighs and draws its air
Tired is this body with so much it attempts to carry.
Weak is my strength, fending off oh so feebly
Uncertain are my hopes to see the light at the end
Outstretched are my arms reaching and grabbing constantly
Tested is my resolve, how much further can it bend.
Lonely is my soul yearning greatly for it's other pair
Drunken are my senses, almost losing all control
Desperate is my being wanting love that's not here but there
Clouded is my future, totally obscured is my goal.
Two-sided are the fallen words I have listed before
Strained is my mind as I try to view the good
Mirrored are these feelings, they bear so much more
Enlightened is my will, I shan't mope and brood.
Relieved is my heart when I think of the other that beats
Serene is my head when I separate fear from fear
Loud is my voice as it clears for the love it greets
Redundant are my screams for I don't need them here.
Relaxed are my shoulders, still fueled to continue
Wide are my eyes for the sight they can't always see
Lifted is my chest for the love it wants to pursue
Upright is this body, to get to where it wants to be.
Rejuvenated is my strength when I accept that I am strong
Restored are my hopes, I'd still keep them alive
Faithful are my arms, still reaching for what they long
Strengthened is my resolve with plans it'll contrive.
Contented is my soul for the mate it has found
Heightened are my senses, embraced by feelings so keen
Centred is my being, keep my bearings on the ground
Bright is my future, in my dreams they have been.
Empty are the words for I won't let them linger
Focused is my mind; on my prize no matter how far
Embraced are these feelings for they only make me stronger
Steeled is my will; to be one with my love, angel and star...
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
In a world of laughter
I was apart of at a time
Now glides with sadness
As the refugees shine
And there in the darkness
I can see someone's face
Wholesome with fear
In deliberate disgrace
Find the world's end
And summon the flees
Through the fires and cries
Lies this appealing disease
Of rotten flesh
And from human, to be born
Crucified, embodied, concealed
And still so adorn
Notify the states
Address them assured
To be swept with the scars
In a world unsecured
With the memories of a beast
White flesh and teeth
In written disconcert
And so, whom would I bequeath?
Of decayed discontent
In a black path of a rose filled garden
Hides the wishes of a ******
Broken by the pervading Janardhan
And where the blood may spill
I may not be for real
And in this nightmare I place myself
But where I stand my eyes congeal
Broken faces, smiles depart
So much love, ruled by lust
So much hate, driven by anger
Asphyxiate my disgust
My repel of this utter evil
Where a ****** proclaims
The absence of virtues
And the murderer of William James
For the only unseen
And the utterly disturbed
Comes a vision alive
And they're truly perturbed
Where their own flesh dilapidate
With their minds running amuck
And at everyone they will berate
And in my cage of silent betrayal
I will commence to cleanse my soul
My solid trust, broken, forever damaged
I can only hope for extol
And yet my own deceit
Will lead me to my fall
I still await this day
And truly bury my appall
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 5:19 PM UTC
Brown-Eyed Girl-
they say she is the weakest link
gone and sprung amuck
through clouded fields of poppy seeds
and cottony ****** they say she is a sprain
of chortling pain in the dumpling
maker's yeasting wrist.
brown-eyed girl seeing powdered
blues of glass-stained eyes,
he wore a plaid shirt, nip-and-tucked,
rat-a-tat-tat, and a silly looking bow-tie
slopped slightly off-kilter and to the right,
a frenchie little pear of a man. he said he liked her-
tie-dye thighs. she said, he said, she liked his
dumpling hands - and flakey chest.
they say she is that button-down clad-
sunflowers-printed kind-of, sad.
memories tainted, she said, he said,
she's the kind of girl you've got to love every night,
my kind of a woman. my salted oils, fried
and phat-
brown-eyed girl.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
Hippos in crates
On rollerskates
Crashing through
the rickety gates.
Crashing and bashing.
Oooooooooooh, how Smashing!
Rolling about
Their teeth a-flashing!
Running amuck!
Watch out for the duck.
Open the doors!
Back up the truck!
Zipping up the ramp
Like any old champ.
There they go!
Don't forget the stamp.
Crates in the mail!
Delivered without fail.
Those Hippos on skates
Lurching down the trail.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
We stopped in the
whispy city,
the hippy boy and me.
We thought of the
good times and bad,
and encouraged our minds
to be free.
We came upon a drifter
a ***** old man and
his wife.
We never felt the distance,
though imagined their life
without strife.
But where can we be
today
alone in our world
side by side.
We thought about
loving good times
so great and yet
we cried.
Reenter the crispy-
like city,
snow covered,
serene & oblique.
We wandered around
with no purpose,
an oasis that just
sprung a leak.
And who never fought
the war,
the angular, meaningless
scourge.
We found all the cities
amuck,
and all we could sing
was good luck.
So who never sang
the song,
that glorious, soulful
olio.
Just me and that young
hippy boy,
while nobody else
really cared.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 6:51 PM UTC
The dreamer is breathless as he clutches his chest
These feelings amuck inexplicable at its best
Managing a gasp and finally drawing his air
Never thought it possible, these feelings he'd share.
It's been long since he'd last uttered the deal breaker
Expecting hate and regret, yet receiving love so tender
It softens him so, lifting him way up high
It blinded him so, fighting it he never did try.
On swift magical wings, down to him she had swooped
With kind loving hands, his time-worn body she adoringly scooped
Into her warm comforting chest, the dreamer would retreat
He finds comfort in a sound; the rhythm of her heart beat.
Chest to chest, soul to soul, their hearts beat as one
He looks up teary eyed, he looks up at his sun
She gazes upon him like she's known him forever
He stares up at her and says, "There can be no other".
Together they took flight to destinations unknown
Their love they would want, to carve immortal into stone
They had cared not for the whims of the universe
Submerged themselves deep in love's sweet murmurs.
This thing in his chest badly wants to sing
Of words so sweet, of melodies so endearing
It wants to say true words of praise
Whisper promises of an Eden-like place.
The dreamer worships his sun as he'd found his dream
Dreams of rolling meadows and night's silvery moonbeam
He whispered of feelings that he believed to be his
He presented them to her as she's the only one he sees.
I am the dreamer who never truly wants to wake
Hopeful of a life that this dream could possibly make
I still am the dreamer who believes it'll all come true
I am the silly little dreamer who's madly in love with you.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
Why is it that, a cuckoo
Is locked up in a clock
While lunatics with guns
Are left, to run amuck
WIZDUMBs BY JA 221
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
Living in a world with no honest leader.
Every single day comes a new victor,
using the people's heart to paint the picture of fear.
When will we escape the rampant greed running amuck?
Become our own leaders and stop giving a ****
When asked questions like these, the defenders only have a mouthful.
The reins of power should be in the hands of the masses,
known as the powerful.
They shake at night with terrors of their past.
They finally understand they have worn a fake mask.
When will we stop eating from a government feeder?
Finally equalize and balance the power teeter.
We must, living in a world with no honest leader.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 6:52 PM UTC
"Werewolves Of London"
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for the place called Lee ** Fook's
Going to get a big dish of beef chow mein
Werewolves of London
If you hear him howling around your kitchen door
Better not let him in
Little old lady got mutilated late last night
Werewolves of London again
Werewolves of London
He's the hairy handed gent who ran amuck in Kent
Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair
Better stay away from him
He'll rip your lungs out, Jim
I'd like to meet his tailor
Werewolves of London
Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw Lon Chaney, Jr. walking with the Queen
Doing the werewolves of London
I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's
His hair was perfect
Werewolves of London again
Draw blood
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
Blink Blink...Where did it go?
The Time?
The Moment flies when we lack the material in which to fill it.
Empty spaces...A Lack of Bravery? To come forth with some creative
Self Fulfillment?
The wic must be lit in order to speed the rocket to blast...
The Rocket shoots the message, in our works, if we fill the right
Creative Powders to Blast from within it.
Can you blame another soul?
If you fail when you never stepped a foot forward and tried?
Through fear you sat in front of the TV with some "Kentucky Fried."
As your friends shake their heads and watched as you sat there and died.
Moments shall take from us just as they can add...
Parts to us if we never add them...The pieces to the puzzle...
That are lost are never placed in
The picture that was our life.
As we allowed ourselves to fade to sin.
The choices were clear as we made them.
Even with a huge sign to point the way, we ignored that still.
So, who's was that weak will?
Fear can never conquer or control us unless we give into it.
So jump up and rejoice as you regain bravery
and "get with it!"
A mind sparks to flame...Lights the powder of the rocket from where the true creativity came.
Not copies of a copy of an already thought up creation. No.
It was the fresh slice of the pie that earned us another penny.
Placed in the jar that is our thirst for "winning."
One,two,until it adds to A Million or more.
Due to our bravery....Our wills are free to score.
Now the moment arrives again. Where doubt weighs you down.
In front of the TV is where you are now seated
with that Bucket of "Kentucky Fried."
What is the path you seek to take?
That's it!
Off the couch, you turned off the Television.
Plopped down the delicious fatty, and dream-killing snacks..
to the void...you are not headed.
You are now,braver. You put one foot in front of the other.
Now you are still winning my "Creative Brother."
Now you have the life, the change, and the jar from which it came.
For each of the moments that you carefully used up in your life...
A penny was earned...
The celebration cake shall now be cut....
through the sharp blade..
of Success' Knife.
Where fear shall never,Freely
Roam Amuck.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
.
**•such grace carelessly
riding•the currents of my heart
and mind•beauty of your biolumines-
cence ensnaring • my thoughts amuck and
senses blind•membranous crown bears much
truth yet laden with lies•malicious tendrils,
unassuming but ever ready•immune to
my pleas and woeful cries•how could
something so captivating... and delicate,
be so painfully deadly•**
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Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
brain enters,
stage left
the plot
running amuck in the crowd.
You can see the
dramatic irony
on their
faces.
It;s clear she
doesn't know her
part, or lines
it is obvious
she is
saying things she
thinks the
crowd
would want to hear.
And though
it is a prose
she does not recognize
she knows that
she has practiced
it
already.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 2:44 AM UTC
***Fed upon your metaphors
like a zombie's lust for blood
howl'd at the moon in your
verbose verbiage's alliteration
piece by piece, like Frankenstein's
monster you conjur'd me whole
sucked out the guts and laid me
flat in ghostly passages twisted cravings
dwelling 'tween light and darkness
assimilated in your inky draft
dancing amuck within your tangled webs
just the other side of nightmare's exposure
drinking in the sea of your heaving tidal steamers
punch drunk in phantasmal's obsession
high voltage flipped me over like an abstract
Dali painting's w***e
I come away ghastly satiated,
macabre though it may seem
thrills and spills in every tempting morsel
of affecting poetry's sinful appetite***
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
I planted a cherry tree
Four seasons back
In a morose rain
Pelting sharp upon nimble naked boughs
And rows, of wild berries
Running amuck in an unruly strain.
The tree is a full bloom now
Of white satin flowers
Swirling against a beaming blue
Tonight, as night keeps a vigil over my eyes
I get under my squally Cherry Tree
And suddenly I see it ailing
Sick old moon peeps through its branches
And I hear them crackle, not clear though
Moaning unobtrusive, through a wicked grin.
The moon lingers on long
Shining painfully in the womb of night.
I feel the stiffening wood coagulate in my veins
As blackness suffuses unbridled
In the cold wilderness of mind.
April never was summer in Kashmir
Look unto these dark skies
Those pierce the ether yet once more
Pelting mercilessly upon
The ailing, armourless beings
Whereby the cruel moon grins
And my heart wilts with each withering flower
Knocked down in the mud by
The unsparing shower.
Tears trickle down the smeared petals
And I collect them into my eyes
Till the plethora can no longer be contained
I let them fall
Into the capacious ***** of earth
And in this cruel April rain
My Cherry Tree shivers.
Moans. Weeps. Over me.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC