Hot Gossip
Amazing how some get their thrills
Reading about Macca and Heather Mills
Or the latest news of Posh & Becks
And which of the stars gets lots of sex!
Quite frankly I don't give a damn
About gossip or the latest scam -
I'd rather be a chimpanzee
Than a famous icon on T.V!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Invitation from Death
'Come to my party! ' said the Grim Reaper,
'Death is for free and life's getting cheaper,
There'll be no mercy, there'll be no pardon
For Saddam Hussein or Osama Bin Laden,
Come to my party! ' said the Grim Reaper,
'Bring guns and explosives, life's getting cheaper! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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R.i.p.
Dark, crippled Rose
Whose blighted spring
Which no-one chose
Caused suffering
My blinded heart
Would follow you
Tore me apart
Compassion due
Till I at last
Would rather die
Than be accursed
To hear you cry
Chose to be free
And broke away
Believed in me
And another day.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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EasyJet (or, 'We Don't Do Refunds! ')
You'd better not bet
On EasyJet!
Security's so tight
And the delays so long
That you'll miss your flight
And you'll be in the wrong
Whatever you say.
They simply won't pay
You back your money.
Think of the debt
They owe everyone!
It's the same old song
And it's not at all funny.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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In the Name of God
It has to be said
The streets are littered with our dead:
They talked and laughed
And then they bled,
The streets are littered with our dead.
All in the name of the Godhead.
It has to be said,
They talked and laughed
And now they're dead.
The streets are littered with our dead.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Canon Square
In Canon Square
The sun beat down
One white-gloved Sunday
Warmed the town,
But suddenly
The weather changed
And everything
Was rearranged,
The sun went out,
The sky was grey,
And folk remember
To this day
The rain beat down
In Canon Square,
The rain beat down
And had her share.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Hosanna
A Day of days! Great cloud in a naked heaven!
Sing loud, glad Earth, a song of triumph!
Under the soil a pale shoot quickens,
A living root dispels December,
Water trickles over crevices of mud and stone,
Forms pools in the young grass,
And birds sing again of the death of winter.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Poem of Gratitude to Jazz Greats
I'd like to thank ol' Charlie Parker
That my darkest moods didn't get darker,
I'd like to thank John Coltrane
For easing my existential pain,
But most of all I'd like to thank
My special friend Thelonius Monk,
He made me happier when I was sober
And calmed my spirits when I was drunk!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Snooker
'You've always wanted to use your whatsit as a billiard cue, '
The advert for the sex-aid said. Thinking of me and you
I've always been less concerned with giving you 'a wild time, '
Than whether you thought my poetry would do.
I've always preferred snooker anyway,
It's got more balls.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Winter Night
Small creatures shiver in their lairs
While the full moon is strangled by the tree
Whose branches wrestle with the wind,
Scraping, groaning ceaselessly.
In deep discomfort, deprived of sleep,
I get up from my barren bed,
Draw back my curtains
And see the cold night bristle with stars.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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