False Values
Where laziness and anger rule
The working man lays down his tool
The church is empty and the prison full
And there's no discipline at school,
And if you ask the reason why
The politician will deny
That aught is wrong with you or me,
It's the 'state of the economy'!
It's not a spiritual disease
(So don't get down upon your knees)
Let's blame it on the greedy bankers
And all the other silly w*nkers,
But let's not look inside our soul
Where there's nothing but a gaping hole,
The world is topsy-turvy and the fool
Greets common sense with ridicule.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Jesus Told a Joke
Jesus told a joke
To the lowly and humble folk
And they laughed.
So the Pope
Who didn't understand the joke
Banned laughter in Church.
The lowly and humble folk
Had killed themselves laughing
So the Church said
The Joker must die too.
Why must something beautiful
Be destroyed
By serious-minded clerics
Without a sense of humour?
Why must we bow down
To a corpse on a tree
Instead of singing and dancing?
[...] Read more
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Blues for My Lost Virility
Now I am old and tired and sick
My c*ck's like a candle without a wick,
No tender flames set it alight
From sweet companions in the night!
My female friends think I'm a wimp
Because my organ's soft and limp,
Gone are the days when, as a boy,
It was my pride and favourite toy!
Now there's no s*men, there's no sp*nk,
I think that I'll become a monk,
I will be pure and celibate,
No longer able to masturbate!
There is no solace in growing old,
I have no lady's hand to hold,
I'm sleeping soundly in my bed,
Sexless and passive and nearly dead!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Blood on His Hands
A politician told a lie
Which meant a soldier had to die -
His blood is crying from the ground
But the politician hears no sound,
He's safe and cosy far away
And hopes that they'll increase his pay.
You probably gave him your vote,
But this is not a time to gloat.
He told us he was 'a straight kinda guy'
And that he'd never tell a lie.
You may forget the soldier's name,
But his parents know just who to blame,
Their son will never see Tomorrow
And nothing can assuage their sorrow,
Life and death are not a game,
They're sick of Tony and his fame....
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Halloween
This is the hour when the poet grieves,
Picking his way through the rain-sodden leaves,
Betrayed by a promise he no longer believes
As he throws in his lot with murderers and thieves.
This is the hour when the mother cries,
When the baby whimpers and the wild wind sighs,
When lights go out and your happiness dies
As lovers all whisper their final goodbyes.
This is the hour you will want to forget,
When your body trembles with the skeleton's threat,
When your mouth turns dry though your tears are wet,
And the Grim Reaper comes to settle your debt.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Boast of Sven Bloodaxe
Have you ever made love to a paralized goat?
Have you ever had Jesus right by the throat?
Have you ever had sex with a crucified cat?
Whatever you've done, I've done more than that! !
I've lived in a sewer and eaten my fill
Of a whole lot of things that would make you feel ill,
I've gone for a walk and stepped in a turd
And swallowed it whole and even a third!
You may think me foolish, you may think me proud,
But I'll answer your protests by farting out loud,
And though you deny I'm a likeable chap,
I couldn't care less 'cos I'm having a crap! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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It's Not Just A Game (love)
The days hurry by and it's always the same,
My heart misses a beat when I hear your name,
This poem's in earnest, it's not some kind of game,
But please rest assured, it's not you that's to blame!
Why did it happen? I'll never know why!
But I'm telling the truth, it's really no lie,
When I look above and see the stars in the sky,
I see your face and I break down and cry!
I'll fade away slowly, dying by degrees,
Asking for love - I'm down on my knees,
So please don't ignore me, I'm begging you please,
Comfort this poet with his love's sweet disease! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Sonnet for Jim Morrison
I went to the concert to see The Doors -
Man, you should have been there and heard the applause!
Jim Morrison had done his thing,
The fabulous, beautiful Lizard King,
'Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name? '
Nobody there would ever feel the same!
He was our hero in spite of the booze
And nobody guessed he was born to lose,
The alcohol destroyed his voice,
But he loved it so much there was no choice,
He knew it would drive him round the bend,
'This is the End, this is the End! '
Jim Morrison, come back to us,
Travelling again on that old Blue Bus! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Adultress
Don't worry, I can see them in your eyes,
The little fishes swimming there, the lies
You told this evening to those other guys.....
I've loved you for so long now, so many years
And it comes as no surprise
You've been deceiving me again,
Nor is there any pain,
Nor tears
Like once upon a time.
In fact, I find it oh so amusing,
Your secret little crime
And all the elaborate cunning of your disguise.
Surely, dear heart, you realize
That whatever you've said or done
On any of your escapades,
I just don't care.
It doesn't matter any more.
Is this the way love dies?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Schoolmaster
My English teacher was a silly old man
Who referred to me once as an 'insubordinate young pup'!
I suppose we all do the best that we can
And he tried his share of bringing me up.
But the man was a tyrant, there's no doubt about that,
A type that you found in those old boarding schools,
Living all alone in some crummy old flat,
A boring old fart and a stickler for rules.
He'd get in a fury if we made too much noise,
But us youngsters soon had the measure of him,
He was just a sick pervert who fancied young boys
And fondled his balls when we played in the gym! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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