A Check-Out Girl
She works in Iceland at the till
And gives the older men a thrill,
I guess I really like her too
As I stand there fumbling in the queue.
She's not some youngster fresh from school
Who's bound to treat you as a fool,
Some teenager who thinks they're cool
(Curt and dismissive as a general rule) .
She's pretty in a homely way
And a smile from her can make my day,
Her name is Lyndsey and she's fine -
I wish that I could make her mine,
But I am just an average guy
And don't have time to wonder why
The world is made a better place
By an honest girl with a friendly face!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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In Memoriam Ulrike Meinhof
Sweet terrorist,
You were a dream I had,
I dreamt of us sleeping by a disused railway,
How your hair was as dark as a night without stars,
I dreamed of our moonless sleep.
We were gods in our own political heaven -
I worshipped you for sure.
Weren't we worth much more
Than their thirty pieces of silver?
The night cries out for its martyrs that were murdered
It wasn't suicide.
They thought they were so clever.
You bartered your soul for rifles
And grenades
And dried my tears with the smoke from your pistols.
You were my sweet terrorist,
Sleep peacefully forever.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Love for Senior Citizens
I'll be pushing up the daisies
Before you realise
I loved you so much, so much more
Than all the other guys.
I guess I'm getting rather old
But I'm still in love with you,
I may be last year's model
But my passion is brand new!
Why don't you give yourself a break
And give me half a chance,
I've had enough of heart-ache
And I'm looking for romance.
The sun shines in November
Although the summer's done,
I want you to remember
There's still some time for fun.
[...] Read more
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Stranger at My Door
'Hey, Johnny, please come out and play! '
I'd heard that merry voice before,
'The sun is shining, it's a lovely day! '
So I rushed outside and slammed the door.
Life was such fun with not a care
And full of many an innocent game,
There was always laughter we could share
And wouldn't it always be the same?
Now someone else comes to my door,
Somebody I don't want to know -
He doesn't want to run and play,
I pray to Christ that he will go! !
He wants to take me somewhere cold
Beneath a dark and moonless sky,
He knows that I am getting old
And whispers that I have to die.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Lover's Soliloquy
I grabbed her roughly and held her to my breast
And, strangely enough, I noticed, she was quite impressed -
I felt so happy then, how would I have guessed
That one day, quite suddenly, she would lose interest?
She seemed so gentle - imagine my surprise
When she angrily turned on me and would criticize
My slightest act with a pack of lies -
I tell you, my friend, that's the way love dies!
Perhaps, looking back, I had got it all wrong,
Perhaps it was just that I was weak and she was strong,
Perhaps my adolescent feelings just belong
In the trite platitudes of a popular song.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Man of Beauty (for Allen Ginsberg)
A man of beauty is a boy forever,
His loveliness increases - he will never
Betray you for some tart in a bar
Or drive away in a rich girl's car!
Instead he'll hold you in his arms
And seduce you with his boyish charms,
You'll feel his pr*ck against your skin
And long for him to push it in,
You'll want to put him in your mouth
Now west is east and north is south
And everything is upside down
And God Himself is just a clown!
You'll long for everything forbidden
And all the sins that you've kept hidden -
There'll be no end to all this joy
'Cos the man you love is just a boy! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Friend in Need
When the weeping muse has run out of tears
And the poet no longer has any ideas,
When slowly but surely your hope disappears
There's a friend who can help you in spite of your fears.
Only dead men can see him and folk who are blind
And if you go searching you never will find
Him, he only appears
To children and lepers and failures and fools
And drunkards and liars who break all the rules,
He's the friend of transvestites and cripples and queers
With a voice that no cleric or Pope ever hears,
His body is broken and nailed to a tree
And only through bondage can he make you free.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Changing Attitudes (A Political Saga)
We were two peas in a pod
And neither of us believed in God.
We believed in the Marxist revolution,
For us that was the only solution.
We didn't care what the Liberals said
'Cos folk like them were better off dead,
We believed in the Marxist/Leninist state
And all our enemies deserved their fate.
How young we were, and foolish too!
But you loved me and I loved you,
We didn't understand their lies
Or how the child called Liberty dies.
But we are wiser now by far,
We've hitched our wagon to another star,
We're children of Western Democracy
And we advocate complete hypocrisy!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Dreaming of Ulrike Meinhof
You were my sweet terrorist
Who hijacked my heart
And blew it to smithereens!
I remember our secret tryst
When the moon shone on your raven hair,
And the first time that we kissed
Was like an answer to a desperate prayer;
Of all the girlfriends that I've missed
I miss you most -
I've wandered the Berlin streets
A disconsolate ghost,
Riddled with bullets of grief.
I raise a toast to you,
Hoping you'll come back
To shatter our complacency,
Offend our bourgeois decency,
With actions that people deplore,
Bringing to our fading imaginations
The violent charisma true poets adore.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Alcohol, Fun, and Death
I'm coming to the end of a damn good session
In the pub, and I'm feeling okay;
I tend to suffer from chronic depression
But the alcohol keeps my blues at bay,
Until the next day!
Then oh, my God, how guilty I feel,
The whole thing seems so foul and unreal!
I need to give up drink,
And it's a damned emergency, whatever you think!
They're talking of Rehab - isn't that great!
What have I done to deserve this fate?
If only I'd never got hooked on wine -
A bottle or two and I'm feeling fine,
I'm a soul that nobody will ever save
But I guess I'll be sober when I lie in my grave!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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