A Monody
In spite of my pain,
Inexplicable sweet strands of soured mist twist
In the echelons of salt streams,
The fist of kings is lost in the parting waves,
And nymphs are cast up with brine and seaweed
And dismissed as fish by the useless sea.
The patter of rain on the window sifts sad songs
From the memories of widows
And glistens as the wind shifts listlessly in the trees
And the last light of the sun
Kisses their whispering leaves
While candles burn in the darkness by your grave.
Grief is gentle as a broken jewel
And my heart believes there is no history
Of tears or anger
In all these moonlit fields.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A German Soldier and a Jewish Girl (re-written)
You love my tender Swastikas
And my Gestapo kiss,
But tell me, little Fraulein,
Whatever brought you to this?
It would enrage the Leader
That I'm sleeping with a Jew,
But he doesn't know how I need her,
I'm so in love with you!
Your panties are a little damp
Which really turns me on,
I'd save you from that deadly camp
Where all your friends have gone.
They could shoot me in the morning
For breaking all the rules,
They've given me a warning,
The stupid, heartless fools,
[...] Read more
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Lock Up the Weirdos! ! (overheard in a pub)
'Just look at me! I earn my bread
And pay my taxes, watch TV,
Mind my own business,
I'm a normal bloke,
I'll have a pint and share a joke;
Lock up the weirdos, that's what I say,
If they can't conform then make them pay!
Those guys are lazy, they're not sick,
It's time they were given a bit of stick!
They're scrounging off the Welfare State,
It's all handed to them on a plate,
And while we're on the subject
Why do we call the perverts 'gay'?
They're just a bunch of effing queers,
Shoot them all and I'll shed no tears! !
Don't give me all that psychology sh*t,
I don't believe a word of it! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Fat Man Blues
I'm getting fatter and fatter,
It's filling me with shame,
But it doesn't really matter,
It's the CALORIES that are to blame! !
So what if I drink a lot of wine
And munch too much when I eat my lunch -
Chocolate is so divine
And I like pork crackling to crunch!
It isn't fair that I'm so fat,
I never wanted to look like that! !
My doctor warns me that I may die
But I've got bigger fish to fry!
I wouldn't like to be thin as a rake
(That's why I eat a lot of cake) ,
Give me roast beef and Yorkshire pud,
Did anything ever taste so good?
To hell with going on a diet,
Gimme some bacon and I'll fry it! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Omens Revisited
This hideous summer wanes
As dolls' houses reverberate with sin and ecstasy,
Little children drink cough mixture like wine
And the Crucifix snaps on the communion table.
Where are the perilous eyes
Lost from the cradle of night
And smothered in stars?
Will the Pale Criminal remember them in a riot of body
Or the languid panther deny them entrance?
Ophelia is floating downstream
(Tripped out once too often on speed and acid)
While Hamlet shoots up heroin in the attic.
The ghost of Polonius intertwines his fingers
In the aortas of infants,
It's time for orgasmic violence
And the death at last of happiness.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Poem At The Approach Of Spring
It's spring. I suppose I ought to be impressed
By snowdrops, daffodils and all the rest -
Quite frankly I detest
The whole goddamn scene,
I'm sick of every platitude
That betrays some soppy poetic attitude -
I'm feeling quite depressed!
The world is young again and green
But, what the hell,
I feel about a hundred years old!
Yes, I detest
The way the poets are so obsessed
With snowdrops, daffodils and all the rest!
I suppose you've guessed
I've lost my poet's interest
In life and growing things,
The way the blackbird sings
And builds its nest,
I am a man apart
And nothing will ever comfort my empty heart.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Feeling So Bitter in My Lonely Bedsitter
It's an ill wind that has blown
And it blows no good to anyone;
A chilling fear has spread to heart and bone,
I can hear the cildren cry, the old men groan,
But in the deep of night
My little cat jumps on my bed
And I am not alone,
I have some solace.
I pray for those other souls,
They're reaping from some evil seed they've sown,
They wander in a barren land,
It's comfortless, they could not understand
My luck, the little furry friend
Who chases empty fears
Away, and drinks my lonely tears.
God send
Relief to those who have no friend
Like I do.
Courage comes in the strangest places.
This is my prayer's end.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Danny Boy (or, The Cripple's Revenge)
Danny Boy
I'm gonna destroy
Your favourite toy,
I'll smash your bike,
The one you like
That gives you joy.
I'm big and strong
And you've done me wrong,
You're young and weak,
A little freak,
And I've had enough
Of your bloody cheek!
Danny Boy
The time has come
To stop being dumb,
To apologise
To someone
You have tried
To victimize,
So pack it in!
[...] Read more
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Poem to a Friend Who Deceived me
I gave you my friendship in all its innocence,
You took it and trampled it in the dust,
Later they called an ambulance,
You had desecrated my love and my trust.
When I was discharged from the hospital
You were fawning about my knees,
You thought that I'd have you back again,
You clung like an infectious disease.
We don't have many years on this planet -
Let's cherish the friends who are true;
A lot of my time has been wasted
By a person who looks just like you!
At school they tried to teach me forgiveness
And said it would conquer Hate,
I never understood their meaning
And now, I'm afraid, it's too late! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Riddle
I'd like to bury all my sorrow
In some wild dream of a better tomorrow
But life is just like a game of poker
Where every second card is a Jack or a Joker,
Or is it more like a game of chess
Played out in the barren wilderness
Between a yellow dwarf wearing scarlet shoes
And a smiling poet with a weeping muse?
I'm frightened of your Gestapo kiss
Though it turns all my suffering into bliss.
Did Stalin sing the gypsy blues
When Hitler wore his blue suede shoes?
Is Jesus just a Gentile loss
With a tender swastika on an iron cross?
Will Hamlet make the headline news
Or has Shakespeare himself got something to lose?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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