A Little Bird Has Flown
Once I thought I'd surely die
Without your precious loving kindness,
But now I really wonder why
I suffered from such a naive blindness.
I've found bigger fish to fry -
I'll go my own way, just you see,
Gone are the nights I'd sit and cry
And write such awful poetry.
It was my slavish attitude
That made me write such second-rate verse
That was full of cliche and platitude
And it was going from bad to worse!
I suppose it is a lover's curse
To imagine he'll come to a sticky end,
He'll end up in some rose-strewn hearse
Or else go completely round the bend!
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Another Little Seduction (or, The Same Old Story)
You look so pure and virginal
But wouldn't you like a bit?
Plenty of guys would be willing
If you were up for it!
I bet you'd like a piece of rough
With somebody who looks quite tough!
Come on, I'm going to call your bluff
Just to hear you squeal 'Now that's enough! '
Remember what your parents said,
'No sex, little girl, until you're wed! '
So don't tell them that we've had some fun
Together in your single bed!
I suppose you'd like to put back the clock
Like the lover who pretends
That she has had a nasty shock
And wants to remain 'just friends'.
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Housewife's Lament
I've had enough of the kitchen sink
So I think I'll pour myself a drink,
The hoovering has all been done,
Oh a housewife's life is full of fun!
The vodka helps me pass the day
And drives my empty blues away,
What would my husband really think
If he knew that I was on the brink
Of a nervous breakdown like my friend,
The neighbour who 'went round the bend'?
Can you imagine what he'd do
When all his mates and colleagues knew
His wife was in the loony-bin,
Oh what a terrible social sin! !
It wouldn't be long before divorce
(MY fault indeed, not HIS, of course!)
But then, at last, I would be free
And escape this bourgeois tyranny,
I'd get a job and buy a flat
And say goodbye to all of that!
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Advice to a Wannabe Lover
You could be dead before the dawn
Lost in a pile of second-rate porn,
Admit it now, you've had it, mate,
It's just no good, love came too late
To change the way you act and think,
You sold your soul to the demon drink.
Admire her beauty while you can,
You poor old sod, you excuse for a man,
She's beautiful, too good for you,
She has a mind, high standards too,
Did you really think you could be her friend?
Look at you, mate, you're round the bend!
You can't expect a woman like that
To fall for you - she smelt a rat
When you tried it on with your silver-tongued chat.
Better pretend it was all a mistake,
She's seen right through you and knows you're a fake.
At least you knew her for a while,
Her voice so beautiful, and what a smile!
It's a memory you'll want to save
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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An Elegy for My Father
It was a boring Saturday afternoon when my father died,
I'd been listening to Buddy Holly on the radio and wasting my time,
Mucking about with a stanza or two and looking for a rhyme,
It was a boring Saturday afternoon the day my father died.
My mother had dementia and couldn't understand
That my father was dying and leaving her behind,
She thought he'd gone on a journey and she didn't really mind,
But she wanted him to come back to her and she didn't understand.
What really appals me is that no-one makes a noise,
Things happen that shake your heart but nobody beats a drum,
We do not even notice when the Angels of Darkness come,
And what really appals me is that no-one makes a noise.
Camus says 'each of us is born condemned to die' -
And I guess it certainly seems that way,
You fritter away your time on another boring day,
Measuring your life out with Buddy Holly tunes
Or pints of beer or even coffee spoons,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Keep Your Nose Clean!
Somebody opened his can of worms
And see how the villain twitches and squirms!
The camera comes out and someone says 'Smile!
The neighbours all think you're a paedophile! '
Listen to you! You bellow and squeal,
We're breaking your spirit on our Virtuous Wheel.
You claim you're a scapegoat, don't make me laugh!
If you had a spine I'd break it in half,
But you haven't got one, you're just a worm
And we're getting our kicks from watching you squirm!
Later, perhaps, after a civilized tea
We'll sit on the sofa and watch our T.V.
Isn't it strange how most of the time
We relish these stories of violent crime?
There's something inside us that likes to be scared
And we'd join in the action if only we dared.
Thinking like this makes me feel insecure -
What if my intentions are not quite so pure?
What if I fancied a bit on the side?
I'd like to reach out but my hands are tied.
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Dr Reaper and the Death of Love
He diagnosed us nervous wrecks
And the reason for it was all sex.
The innocent things which we enjoyed
Were scrutinized and then destroyed.
Then when we suffered he was overjoyed
'We've come a long way since Sigmund Freud,
Since D.H. Lwarence and Wilhelm Reich,
Those thinkers that you used to like!
Do you remember 'Flower Power'
When Timothy Leary had his hour?
And don't forget the Human Soul,
Last refuge of the Romantic Fool,
This is the age where we CONTROL
And use our minds as an accurate tool!
Poetry is just empty words
That will vanish like the singing of birds,
The Earth will shrug off songs and dreams,
Everything's as empty as it seems,
The INTELLECT will be our God
And rule us with an iron rod! !
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Quaint Little Rhyme
I used to dine on a variety of cheeses
Which made me gracious and fat,
I used to think that I looked like Jesus
Crossed with a wrinkled old Siamese cat,
But when I was cured of these strange diseases
I decided to call that that;
You shouldn't make fun of a fool that sneezes
While wearing a leopard-skin pillbox hat!
I'm inclined to laugh at a joke that pleases
Because a sense of humour is a wonderful thing,
And if I'm covered from head to toes in bruises
I'll still do my best to holler and sing;
A bloke's got to stick with the wife he chooses
And not mess around with her diamond ring,
It's only a villain who beats and abuses
And strangles his woman with a handful of string!
I suppose you wonder where this poem is leading
And think that I must be a little bit queer,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Can't You Help Me Please?
Can't you help me please, I'm getting frantic!
The trouble, of course, is I'm too romantic;
Every minute of the day I think of you
As I wander about with too little to do,
I live for the times that we're together,
'Cos when you're not near there's no sunny weather,
Just rain and mist and cloudy skies
Bereft of the sunshine of your eyes,
There are things to do, but they don't matter,
I waste all my time in mindless chatter
Forever watching the minutes crawl past
Till we're reunited again at last!
It doesn't take a genius to realise
I'm struggling to gain an impossible prize:
I want you to love me. Without you my life
Is made up of turmoil and meaningless grief -
There's just no remedy and no relief.
I honestly don't know what to do!
I don't know WHY I'm addicted to you.
It's true, it's real, it's not science-fiction!
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Crimson Tears
The crimson tears of benevolent chimpanzees
Have mingled with the raindrops falling fom your eyes,
I've always loved you and I'm begging on my knees
That you won't con me with some ingenious disguise.
I need you now, I need you very much,
I nearly had a heart attack for you,
I need to feel your little breasts and touch
That virgin forest hidden from my view!
A monkey twists its chain of silver keys
And tells me what to see and what to do,
His laughter drifts like music on the breeze,
How can I weep when all I see is you?
the time has come when Romeo must kiss
His Juliet, and she must be his bride.
Don't treat him cruelly because he longs for this
Don't drive him to his final suicide!
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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