A Woman's Choice
What did she miss the most?
Let's guess!
Did she miss his touch or his voice?
His fingers lovingly fingering
Or his tongue cunningly lingering?
Ah, THAT'S what she liked the best!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Famous Author
He's written another psychological thriller
About - guess what? - a 'serial killer'.
It hasn't sold a copy yet
But you and I can safely bet
It'll be called a 'Number One Bestseller'! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Certainty
Blond bicycles writhe in the swimming pools
of dark professors.
'What rubbish! ' you say, but I've seen it myself:
Blond bicycles writhe in the swimming pools
of dark professors.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Short One for Brubeck
Take Five
Minutes
Time Out
To listen
To Brubeck.
He'll take you Further Out
Than any other musician can -
He'll hammer those keys
Like a jazz disease -
You'll be dancing like crazy, man! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Virginia Woolf
Virginia Woolf was howling at the moon,
But the stars above her were singing a different tune,
Her books were magic
But her death was tragic,
The Thames was ready to eat her far too soon!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Foreboding
You will not find them here, or anywhere perhaps,
But every now and then there is a hint
Of empty streets,
And down past alleyways and hidden squares
The tall, dry rooms of our illicit love.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Barmaid
Madeleine could never be 'naked', she'd only be 'nude',
Her puppy-fat legs make the men talk crude,
Don't call her a harlot, that would be rude,
But thoughts of her body make me feel lewd! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Laziness
'Idleness is the Enemy of the Soul'
Said St. Benedict.
He was a godly man.
A hard day's graft makes a good disciple!
Personally I'm a Heathen,
I lie in bed till noon
And worship the Bone Idol!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Adolf Hitler
Adolf Hitler, what's in a name?
Himmler or Goering, thousands the same,
Europe's scourge and Germany's shame,
Six million Jews, that's what they claim,
But were you a pawn in somebody's game?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Porn Star
It's not the size of his enormous pr*ck
Or even the charms of each successive chick -
It's nothing at all like this that really makes him tick,
It's just the CASH, and doesn't it make you sick! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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