On Hearing of the Death of the First Woman Soldier in Afghanistan
In Afghanistan in the bitter strife
The first woman soldier loses her life
With three of her friends who also die
In a 'mobile coffin', blown sky high.
Could you please tell me, if you know for sure,
Just what it is we're fighting for?
'A War on Terror'- I've heard that before!
When are we going to finish this war?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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An Answer to a Homosexual Advance
WHAT did you say? !
I'm just NOT GAY! !
Just go away,
I've had a tiresome day
And I'm not prepared
To listen to sh*t,
You'd do well to be scared
'Cos you might get hit!
I've put young girls
In the family way -
Not proud of it,
I'm just a sh*t,
But at the end of it
I'm just NOT GAY,
It's time to quit
So GO AWAY! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Nocturne
Birds are the thoughts of
Trees in the evening,
Perched in their minds.
I go down to the Arches
And see the river in full spate
With salmon leaping, defying gravity.
The fields are dark
And the factory lights
Twinkle beyond.
The traffic whispers on the by-pass
And the rain creates
Old ladies' faces,
Wrinkles in a pond.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Computer Blues
What's this?
Are you taking the piss?
A night on the tiles
Has put an end to your smiles?
There's even a rumour
You've lost your famous sense of humour!
It doesn't really matter whether
You're in a bad mood or at the end of your tether,
It's enough to drive you effing beserk,
The effing computer doesn't effing work! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Happy
Sometimes I feel that I am cursed,
Sometimes I can't write poetry or even verse,
Where is the Living Water that will end my thirst?
Sometimes, it says in Scripture, the last are first,
Sometimes I think my best times are my worst,
And yet, you know, in spite of this,
Sometimes I am so happy, I feel my heart could burst!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Get a Life! !
I suppose you think you're clever
Writing night and day,
But poetry will never
Be worth it's while and pay.
Why don't you give up writing,
Do something else instead,
Something more exciting,
Something with street-cred?
The television's boring,
The theatre is dead,
I'm going to go out whoring
And paint the town bright red! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Pilgrim's Complaint
Walking this bitter path with You,
I wonder why it has to be like this,
Your death in torment in the name of Love
Betrayed in the garden by a traitor's kiss.
There's so much pain in the sweetest song
And so much sorrow in a tale of bliss,
So much guilt to atone for wrong;
Tell me, O Lord, why does it always have to be like this?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Mourning Sickness
Your endless aching prayers
In the middle of the night
To the unseen God
Bring no peace to your heart
And no respite
To a spirit sickened with grief;
The day comes round the same,
The streets, the shops, the glaring light,
People in the day-centre, mouthing empty words,
Dead babies wrapped in newspaper
At the bottom of the garden.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Squirt Between the Thighs
You've finally made me realise
Love's just a squirt between the thighs.
I thought it was so much more!
It's a way of earning some cash
Or getting yourself a nasty rash.
But I've seen through the big disguise,
Sweet girl with come-to-bed eyes,
And I've listened to the words of the whore:
'Quite frankly, darling, sex is a bore! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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