PAPAL BULL(shit)

Love and forgiveness
Love and forgiveness

Burn homosexuals at the stake?
Surely there's been some mistake?

Let's hear it from our tranny friends
It's time for the Church to make amends!

And what about AIDS and contraception
With millions dying in Africa?

Ssshh!
Ratso fears
There are too many queers!

You'll never pass through Heaven's Gate
Unless you're Catholic and straight!

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Holier Than Thou

It's a Mortal Sin, everyone knows,
To masturbate or blow your nose!
My Christian friend is so squeaky clean
It makes want to shout out something obscene!
He's kind and wholesome, almost 'organic'
Like the fruit or vegetables, but I'm a cynic,
Why does he have to be so 'nice'?
Please, God, redeem him with some vice
And bring his virtue to an end
Before he drives me round the bend! !

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Voodoo Poet

Burning the Cross where Jesus dies,
He mounts the awful, giddy stair
Where evil spirits paralyse
The Serpent in its hidden lair.

Beneath the spinach of the skies
He combs the charcoal from his hair
With words that somehow symbolise
The agony of God's despair.

But April monkeys will appease
The cancer of his twisted care
And poisoned rabbits of disease
Reveal the answer to his prayer.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Marcus the Ganja Man

I'm Marcus the ganja man,
I live in a caravan.
I sell all my weed
To help children in need,
I'm doing the best that I can.

I'm Marcus the ganja man,
They're trying to put a ban
On the laughs and the joys
I'm giving the boys
When they visit my caravan.

I'm Marcus the ganja man
Who's fighting the Smoking Ban,
Please tell the police
To bloody well cease,
I'm doing the best that I can.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Spider (for children of all ages)

Little creature, creep and crawl,
Clinging to my bedroom wall!
My mother would have been dismayed,
My sister would have been afraid,
But here I lie in my cosy bed
And do not want a spider dead.
You're making progress, slow but sure,
Heading for the bedroom door,
But suddenly I see you fall
Curled up in a tiny, tiny ball!
Trust me, I will let you be,
I know you'll do no harm to me!

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Child-Murderer

The man who strangles babies
Looks just like me or you,
But organises Sunday outings
To the Chocolate Factories of Death.
No nipples in the bud for him,
But a sudden avalanche in the glasshouse of his brain
Destroys sweet children:
Slender virgins weep at the blond arithmetic of violence.
Where, you may ask, is God's mercy?
Say your prayers -
The man who strangles babies does not know.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Swastika Song (Mixed Feelings)

Would you love a Nazi
If you had to choose
Between a living Fuhrer
And the dying Jews?

I don't love the Nazis,
Goebbels was bad news,
But the murder of the Fatherland
Is giving me the blues.

You may think me crazy
But what have I to lose?
I'm trapped by your hostility
And an angry German muse.

(this poem is about the conflict between guilt and patriotism in the modern German psyche)

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Young Sinner's Confession

She was a Catholic Sister,
A bride of Christ, a nun,
All night I hugged and I kissed her,
Made love by the rising sun.
Tell me, little Brother, did I do wrong?
Will I be punished for this song?
I was frightened she'd run away,
I tried to make her stay,
But she killed herself the very next day,
You can see I'm young but my hair's turned grey,
Because I loved her so and I kissed her.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Nazi on a Motorbike

Nazi on your motorbike,
Faithful hero of the Reich,
Now that you've got nothing to do
Why not kill another Jew?

Nazi on your motorbike,
Faithful hero of the Reich,
The Aryan race is blond and true,
Their hair is fair and their eyes are blue,

You surely are the Master Race
When I look at your handsome, ruthless face,
Born to fight and born to rule,
You stupid, hated, evil fool! ! !

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Poet Complains

Leaves gash the ground with wounds of colour
Where the lonely eagles cry,
Frost binds the earth with straps of iron
And the bright wind shakes the sky;

I've listened to the Faery Folk
And drunk their magic brew,
I've spoken to men and angels
And the dark Satanic crew,

But no-one showed me mercy
By the side of the bitter sea
When Jesus wept and Moses moaned
And they nailed me to the Tree.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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