Nursery Rhyme for Hitler
Sing a song of Hitler
(Unless you'd rather die) ,
Five-and-twenty Nazis
Baked in a pie;
When the pie was opened
There was an awful smell,
Just another picnic
On the way to Hell.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Nausea (La Nausee)
No-one loves me,
This I know
'Cos Jean-Paul Sartre
Told me so.
Domination is the name
Of human beings' little game.
Fond affection? No - far from it!
Just Nausea to make you vomit!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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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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