A Girl Called Kirsty
Kith and kin, kith and kin,
And yet your love runs cold and thin.
In the end
I wanted you to be my friend,
But you simply do not understand
That you're living in another land
Than this strange place I'm tortured in.
You don't begin
To comprehend
That without a loving, helping hand
I'll just come to a sticky end.
Your final sin
Was driving me right round the bend
When I was young and weak.
You were so strong
And now this song
Is another attempt to explain
The curious excesses of my pain.
Who can tell
If I speak in vain
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Anthony and Cleopatra
A wrinkle poked his sodding alchemy
Bereft of reason and the truth of ships
But nothing pirouettes in blank sausages
As Antony kisses Cleopatra on the lips.
They went out late last night, clubbing in Alexandria
And Cleopatra was wearing her fishnet tights,
Antony wanted to get her somewhere quiet,
He didn't want to get involved in any fights.
He's got this paranoid fear of Caesar
Because Julius wants to rule the earth,
But perhaps if Cleopatra helps him
He'll show his enemies what he's really worth.
Past ruined palaces of fevered brow
The carved spinach of his twisted dreams
Erupts like ivory in trembling snow
And catches tigers in their early schemes.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Male Chauvinist Pig
Please don't ask me to apologise,
I've seen right through your lying eyes,
You've spread your legs for a lot of guys,
So please don't ask me to apologise!
And put a stop to those crocodile tears,
No tart's as innocent as she appears -
A slapper's attractive after four or five beers,
So put a stop to your crocodile tears!
You'd like to think you've got me taped,
You'd like to pretend that you'd been raped,
I'm really glad that I've escaped
Though you liked to think you'd got me taped!
I'm getting old and a little bit wise.
And I feel no pity when a prostitute cries,
I've seen right through your lying eyes,
Excuse me now while I do up my flies! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Love at the Bus-Stop
I love your little cigarettes
Coloured like your fingernails,
You are so new,
It never fails to turn me on,
I'd like to have a 'chat' with you.
And when we chat
I want to know
How many boyfriends you have had,
And are you pure and virginal
Or are you BAD?
Have you ever walked this way before,
Like a little whore,
And did it make you glad?
I'll tell you now,
It's gonna make your mother very sad! !
My manroot tingles
As I'm aware
Of your little figure standing there.
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Addiction
I'm addicted to drink,
But I'm more addicted to you,
Whatever you think!
When you smile
Time and the whole world stop for a while,
You wipe away my tears
Much better than a thousand beers!
You are my heroine much more than heroin
Could ever be. Yes, that's the mess I'm in,
I'd rather do cold turkey
Than miss your friendship for a day.
You don't believe me?
Well, okay
I'll throw my drink and drugs away,
But in return
I need the love for which I yearn!
You won't accept this deal,
But I want to be sure you know how I feel,
It isn't fiction
But a very deep and lasting addiction
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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An Irreverent Poem about Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils -
I was feeling rather pleased with myself
And my poetic skills,
When suddenly I got a fright -
I'd forgotten to take my pills!
The pills enable me to write
And rhyme and scan as well,
Some people say it is just sh*te
Exclaiming 'Go to hell! '
I write about flowers and beggars and sheep
And lots of soppy things,
Young women read my verse and weep
While angels flap their wings.
My name is Wordsworth (call me Bill)
And modern students find me a bore,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Piece Of Moon (Nonsense Poem)
A piece of moon, delighting in the sky,
Embarrassed me and made me want to cry.
Why do you always have to make me shy?
A piece of moon has laughed at me
And now I want to die.
Why do you turn your face away?
The sun comes out and we'll all go and play.
I'm lonely now, and do you think I'm gay?
The sun comes out and we'll all go and play.
What is the point? I hear the angels sigh,
Are you their god whom they would crucify?
Why do they want the Son of God to die?
I do not know, but know I want to cry.
It's all a con, whatever folk may say,
They go to church and yet they never pray,
How much I long to leave and go away,
I'm lonely now, but do you think I'm gay?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Emotional Abuse
When you are young a parent's scorn
Can make you wish you'd never been born,
And as you grow you're sure to find
Their lack of love has damaged your mind.
What have they done? There's no excuse
For inflicting this kind of emotional abuse!
And yet they'll say they're not to blame,
It's just some kind of psychological game,
You're doing it to get attention
And your 'illness' is the doctor's invention!
Don't let them have the satisfaction
Of blaming it on a 'chemical reaction',
They've got to admit that they were wrong
And you have suffered far too long.
Where will you find a lasting cure?
Not in psychiatry for sure,
In endless talk and ECT
And chemical lobotomy! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Only You
There's something special I can't define,
A certain quality or grace,
That makes me wish that you were mine -
It's written in your eyes and face.
I met you in the shop today
And realised it's just no good,
I cannot make Love go away
Although perhaps you think I should.
I went out with another friend,
Enjoyed her friendship, we had fun,
But I know my love will never end
And that you are the Only One.
I promise you I'll do my best
To curb the longings of my heart,
I love you more than all the rest,
I'm just so helpless when we part.
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Drunken Messiah
When Jesus had a hangover
They cancelled Mass that morning;
He'd been out with Magdelan on the booze
Ignoring His Mother's warning.
He said 'I'll do just as I choose
And turn the water into wine
And if you say you don't like it
You'll share the fate of the Gaderene swine! '
But Joseph was a bit annoyed
That Jesus gave His Mother grief -
He said 'You're getting above Yourself,
What's all this fuss about Belief? '
It was then that the Good Lord replied
'I'm sorry I got drunk,
I know I should be crucified
But I'd rather become a Trappist monk! '
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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