Buttocks of Divine Delight (A Whimsey)
O buttocks of divine delight,
You give old ladies such a fright,
They wince and shudder at the sight
Of buttocks shining in the night!
And tits and thighs and pubic hair
Have driven wise men to despair,
But don't they realise the joy
Awaiting every girl and boy?
The time has come to sup the wine,
What's mine is yours, and yours is mine!
Let's mingle minds and bodies too,
Their marriage is now overdue! !
Don't be afraid of Love's sweet pleasure,
It's waiting there for you to treasure,
But the corpse will shiver in the tomb
Far from the comfort of the womb!
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Pledge for Nicola
The cliches all arrive in their worn out clothes
And all the old hackneyed expressions,
They cluster around, clamouring for freedom,
And all because I love you!
I love you far too much.
Fate has betrayed me - Fate brought us together
And I didn't read the small print,
Too late I learned that you belonged
To someone else,
And now the cup of bitterness overflows!
I suppose my love's a joke, a rather silly joke
For those with hollow humour -
Their scornful laughter echoes
In the long, long corridors of my despair.
But remember this: I really care,
And though my sorrows hard to bear
I'll always love you,
If ever things go wrong for you reach out,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Counting the Stars
Fred spent his childhood playing guitars,
Hunting for rabbits and counting the stars;
When he got older he sat around bars
Drinking tequila and smoking cigars.
Then somebody told him they thought he was dumb
And he knew that at last his moment had come -
He constructed a rocket and travelled to Mars
And that's where you'll find him watching the stars.
Fred was unusual, give him his due,
He certainly achieved more than me or you,
He didn't waste money on girls or fast cars,
He knew that his talent was in counting the stars.
So if you're depressed and haven't a clue
Just think about Fred and you'll know what to do,
Don't waste all your money on girls and fast cars,
Just relax and be happy counting the stars!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Song of Encouragement for the New Year
Think of all the fun you had
When you were just a little lad!
Doesn't it seem a wee bit sad
That everything has turned out bad?
Now that you are old and grey
There are no more innocent games to play,
Your chances all have slipped away
So get down on your knees and pray,
Yes, pray that now you're fifty-eight
You won't give in to Grinning Fate,
You won't admit that it's too late
But you'll dance and sing and celebrate!
The gods may like to mock our schemes,
Make childhood hopes just empty dreams,
Darkness is all around, it seems,
But at the end of the tunnel a white light gleams,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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My Suicide Note
You ask me if I'm OK,
Well what on earth do you think?
It's the end of another awful day
And I'm drowning myself in drink.
You tell me I'm just weak,
Well, how on earth would you know?
You've got one helluva cheek -
Get out now, go on, go! !
This is an insidious death,
I'm committing gradual suicide,
You may as well save your breath,
Even a drunkard has pride.
I never dreamt it would end like this,
I hoped for so much more,
A tender touch and a lover's kiss
Instead of some sad. old whore.
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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For Godsake Hold Your Tongue and Let Me Love
Please be quiet, little friend,
You're driving me right round the bend!
I'm sick and tired of your whining voice,
You're giving me no other choice
But to slam the door and go outside
Which really hurts my foolish pride.
You're keen to voice your point of view
But for Heaven's sake I have feelings too!
When will you ever give me peace?
When will your petty grumblings cease?
Don't you remember there was a time
We loved each other very much,
We trembled at each other's touch
And quarrelling just seemed a crime?
I've really had enough of this!
Let's banish anger with a kiss,
Either that or go to bed -
Shut up, my love, enough's been said! !
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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My Little Cat
My little cat nags me like a bad conscience
And I'm guilty of loving her too much,
She follows me around the house all day
Wanting to sit on my knee, and when I touch
Her she starts purring, as if to say
'Is it asking too much
That you should love me all the time
And give me your undivided attention?
Is that a crime? I am your mistress now,
You should pander to my every wish!
I want chicken every day and fish
And warm, clean blankets to lie on.
You've got to realise who rules this house,
You must confess
You love this servitude
And my cunning feline domination! '
That's what she says
And I have this realization
That perhaps I'm no more than a mouse
Running hither and thither
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Dreaming and the Cosmic Joke
I dreamt last night the world had changed
And everything was rearranged,
That Gordon Brown in his despair
Had sold his soul to Tony Blair,
That Putin made a vow of peace
And said the KGB must cease,
And Benedict, the Panzer Pope,
Was cottaging and smoking dope.
I dreamt Madonna became a nun,
Saying fame and riches were no fun,
Bob Dylan said he'd had enough
And all his lyrics were just bluff,
While Michael Jackson was a saint
Whose love of children was so quaint.
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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His Love Is Diagnosed with a Serious Illness
I love to listen when the blackbird sings
His sweet, sweet song which always brings
New hope to the heart, but what can I say,
There is such sorrow at the end of the day
As he lies there suffering with his broken wings! !
You bring me joy and lighten my heart
When I see you again after being apart,
So I think it's one of the most terrible things
That, like my blackbird, you have broken wings!
I curse the gods who give us such pain,
Who ruin our lives and drive men insane.
What the doctor told you is bound to depress
You, it's horrible and I must confess
I don't know what I can do, unless
You accept my love, because my heart says 'Yes,
I love you much more than you'll ever guess,
And I wish I could help you out of this mess! ! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Beyond Reason (A Metaphysical Poem)
What shall we say in our confusion
If even Buddhism is an illusion,
If Jesus and Satan are hand in glove
And Kali (Destroyer) is full of love?
Shall we believe in Jean-Paul Sartre
Or simply dissolve in helpless laughter
That men could think they can explain
What drove the Prophets half-insane?
The answer to it all, my friend,
Is that our questions have no end,
It's really simple, take my word,
Our lives and deaths are quite Absurd!
And yet, you say, that cannot be,
My spirit TASTES Eternity,
And though it is beyond all reason
And intellect will call it treason,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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