A 'Bad' Mother Grieves
I realise my only hope
Is to find some kind of way to cope
With the guilt that hounds me from within,
But I'm paralysed by a sense of sin.
When I was younger things were good,
I loved my children like I should,
I read them stories when they went to bed,
They loved me too (that's what they said) .
The years have passed and I'm getting old;
It's funny how your heart grows cold
'Cos now I don't care one little bit
About the family and that sh*t
Who married me and destroyed my life
By persuading me to be his wife.
He made me feel like I didn't exist
Although he squeezed me when we kissed,
He shattered every innocent dream
And when I wake at night I scream.
There's no-one now who can explain
Why the nightmares come again and again,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Get Out!
I suppose you think you're clever,
You laugh at me but you never
Imagine what I really feel,
You think it's no big deal
I may be suicidal, I may
Be looking for some other way
To put an end to this misery,
To break away and at last be free!
Why should ypu care? I realise
When I look into your empty eyes
That love has vanished from the scene,
It's just as if it had never been.
You say we can try again,
Don't you care about my pain?
I thought we'd last forever
And yet you found some other lover,
Someone you 'fancied' more than me.
I hate your crude hypocrisy,
Just get out of my life,
I never wanted to be your wife!
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Failed Mystic
When I was young, the wind in the trees
Brought intimations of the Great Spirit.
Later, I suffered from a grey disease
And my soul was like an apple, rotten to the core.
I used to try to freeze Eternity
Into one single Moment,
Stand on a hill-top and try to transfix
The Beauty of Nature like a
Final Butterfly captured Forever.
It was a hopeless task.
Later, I wrote down my Vision
In poems of no merit
And dreamed of Immortality.
Now I cannot say You were always there,
Knocking at my door,
Beckoning me to a life of Love through Action.
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Forbidden Thoughts
I know I always can depend
On your sweet charity - I know you'd lend
A helping hand and be my friend,
But will the heart-ache never end?
I cannot bear it when you're out of sight,
I want to hold you and squeeze you tight,
I want to be with you day and night
But I know that saying this isn't right! !
It's difficult to hide what I feel,
When existence without you seems so unreal,
Perhaps you think it's no big deal
That I'm crippled by wounds only you can heal! !
Please take a chance and love me too,
I just can't help it, I'm crazy for you!
I'm lost and lonely and don't know what to do,
But believe me, my friend, this is nothing new!
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Child of Terror
A cobra coils in the eyes of
The little girl from sweet love city.
Her hair falls down in golden curls
But you mustn't stare
At the rifle on her shoulder
Or wonder why the games she plays are bolder
Than mere hide-and-seek and hopscotch.
Perhaps she'll tell you later
Why she likes to butcher soldiers
In the street and rob
Their bodies of useful ammunition.
Her parents told her
That freedom is worth fighting for
And death is less traumatic
As the heart grows colder.
One day she'll come to realise
That something deep inside her dies
With every life she takes away,
Eventually she'll have to pay
The price for shedding so much blood
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Difficult Moment in the Life of Colonel Frobisher
We sat around the table, our conversation decorated by carefully arranged laughter, as we enjoyed our dish of tea. Our manners were impeccable, devoid of any unruly passion or the expression of too brutal an idea or feeling. Nothing was coarse or inappropriate. How civilized and sterile we were, eunuchs of imagination! We laughed and chatted like soulless marionettes, afraid of anything honest or too sincere. Suddenly the man to my right produced a knife and plunged it into the hostess's heart. 'F**K ALL OF YOU SNIVELLING LITTLE C**TS! ! ' he shouted. It was really rather embarassing. I could hear the maids in the kitchen titter. I stood up and graciously took my leave. What a pity it is that brutes like this exist! He obviously hadn't been to a Public School. I felt vexed. The murderer had spoiled my afternoon.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Epiphany
Outside the surge of the wind, the wind in the trees,
The rush of leaves, and the sighing in the pine-needles,
Outside the sound of the sea-shore, distant, remembered,
The waves breaking on the gray rocks, and the evening approaching,
The restlessness, and the interminable noise.
Silence in the room, and solitude,
A sense of spaces, remoteness and nearness, and the soul's awareness,
Desolate is the hearts desire
And the loving knows no end,
When the morning in the clouds breaks across the sky,
And the forests sway and bend.
Outside the wind, the wind in the trees,
And the sighing in the tree-tops.
Noises from the town, heedless, unthinking, indistinct,
Recurring, fading,
And silence in the room, and solitude,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Familiar Strangers (to the Bowie Girl)
You think that we are friends
But is it really true?
It's a mutual misunderstanding
That's joining us like glue!
Perhaps we're both just lonely
And need someone to care -
We love each other, but only
To cancel our despair!
I know that once I fancied you
And sent you a red, red rose,
But now I feel indifferent -
That's just the way it goes!
Well, come on, make the most of it
And blow upon the coals,
It'll make the fire burn brighter
And warm our chilly souls!
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Look at the Time! (A Drinking Song)
Look at the time! It's half-past six!
Time for me to be getting my kicks!
I'll have some whisky,
It'll make me frisky,
And then I'll get up to my usual tricks!
Look at the time! It's half-past seven!
And I feel that I should be going to heaven!
I'll have some rum
'Cos I'm not dumb,
And then I'll be drunk by ten to eleven!
Look at the time! It's half-past eight!
I didn't know it was getting so late!
I'll have some brandy
Instead of shandy,
And then I'll be able to face my fate!
Look at the time! It's half-past nine!
(And I know that this doesn't really rhyme!)
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Poor Old Pensioner's Prayer
Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring,
Can You fix my electric wiring?
Can You mend my old T.V.
And will You do it all for free?
You walked the waves at Galilee,
You cured the blind so they could see,
You raised the dead and healed the sick,
I'm sure You'll think of some clever trick!
I do not mean to cause offence,
I'm just an Old Man talking sense,
Won't You do it, dearest Lord,
And charge a price I can afford?
I promise that I'll do my bit
And keep Your holy candles lit,
I've always been an honest man
And always do the best I can,
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poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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