Snooker
'You've always wanted to use your whatsit as a billiard cue, '
The advert for the sex-aid said. Thinking of me and you
I've always been less concerned with giving you 'a wild time, '
Than whether you thought my poetry would do.
I've always preferred snooker anyway,
It's got more balls.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Winter Night
Small creatures shiver in their lairs
While the full moon is strangled by the tree
Whose branches wrestle with the wind,
Scraping, groaning ceaselessly.
In deep discomfort, deprived of sleep,
I get up from my barren bed,
Draw back my curtains
And see the cold night bristle with stars.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Loneliness
I lie awake,
While the wind howls in the gables
And mice creep furtively among the rafters.
Where shall I turn to? What shall I do?
I run down to the doorway
But there is nobody, there's nothing new,
Only a Stranger walking at daybreak,
The blank, grey pavement and the empty cul-de-sac.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Nose-Picker's Confession
I've forgotten a lot of what I learned at school
But I'll always remember the One Golden Rule:
Of all of the things that Good Christians oppose
The worst and the vilest is picking your nose,
So forgive me, Dear Lord, I've got to come clean,
I've just picked a winner and it's slimy and green! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Knife Crime
When things cut up rough
Don't waste a life,
It isn't tough
To use a knife,
It means you're weak
And sick inside,
A coward too,
No cause for pride:
Why not just throw
That knife away
And live to see
Another day?
That would be brave
And cause no grief -
Death is so long
And life so brief.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Feeling Inferior
They'd like to make you feel real bad
About the little fun you've had -
In fact it makes them really glad
To see you all hung-up and sad.
But where did it all go so very wrong
And why do you feel you don't belong
In a world where redneck guys make jokes
And girls fall in love with 'normal' blokes?
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Pubic Hair
Nobody loves me,
Nobody cares,
Nobody counts
My pubic hairs.
Nobody says
'You're a swell little guy',
Or says, 'I will love you
Until I die! '
Nobody worships
The ground where I've trod,
More likely they tell me
I'm just a sod!
Nobody loves me,
Nobody cares,
Nobody counts
My bodily hairs!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Black Girl
These poor villians,
Breathing in the nuclear air,
And destroyed by the poetry of Caesar,
Remember a time
When Mary Magdalen leant back against a wall,
A sexy skeleton of schizophrenia,
And they wandered down to the harbour's edge
And saw a black girl, shining, wild,
Crying out for her Redeemer.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A Day in March
Through the window the still yard.
A cat runs across and disappears through the slender doorway.
What to do on a day like this?
Such emptiness!
Looking out on these dismal rooftops and the wet sky,
One wonders how to interpret the signs:
Wind soughing in the grass,
And water trembling in a bucket.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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I'd Like a Bit
I'd like a bit
Of your sweaty love,
Your gasping, groaning sweaty love.
Your body fits my body like a glove,
(Your gasping, groaning, sweaty love) .
I want it more than the stars above,
(Your gasping, groaning, sweaty love) .
You're soft and silken like a dove,
I want a bit
Of your sweaty love.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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