John Thorkild Ellison
For biography, please see my poem 'The Failed Mystic'. more »
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John Thorkild Ellison Poems
Poetry Can Damage Your Health
The day my doctor died of smoking I bought myself a fat cigar - I realised he must be joking, His funeral was so bizarre:
In spite of my pain, Inexplicable sweet strands of soured mist twist In the echelons of salt streams, The fist of kings is lost in the parting waves,
</>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
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!
You've finally made me realise Love's just a squirt between the thighs. I thought it was so much more!
I wandered in a dream And heard bluebells chime by the water, Saw unicorns drink from the stream And heard wild, whirling elvish laughter.
An Alien's Valentine
Come be my Valentine And make me dance with joy; I'll give you babies, one, two, three, A girl, an alien, and a boy.
A Confession (a sexual prose-poem)
A Drinker's Prayer
O God our Help at two o'clock, Our Help at half-past three, What do You do at four o'clock When we are having tea?
A Walk in the Country
I walked by the river Where it is usually so quiet and peaceful. Crazy kids on motorbikes sounded Like trapped bluebottles in a summer kitchen,
The Alcoholic Gives in to Temptation
It's very, very nice To give in to a vice! I hadn't had a drink for seven weeks And then I got pissed.
When I was nearly round the bend I turned to you, I had a drink or two, I thought that you would help, False Friend!
Winter: Inside the embers glow in the grate While the garden quietly suffocates in snow.
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,
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Poetry Can Damage Your Health
The day my doctor died of smoking
I bought myself a fat cigar -
I realised he must be joking,
His funeral was so bizarre:
A dwarf in multi-coloured clothing
Sang louder than the parish choir
And though my heart was full of loathing
I leapt upon the funeral pyre.
I'd often longed for such a roasting
And knew it was my friend's desire,
I shouted out 'We'll all be toasting
In Hell's incandescent fire! '
Don't be discouraged by this story,
Smoking cigarettes is fine,
Inhale them on your days of glory
And drink your fill of rich, red ...