Ellison 6d
A mister came by to song a good sing
He didn’t have nickels for dimes
And tunes shed freely to come in and ring
For all the fun woody old times.

He fiddled a fiddle to pluck a red truck
And song out his words by a stile
Some boys run about in their own little luck
And saw mister forge a small smile.

Canary a fairy of small little ladies
Crowd about a shop selling oak hay
In their own Ethel minds of small little babies
On wooden red cradles they lay.

“But come one and all to the man playing south”
Said a poster girl out with a cry
“Say he’d come on and in with a gun to the mouth
And we’re all having orange pumpkin pie.”

I come to the pass with a glass in my hand
Saw the mister grin granny o’swong
And felt the glass fall to the crummy white sand
Heard the shards crawl a fangled new song.

“You caused me a pain to my heart with my name”
I tell mister out with a voice
But he played on regardless of no having claim
Of the music playing out of his choice.

Mister my sister you cause quite a blister
But I’m not giving up quite so soon
Cause I’m staying right here with my girl and I kissed her
On the forests sprouting up after noon.
Just a fun little limerick about a pan handler.
Ellison Apr 15
I've shrugged myself away since three years ago
Always wanting to change away from too much innocence
Wanting to know more about what others did
But now I've learned too much.

I want to be able to go back and cry on the sleeve of myself
And tell him to stay young forever
Tell him to not worry about the future and life
And how big your genitals are.

Tell him never to smoke or drink to death
Tell him to never yell at your angel mother
Or take for granted what keeps you warm at night
And love your friends with a peaceful mind.

Farewell, another part of the child
That once never needed an herb to have fun
He crumbles like the ash on a dusty page
Burned by the lighter of irrational maturity.
Ellison Apr 14
O’er hundreds of softly sweet clouds
Do suns of color flicker forth
Ever glowing forever in the heaven light
And flowers grow next to the grasses.

Up knowing of musical melodies
Do instruments have yet to play
Never faltering in delicate harmonies
In the pleasant light of day.

All those dreams that come and go
Never once stopped to say hello
And all the glories that come from the stars
Never once stayed in the beds of Mars.

Here I am surrendered in the cosmos
With nothing but my song
Reaching to find notes of blissful joy
But I don’t take anyone along.

My journey in my dreams spells nothing out loud
No sounds are worthy enough of making
But if I may try to be so blunt
May I make some sounds, as well?

Stumbling down a rainbow road
Of humanity’s creativity
I cannot help but find
Some hope for us all.

Is it worth to say some dreams
Have meaning?
Or are they just
Void?

Nothing makes it so pure
To see all our thoughts come alive
For the human inside us all
Is a dream enough already.
Ellison Mar 28
Little infant wrapped in blue
Don’t worry of danger coming to you.
Little infant with little eyes closed
I’ll make sure to the elements you are never exposed.

Little infant that cries at night
You never go out of my careful eyesight.
Little infant that wants mum and dad
I love you each day; don’t be quite so sad.

Little infant of bubbly joy
I’ll help you play with your favorite toy.
Little infant of smiling glee
Please stay so innocent and warm and happy.

Little infant that grows in the blink of an eye
I hope I’ll never have to say goodbye.
Little infant do promise that when you’re all grown
Do please make some infants of your very own.
Ellison Mar 27
Shades of pink dance freely
On the hospital wall
Birth of a girl; and throughout the room
Do the doctors wonder their gaze
To the sight of a newborn on the Earth.

Shades of blue lament
On the alleyway side
Birth of a boy; no father present
To share in witness to the miracle of birth
And the anguish of the mother.

Both do grow in two different worlds
Like the distance of the sun and the moon
Does privilege lie in the hands of day
And do poverty in the hands of night.

Girl does laugh, girl does sing
Girl is strong with what life does bring
Her father a sword, her mother a shield
Her tools in life she does expertly wield
Girl is not alone; her friends play along
In the grand musical of life’s golden song
But life had a different tune to play
On the fated moment that night met day.

Where did the wind blow that noon
That girl saw boy clutch a rusty spoon
With rags to his waist and a face of despair
And that powerful feeling of his dark empty stare

Girl helped boy to his feet
Said, “Come inside and retreat
And bring your mother along too
Because I really want to help you.”

Girl fed boy; cleaned him as well
Girl brought him up from his alleyway hell
Girl’s family gave coin; boy cried out his thanks
To girl’s efforts to raise his meager social ranks

Boy said, “It may not be now
But I solemnly vow
That I’ll come to your aid
When your hopes someday fade.”

Boy grows up and becomes a man
Man saves up money from the work he began
Man buys home and starts fresh anew
Surely woman is faring just as well, too

But woman is beat by the warden she wed
He punched her and kicked her on the floor where she bled
And out in the air did woman escape
As free as a bird from the torture and rape

The street stretches as far as forever
Woman says, “Return I shall never.”
Woman falls and so does day
In the same dark corner where boy once lay

On the rug of alcohol stain
Does the husband bleed his pain
And the heroin needle on the desk
Keeps the husband ever statuesque

He jabs it through a poisoned arm
And the drug worked its usual charm
Down fall husband and the angry blood moon
Last words whispered, “Wish you’d come home soon.”

On the eclipse of the eve
When the sun and moon once met
Where comets illuminated the sky
And the light did never die.

Tears did girl shed when
Her eyes saw boy
Yet did the sun glow once more
When the moon did, too.

So man saw woman so ever down and out
Said, “I’d be there for you without a shadow of a doubt”
And moon helped sun to rise upon the land
When man decided to lend woman a helping hand.
Ellison Mar 26
I was the child that once said
“Does magic exist, or is it all in my head?”
The same one that slept with a bear
And had less than a half inch of hair.

The little ‘un that wanted peace
And to this day, that did not cease
So I hopped into the past to see myself again
And stared at my own self that was ten.

He giggled at my face that was odd to see
“What are those spots?” “That’s acne.”
And he asked if I had a girlfriend
But of course you knew how that story would end.

We walked down the street and talked for a while
When I asked about his friends, he wore a big smile
And told me there was absolutely nothing at all wrong
And I chuckled when he talked and played right along

He then asked me if I feared anything
I scoffed at this question and pretended it did not sting
He didn’t look so sure, and I swore before I left
That I left within him some feeling of bereft.

So I came back to my time and sat upon my chair
And ran a troubled hand throughout my tousled hair
Then suddenly, a flash in front of my eyes
And when the smoke cleared, I had one big surprise

I saw a young man of about twenty two
He had a mane of hair, down to his shoulders, mind you
And he looked a little tired, but I knew for who he was
As he cleaned his shirt of dust and fuzz

He stepped towards me and offered his hand
And I took it and shook it; though this wasn’t planned
And from behind his square glasses was a familiar look seen
And he was gone in an instant; left behind a very confused teen.
Ellison Mar 22
Beginning at the dusk of yesterday.
There was never even a hint of when it happened
Or what it destroyed.
What countless minds had it shattered
Our feelings had it toyed.
We felt the earth rumble at half past twelve.
Every second that went by vaporized another city.
And when the final tree fell down
I felt the last of my hope drown.

A thunderstorm of warheads out past my window
Made me turn away from the flashes of white
When the sky turned red
“How many”, I thought, “were dead?”
The books on my shelves turned to gasoline
As the words on the pages
Ignited at the scene
This poem doesn’t have to be consistent
To deliver the problems that are ever so existent
When two boys cry from two different sections of the Earth
Which one is more sad about what they have or don’t?
What God is up there? What man is the director of this
Mad play that is reality? This insane musical
That nobody could ever dream of
For all I see are the fireballs cascading over the land
As the Big Brothers in charge stick
Their heads further in the sand
Let’s leave it all behind
Life has another plan in mind.

Chalk dust dries on the ground
Where children’s games have once made their sound
The child has grown.

I’ll open my mouth again
To make another disaster work
Worms spew forth to the screen
From my body where they lurk.
Why do I still write? It doesn’t make sense
Maybe it’s the venom from my body I must cleanse
As time ticks down from the clock to the floor
Still as a revolution outside continues to roar
The people kick down my door
See my own self at war
My lust wanting more
Your body that I adore
What do I have to pay for?
This service of which I swore
That I can pull whenever I want out my damn drawer
What’s the score?
It’s one to four
A pipe of dependence of which I’ll soar
So high up in the clouds that thunder and pour
These poems have become such a mental chore
It’s always such a grueling bore
To commit to oneself of what seeps out of every pore.

Do I deserve a spot in Heaven
Next to you?

Jim left home one sunny day
To take a trip to big L.A.
He got up to walk
But stood ‘round to talk
And he missed his flight from Norway.
Jim was rather mad
So he yelled at a lad
Who promptly did tell him off
So when Jim went to scoff
In his face did he cough
And Jim instead went to Riyadh.
Jim was so blue
He thought what to do
And looked in the handy travel guide
That told him to hide
And then Jim had died
In the ocean that the plane had fell to.
Let this be a lesson to Jim
Whose life was always grim
He beat up his wife
And stabbed her with a knife
Now look what has become of him.

When I cry softly out my left eye
I suddenly see faintly out my right
In the darkness of which I gently float
Inside the silent abyss of where I lie
A flash of illuminating light
Followed by a lovely music note.

She asked me one day if I was alright.
I told her that a poet has to have a disturbed mind.
She asked me why.
I told her that I was still trying to find out.
I told her I loved her.
She smiled and said she loved me too.
Too bad it was all a fantasy.

It’s all too much
Shout it loud
It’s all too much
To have done as such
As to have died five times
And still I am seen as living.

The dance begins.

Together on the linoleum dance floor
Do the dressed fancy humans move
From a species that sparked fire from flint
To new modern cowards with flavored mouths of mint
From the music that spells the ending of all
Inside this prophetic construction held within a ball

Inside the snowy tundra of the room
Where the snowy figures dance their doom
Does the ice freeze the plaster on the ceiling
Everyone dances; nobody feels a feeling
With their arms ‘round each other in a ballroom style
The people’s faces are straight, there is not even a smile
The fire in the hearth has extinguished long ago
Shed some light on the blizzard that you know

The summer in my brain always combats the winter in
My heart.

It’s so easy to think you’re in love
How long until you meet the souls up above?
How long until you go stir-fry mad?
How long until you don’t know why you’re sad?
How long until this dance of ours
Finally reaches its final hours?

I never want it to end.

Pause the war.
Take me back to before
When the world was pure.
When the meadows of the countryside
Were available for all to run through
When humans lived together, and died together
Not in times of bloodshed, or carnage
But when people lived their whole life
As what they wanted to be.
When you and I could love each other
And not be disturbed by society
Is it a fantasy world?
Did it ever exist?
Or am I being an optimist?
Human; the only species to kill
Itself.

Un-pause the war.
See the harsh infinite gore
That stains every door.
Where the swamps of the marshlands
Have bodies swimming through it
Where humans gag on tar and hope
Where they know they’re at the end of their rope.
Not where people sing songs and dance
Not where there’s music and love and romance
But where people lived their whole life
As what they were forced to be.
Where you and I were separated
And be imprisoned by society.
Is it real life?
Or is it possible to dodge the knife?
Questions forever locked
In the chasms of a city.

And yet, peace and war are synonymous.

I was the child. He laughed and smiled not knowing of the world.
I was the robot. It never felt a thing.
I was the story teller. He failed at recreating his own sin and misery.
I was the runner. He never won his own race.
I was the lover. He did not succeed.
I was the lust-er. He nearly drowned in it.
I was the Marxist. He was fooled too easily.
I was the Creature. He still has the demons.
I was the hippie. He couldn’t make peace with himself.
I was the poet.
I now just am.

Oh, the yellow bricked road.

(Countdown. Ten.)

Dorothy saw the scarecrow
And tried to help him out

(Nine.)

She saw him bend down low
He was alive, no doubt.

(Eight.)

He stumbled here and there
To gather about his wits

(Seven.)

She laughed and flipped her hair
And helped him with his fits.

(Six.)

They got along real well
And became the best of friends

(Five.)

At the city where Oz does dwell
They hope to greet fine ends.

(Four.)

And at the city it seems
They met their wildest dreams

(Three.)

But in a sudden flash
Emerald City fell with a crash

(Two.)

So together they danced with his hands on her hips
In the mushroom cloud of the blazing apocalypse.

(One. We have liftoff.)
This took me four days of straight writing and dedication. It is a summary of all the thoughts of peace and war that have come into my mind. I hope you enjoy it. This is my personal master work.
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