Lily was a gorgeous maiden with an unusual hair color.
Men gave her more attention than she deserved.
Plenty of plain women were ready to turn her in.
Calling her witch, declaring she had cast a spell on them.
Some of the more jealous ones twitched violently.
Calling upon the good Christian soldiers to banish her.
She was about to get burned at the stake.
Something the ugly girls were glad to see.
But along came the witch hunters; Hansel and Gretel.
They had weapons and were not afraid to use them.
They rescued Lily, and warned the good people to leave her alone.
It was a sad day for the plain, ugly, sour-faced old maids.
Hansel and Gretel knew the power of good and bad witches.
Their mother had been a good witch; so they had an inside track.
They had experienced the wrath of a bad witch while young.
It was imperative they keep saving good witches, so they did.
Poets have a feel for love
That others don't seem to possess
Our love seems deeper, much more intense
More emotionally charged I stress
Could be just a poet talking
Perhaps a bit bias what I'm saying
Never been accused of playing by the rules
I'm a “spade is a spade” type being
Now and then I bend my rules
Break out of my mould so to speak
But this does appear so very obvious to me
When us guys are at our peak
As a poet I have an inside track
On the thinking process of us guys
We talk about love with an inner perspective
We know about lows and highs
Poets have a feel for love
We're all quite unique in that way
Most poets can see love wherever they look
Filled with sweet love every day
if an atomic bomb is dropped, the cockroaches will survive.
we might not make it, but they will. They always have.
during the ice age, during the pandemics, during Armageddon.
they have the inside track on how to outlive everyone.
roach motels will take on a new meeting
you will have roach designers, roach engineers, roach undertakers
no one will scream "ooh!" when they see a roach
roaches will become the mayor, governor and president
if you are the only person who survives, enjoy the cockroaches.
your doctor, dentist, pharmacist and teachers will be of this species.
they will push you under a microscope to figure out how you survived.
remember not to squirm and smile pretty.
Max, the politician, wields a razor-sharp axe,
Slicing his chicken-bleep opponents' necks and backs.
"How dare they accuse me of power politics?" Max asks,
Innocent jowls masking the jaws of a shark's attack.
His gangland campaign staff for money never lacks;
Max' men shake down local pimps, and dealers of cocaine and crack.
As for the fuzz, Max is hip; he's got the inside track:
Scoring deals for them on the best ecstasy and smack.
First elected back in '72, Max walked the length and breadth of the state,
A reformer, he was, a renegade; at least the voters thought so and fell for the bait.
Ensconced in palatial power ever since, Max has glad-handed, partied, drank, and ate.
A 'politician's pol' all these years, his formidable paunch and polling punch have proven great.
Belly out over his belt, this balloon of a man once again challenges fate,
Can he hang on again in 2018, or will this be Max' last hurrah on the party's election slate?
alone one night
in his living room
the lamp came to life
appearing to bloom
a peaceful aura
breathing out
the inner spirit
without a doubt
it all became one
and smiled back
sharing a subtle truth
an inside track
with eyes wide open
pouring out love
he found tears of joy
released from above
From Empty Pages: The Poetry of Silence
Available on Amazon
______________________
S-tart to have the inside track,
O-n the twenty-sixth of November;
P-ut on faith, hope, and love,
H-aving the trust in the Father.
I-nside track for the victory is found in your heart;
A-im at the sweetest success, see the failure falls apart.
C-ount on your inside track,
A-n advantageous position;
S-avor the promise of God
T-o His one chosen nation.
R-emain focused at what lies ahead, let not your eyes look at the back;
O-pen your heart and soul to God-given inside track.
I thought I had the inside track,
I really thought I knew,
What goes on inside my head,
But I didn't have a clue.
I'm so glad you told me;
So glad you set me straight.
Without you to tell me,
What would be my fate.
The pettiness and jealousy,
I didn't know I feel,
Was very plain to your keen eye,
You know what's there for real.
Folks like you are rare, it's true.
You read folks like a book;
And then you read between the lines.
You know what really cooks.
I thought I was feelin' fine,
But you could see my misery.
If it weren't for folks like you,
Why war would just be history.
When we hold a world whereat it's leaders, so to speak...
Worship statues, themselves, silver as gold, multi-coloured
Warped castles power as dust be their, paper lust ? then, what
Should one expect but yes, the darkest of venues indeed; orbiting
Circling, his black hole; chasing furry bunnies with cleavers for paws
Uncle Mad Hatter and Aunt Jezabel; vote for me you see an inside track ?
Old money honey willed as dispersed in a hearse of a verse by, a gaffy goat.
Poets have a feel for love
That others don't seem to possess
Our love seems deeper, much more intense
More emotionally charged I guess
Could be just a poet talking
Perhaps a bit bias what I'm saying
Never been accused of playing by the rules
I'm a “spade is a spade” type being
Now and then I bend my rules
Break out of my mould so to speak
But this does appear so very obvious to me
When us guys are at our peak
As a poet I have an inside track
On the thinking process of us guys
We talk about love with an inner perspective
We know about lows and highs
Poets have a feel for love
We're all quite unique in that way
Most poets can see love wherever they look
Filled with sweet love every day
© Jack Ellison 2013
Road Rager Gnome
There I was a going home,
4pm traffic going flowing,
driving me little Corolla, going,
when I saw this fool Road Rager ,
he seemed to lunge his car at me ,
and stop just short deliberately,
to try to cast some fear, in me,
just a bit of temper black,
I must have cut him off, perhaps,
His new Ford shining glass like wax,
He flew up the inside track,
And cut me off sharply,
Whack,
I’d left the braking a little late,
My bumper bruised 2 doors his fate,
His fear now multiplying,
Me ole car was critisising,
this silly flaming chap,
He roared amongst on-coming cars,
Put one on the footpath, shocked alas,
Flew down a side-street, so harassed,
His tyres had smoke arising,
So I kept on a driving home,
No bumper bent on me bloody own,
A lesson taught, the Rager Gnome,
Don’t try it I’m advising.
Don Johnson
A lot of people I use to know are gone now; and Roe;
Her brother went three days later; and it rocked me hard;
He was only three years older than I am.
So I suppose it follows that I wish I still knew you.
Too many improprieties and apparently I’ve gotten stupid;
Trying to make things happen; as if maybe I had an inside track.
I tried not to let it go like that; but that’s where it went.
I thought I knew what I was doing; but I guess not.
I use to dance hard, run fast and now;
There’s no one left that I use to know
I couldn’t quit; too hip; and armed with Teflon;
Life left me wanting; in a place with so little in which to sustain
Gray Ghost Queen is seen streaking 'cross
The back acre. She opens the doors. Sits in
Front seat honking for her master to come.
She accompanies him, a constant companion.
First she sees me off, on the bus to school.
One tragic morning, she's on the inside track.
I felt a thump, got off the bus. Lay on carpet.
As I cried, her master descended the stairs.
He was quietly reasurring - let me stay home.
Roy buried her in the backyard, by the stream.
Pulling parts against the will
lust leads on so damn still
I borrowed her heart and pain
She quietly left a soul stain
Breathing out the inside track
A love filled man-o-sack
Portions play into her skin
I long to be her only sin
Bursting stars fall beneath her dress
Silk and lace argue and then confess
A dream pours tears upon her bareness
While I lust deep within her weirdness
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