Yule Donkey

Did nobody think of the donkey,
That carried Mary to the manger
In all the nativity scenes and stories
Amid all that high celebration?
The donkey was lowly, the lowest
And the low of Christmas,
Who is not marked by cards
Or decorations or even a carol
Celebrating its part in Christ’s birth.
Nobody thinks of the donkey,
That walked the miles to Bethlehem,
Over rough, broken ground,
In hot weather, carrying a woman
Carrying the son of God.
Heavy load for a poor mistreated animal,
The forgotten donkey of Christmas.
If it happened in Spain
There would be an outcry, a call
For holidaymakers to stop spending
Their cash, unless the donkey is saved
By the good people at The Sun.
But nobody thinks cares, or saves
The donkey of Christmas.
Not even the Daily Mail.

Grayson Ellis, 2005
Unpublished.

Merry Christmas

On behalf of Grayson, may I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year. Grayson will be away in America until the second week in January and will be unable to reply to your letters until that time.

Up On Scarford Peak

As though bitten by weasels
My skin pained
By the striven wind
Incessant rain
As though spoons were placed
Upon my eyelids and raped
By the unceasing choir
Of cutlery in drawer.

Grayson Ellis (c) 1963
From ‘Pikey’

Confession No. 11

I have tasted human flesh,
Though the colour varied
As did the sex.
In Brazil, the first was soft but firm,
Tender and that shade of ochre
Poets turn into sunsets
Or fields of something ripe.
He was not ripe, no sunset
To warm my face, though
My cheeks did burn
Beneath him.
I still taste human flesh,
Though the colour varies,
As does the sex.

Grayson Ellis, 1989
‘Confessions’

Competition Winner

The winner of the signed copy of 'Spiked Armadillo Juice' is Ms. Anne Scarebrook from North Yorkshire. The correct answer was, of course, 'Tinned Mouth'. Many thanks for everybody who entered. Grayson was delighted to hear that there were so many of you who wanted a signed copy of his collection.

Snowfall

Knee deep in the driven snow,
High up in the hills, I was lost
From you, her, and from the world.
The weather had come in from
The West, where bad things dwell,
Capitalism, corporate America,
The breasts you found me gorging
When I was feeling low.
You said I shouldn’t have sought
Pleasure there, but how I was I to know
That you would cast me out,
And I would wander cold, until
Death was the only way forward?
How was I to know there was no way
Back.

Grayson Ellis, Sheffield, 1983
Unpublished.