Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Ellen Mckinnon Poems
Who Are We?
What makes us who we are? Is it where we grow? Who surrounds us? Or the way we express ourselves?
Age is but a Number
Age is but a number, nothing less, nothing more For a white-haired man could still be selfish and petty, Where a young boy could be giving and moral Though the white-haired man is safe and protected,
War is a demon, with blood dripping fangs, Who cause the death from the shot of a gun to the old man hangs, Do you hear the demon laugh, a sound of gunfire and screams, If you survive this demon, you balance on sanity's thin beams,
Tell me, answer me, for you may have one, How is it that the ones we rely on, turn? The ones who judge and thoughtless, band and sing empty praise and feel fulfilled? Yet the single lost follower, is left with empty heart alone?
I Wish For Peace
What I wish for on midnight's first star, Is to cure the war that reaches from afar, Not for my own soldiers, not for my own men, But for their's as well, the wives and children that they defend,
Ever felt a hand on your sholder but there was nothing there to see, There could be many lies you tell yourself, but only think It could be, Only the Fae can touch a mortal, be seen without being seen, They Fae like to play, to trick though they can not lie, their truth is just as mean,
Stories vs. Humanity
Many wonder why one so young, loses themselves in books so, Some snob intelligence some sneer insanity, Yet the answer is, the characters in books and words, do not lie, They tell a story of love or life or find.
Life is a delicate flame, Touch to much, can you feel the pain? But let it be? The flame spreads untamed and free, A gentle touch, with one set of hands is the key,
Even after the smoke has cleared, I can still feel my fear, For the bang of the guns and the cries of death, Still ring in my ears, and are all that's left,
Comments about Ellen Mckinnon
(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)
Who Are We?
What makes us who we are?
Is it where we grow?
Who surrounds us?
Or the way we express ourselves?
For me, for you, for us
Is it courage to fight back?
Or control to walk away?
Is silence from you calming waters? Or Crashing Waves?
Truth is, we are who we are by our very breath
We define ourselves and although there are similarities between us,
Each and Everyone one of us are