Author: Blind John Ellsworth

Blind John Ellsworth (1960- ), a (questionable) poet and sometimes Texas bluesman. He has recorded one spoken-word album (thankfully unreleased), since he is still trying to learn to play guitar. (Lack of musical skills is what makes him a poet and not a lyricist. Plus, he can’t write music.)

Busy

Busy Day

This will be a busy week.
As I paddle up Shitz’ Creek.
I hope everything will go well.
Since lately things have gone to Hell.

Paul said it’s just Another Day.
We’re almost to the month of May.
I’m running out of good ideas.
What else rhymes with “flour tortillas”?

One more poem to make the month.
However, nothing rhymes with month.
I guess I need another word.
Luckily, none of this gets heard.

The Cedarville Line

It’s a long way to Ohio

Southbound on the Cedarville Line,
My Texas home is on my mind.
I’ve only got four States to go,
It’s a long, long way from Ohio.

Indianapolis goes flying by,
Someone behind me starts to cry.
I’m not the only one alone,
But at least (at last) I’m heading home.

The Land of Lincoln’s just a blur,
I turn around to look at her.
Her crying stopped a few miles back,
Now, it’s just the clicking of the track.

St Louis and the engines needed fuel.
The dining car refilled the gruel.
I grabbed another cup of joe,
Just a few more hours left to go.

Oklahoma, we just blew right past.
Next is Texas, home at last.
Cross the border to the Lone Star State.
Hurry now, let’s not be late.

Made it home on the Cedarville Line.
In fact, we made it right on time.
Texas underfoot at last.
Northbound before the summer’s passed.

Mom’s Lament

Well, at least she’s not bitter.

Nobody loves me,
Everybody hates me,
Guess I’ll go eat worms.

My dogs don’t love me,
Unless I’m bearing treats.
I try to hug and kiss them,
Guess I’ll admit defeats.

I let them out to play.
I feed them two squares a day.
They pee on the floor, it’s OK.
Their hair makes me sneeze more than hay.

Am I bitter?
Not even a bit.
So, they sit by Dad.
I won’t have a snit.

They really love me.
I’m sure of that.
But if I find they don’t,
I’m getting me a cat.

Murphy’s Lament

Murphy is a dog of few words.

Mom, why are you bleeping?
Can’t you see I’m sleeping?

I don’t need to pee outdoors.
I already did, over on the floor.

Is it time for me to eat?
If not, I’m going back to my seat.

I don’t like the lady with the scoop.
She harvests all the tasty poop.

You’re putting drops in my eyes?
Where is my tasty cookie prize?

Katie’s Further Lament

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Mommy woke me from my nap.
Lordy, what a load of crap.

I was deep inside a dream,
With a bowl of squirrel ice cream.

Then, I found myself awake.
She gave my little tail a shake.

I wish I had a can of Mace,
Or the energy to chew her face.

Instead, I’ll go outside and pee.
As I think, “Oh, woe is me.”

Rocky said, “Oh, woe is I.”
He’s such an educated guy.

Now, I lay me down to sleep.
My Mommy is a little creep.

I will chase her to New Delhi,
If she blows a bubble on my belly.