Category: Blind John Ellsworth

Irish Pirate

I am an Irish Pirate.
I drink Guinness every night.
I don’t have a pirate schooner,
So I never have to fight.

It’s hard to be a pirate,
When you can’t go off to sea.
So, I’m stuck here in the pub,
With just a pint or three.

I guess to be a pirate,
I need a large tattoo.
It’s just I don’t like needles,
So I never joined the crew.

I’m going to be a pirate.
I’m going to sail to sea.
I’m going to do it someday.
Just you wait and see.

In the meantime,
Another pint, please.

The River Pee

I’m surfing down the River Pee.
There’s darkness in my hall, you see.
Dogs should only pee in the yard.
But going out sometimes is hard.

So, as I slide along the floor,
I wonder which among our four,
Has left this river in the hall,
That’s now a lake after my fall.

I am an accidental engineer.
A dam’s design was never clear.
Yet, I dammed  the mighty River Pee.
I dammed it when I fell, you see.

It was not the only dam discussed.
I do admit, I may have cussed.
My wife is laughing really hard.
Why won’t her dogs pee in the yard?

Tex-Mex Blues

I love Tex-Mex food.
I would eat it every day.
Rice, beans and nachos,
What else is there to say?

It’s just sometimes,
There is a dramatic effect.
Like a volcano erupting somewhere,
Or a pilot forced to eject.

Today, my wife dragged me shopping.
She bribed me with Tex-Mex first.
We got to the store and I felt rumblings.
It’s not like something was about to burst.

I thought.

So, my colon blew out in WalMart,
I was stranded in the stall.
The guard came to check for theft,
But I hadn’t taken anything at all.

(Well, I took a dump. But, really, I left it. Thank you, George Carlin.)

A Dog’s Journal

I just had the bath from Hell.
What can I do to fix this smell?

I wonder if that thing is dead?
I guess I’ll rub it on my head.

That pile really smells like shit.
I guess I’ll have to roll in it.

I have to go and chase the birds,
So they won’t try to steal my turds.

I’m not eating all my day-old poop
I’m just recycling before the scoop.

Mom always yells when I eat crap,
So I dropped a nugget in her lap.

Mom keeps saying “Go away!”
I think that means I have to stay.

East Dallas Noah

Another day, 
Another flood.
— God

I will build a 100-cubit Ark
In the yard behind my house.
It holds my four fixed dogs
And my pre-menopausal spouse.

We will fill it with supplies,
Dog treats, my coffee and her tea.
We’ll watch the rain waters rise.
Then, it’s down the Trinity.

When we reach the Gulf,
Take a right to Cozumel.
I should have brought a shovel.
Whatever is that smell?

Forty days and nights of sailing.
It’s our longest-ever cruise.
We’ll even have the puppies.
What do we have to lose?

When the flooding does recede,
We’ll recover from the strife.
We can’t rebuild the world,
So, we’ll have a quiet life.

La Sagrada Familia

“Let’s go up!”, she had said.
“It’s good for your head.”
“It will help bring you closer to God.”
The ride up was fine,
It took almost no time.
Then she said, “We get to climb down.”

As she started ahead,
I had a feeling of dread.
I followed her down the way.
On the eighth step, I tripped.
I supposed I just slipped.
I fell forward, and landed head first.

I’ve been stuck in this tower,
For well over an hour.
Nobody’s coming to help.
I’ve screamed and prayed,
Tourists behind seem dismayed,
And the line is growing in length.

The tower’s elite
Grabbed my hands and my feet,
They pulled with all of their might.
No matter how hard they tried,
I’m still stuck inside.
They finally went off to lunch.

So, I’m stuck here on my own,
Wedged into cold stone.
I wonder if I will ever be free.
I’ve been so long stuck,
I learned French and German for “fuck”,
But that hasn’t helped me get down.

I’m pretty sure Gaudi
Did not have an “outie”.
This tower would not be so thin.
He drank wine in liters,
He measured towers in meters,
But my inches just won’t fit at all.

From Paris to Plano,
People are mailing in Drano.
At least the public is trying to help.
I awoke with a scream,
It was all just a bad dream.
I will plan our vacations alone.

Every night when I pray,
I give thanks for the day.
I ask for forgiveness of sin.
Then, I say “For twenty-four hours”,
“Lord, protect me from towers.”
Then, I can go off to sleep.

Thirty

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.

Thirty days hath NaPoWriMo.

Thirty poems is a lot.
Thirty good poems may be a bit much to ask.

I may have to go edit a few,
To make them more coherent.
Some, to make them coherent at all.

Thirty has one more meaning.
For the press (old school),
You will see -30- in articles.
It means “The End.”

-30-

(see you next year, or when the fever strikes.)