Category: Blind John Ellsworth

A Brief Comment

People read my collected works.
I see page hit numbers every day.
Some people even enjoy my words.
They hit the “like” button. Yay!
Yet, almost no-one ever comments.

Comments are hard work.
You have to open a little window,
You have to type in sentences.
Basically, you have to think.
Thinking is hard.
“Like” is easier.

I really shouldn’t complain,
Since I hardly comment on other people’s works.
Mainly, for the reasons stated above. 
Who likes to think for fun? 
I barely think when I’m paid for it. 

Maybe, next year, I will have a resolution
To comment more on other people’s creativity. 
I will like it and comment why. 
It will confuse some of those people. 
(That’s just a bonus.)

Chunky Blues

Editor’s Note: This is pulled from the archives. On a long road trip in 2001, Blind John Ellsworth drove through the town of Chunky, Mississippi. His first thought was “In the annual Miss Mississippi pageant,  who would want to be named Miss Chunky?” This piece is dedicated to all the Chunky women, wherever they may be. 

Walked into Chunky, Mississippi
And whatever did I see?
But a pretty Chunky woman
Who was smilin’ back at me

I love my Chunky woman
She loves to hold me tight
Along the Chunky River
On a Mississippi night

We moved out to Virginia
The best place I could find
Drivin’ my old pickup
With a wide load behind

No matter where we wander
From sea to shinin’ sea
My Mississippi baby
Is a Chunky girl to me

Monday Morning

Woof. Woof. Woof.
Oh. God. No. It’s Monday.
Four out of five dogs are asleep.
One Shih-Tzu without a snooze button.

I did not have enough fun this weekend
To explain feeling this bad right now.
How am I hung-over without drinks?
Time to find my motivation.

A shower always helps.
Except on Mondays.
On Mondays, it just makes you damp.
Maybe I should work at home.

Let’s see. It’s ten after seven.
Meetings start at nine.
So, I’m already late for work.
I hate Dallas traffic.

I would just call in sick, but
I’m not in third grade anymore,
And Mom wouldn’t come make soup.
(She didn’t last Monday, anyway.)

Spousal Unit just reminded me
That her first appointment is at noon.
She will be back in bed before I leave.
I will poison her coffee on the way out.

It’s time to go.

Road Rage

An idiot cut me off yesterday.
I saw her in the corner of my mirror.
She was weaving through traffic
Like a halfback running for daylight.

I slowed down so she could squeeze by me.
She missed me (barely), then saw her chance.
As she accelerated far beyond the limited speed,
I thought “She’s going to have an accident.”

I usually think “I hope you have a wreck.”
But I didn’t want to get involved this time.
It was the weekend and I was already busy.

Apparently, someone thought she should wreck,
Because a moment later, we heard brakes locking.
We saw smoking tires and bright red lights.
Then, we heard the silence of anticipation.

Accident.

Like a couple of happy drunks in Vegas,
Two cars joined together and immediately separated.
The results were just as damaging.

Everyone around the scene froze, not sure what to do.
The neighbors walked over to meet the victims.
“There’s two people who need a ride to work on Monday.”

People in both cars seemed alive and responsive,
Which means the Dallas cops won’t bother to visit.
Just exchange insurance and move the cars from traffic.

We slowly drove by, witnesses that weren’t needed,
Since someone got rear-ended by a speeder,
And the cops wouldn’t come anyway.

I’m glad I let her by, so she didn’t hit me.
I feel guilty I let her by to hit someone else.
Always check your mirrors for idiots.
They’re everywhere these days.

Where do you have to be on a Saturday afternoon?

The Battle of Virginia

The battle had raged for hours.
Friend had finally turned to foe.
As generals moved their pieces
On the battleground down below.

The Northern side were winning,
Shoving Rebels to and fro,
But their leaders still were worried,
Southern strength had yet to show.

When the words to lead elude you,
And there’s no place left to go.
You can never just surrender,
Victory is closer than you know.

Rules

I’m a Reverend, but this is as close to a sermon as I’ll  get.
In fact, it’s the first one I ever wrote.
I did a wedding once, but I didn’t have to say anything original.
It’s probably why they’re still married.

I do lead the invocations at KNON board meetings,
But that’s because I’m leading the meetings.
If the real Reverend is there, he gets to do it.
He’s better at it than I am.

Bow your heads and pray for the weekend.

I’m Christian by birth, so this is about the Rules I learned.
Buddha has some cool suggestions for living, too.
There are other sets of Rules available.
Ask your local preacher.

It’s interesting to consider that
Old Testament God had Ten Rules
(some about Him, some about people),
and New Testament God had Two
(both about love.)

New Testament God was a good editor, I suppose.
Maybe Old Testament God was being paid by the word.

Mel Brooks said Old Testament God had Fifteen Rules,
But that was to set up a sight gag.
It was pretty funny, actually.
I don’t think Mel Brooks is a theologian.

So, you either have two rules or ten that sum up
Everything you need to know about how to behave.
Assuming you’re Christian, were raised Christian,
Or you borrowed a Bible from a friend.

Yet, nobody told the Governments we elected.
They have thousands of rules.
They make more of them all the time.
None of them ever seem to go away.

Many of the rules are pretty silly, actually.
(There are websites dedicated to silly laws. Google it.)

Maybe we should try just following the Ten,
Instead of inventing even more that people won’t follow.
Even if you don’t believe in Old Testament God.
(Even if you don’t believe in any God. )
They’re pretty easy to remember.

Try to remember the Ten now.
I’ll wait.
This isn’t a quiz, so don’t worry if you don’t get them all.

Amazingly, none of the Ten are about
health care insurance,
smoking pot or
gay marriage.

You would think with all the press they get,
Those topics would have their own section.
Maybe our priorities are screwed up.

(I think gay pot-smokers should be able to marry and pool their insurance.)

If you can’t remember the Ten, just try to remember the Two.
Remember, New Testament God was a good editor.
He was only on Earth thirty-three years, so He had to get to the point.

“‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”
“This is the first and greatest commandment. “
“And the second is like it:  ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'”

I guess if you’re an atheist, you can just skip the first rule.
The second one will still work nicely while you’re alive.
Before you go wherever atheists go when they die.
(I hope it’s not Heaven, because that would annoy them.)

It’s interesting quoting the Bible when I may go to Hell.
Even if I am a Reverend.
It’s almost like Linus reciting verses to Charlie Brown in a TV show.
Maybe not.

Still, perhaps we should all just be civil to each other.
Love one another.
That’s something new to try.
Shall we?

Sports Center

Some people around here (I’m looking at you, Tony Romo)
Get paid rather enormous amounts of money each year
To fail in different and increasingly epic ways.

Maybe next year.

Sometimes, I think sports is the main reason
That “Epic Collapse” was invented as a phrase.
(Bridges are the other reason, and that’s worse.)

Only sports has a one-hour annual event
That requires sixteen hours of airtime on TV.

Some people seem relieved when the home team loses.
They’re out of contention. Failures. Doomed.
However, it does give you the rest of the season off to just relax.

Maybe next year.

But, sometimes, rarely,
After struggles and discord,
After playing through the pain,
After enough players thank God and Mom,
The home team are crowned the Champions of the World.

They’re the best!
They’re the winners!
We rock!

Maybe next year.

My team was crowned Champions a few years back.
The next day, I drove in bad traffic to a job that still sucked.
My pay did not increase and I didn’t get laid that night.

Does it really matter if the home team wins?