Monthly Archives: September 2016


Smoking is an awful curse, much worse than heroin, much worse.

It kills far more, it is addiction, you can cure yourself, my prediction.

Read Allen Carr, he saved a million lives, less tears from men and children and wives.

Its easy to give up, do it instantly, don’t be a sucker like me.

I will read the Allen Carr book twice, I am slow to take advice.

Nicotine addiction goes very soon, the mental brainwashing in an afternoon.

Read and sing his tune.

The world is brainwashed, thinking poison good.

I would cure it if I could.

Touch wood.

Tich Ennis

28th September, 2016

The Best I Can Do

For you.

Me too.

And no one notices at all.

Graffiti on the wall.

As good as Banksy, I don’t know.

It only goes to show.

Have I a clue?

Sherlock Holmes had one or two.

The dog that didn’t bark in the dark.

I made a park.

They turned it into a parking lot as some American singer said.

Neither she nor I are dead.

That’s what she said.

Paradise is nice.

Or was and is.

Drink lemonade I made.

Enjoy the fizz.

The verb to be is me.


Tich Ennis

30th September, 2016

Lone Voice

A lone voice cries, be wise.

No one hears, we don’t want to know.

So on we go.

There’s none so blind as those who don’t want to see was said to me.

What everyone know is wrong is my song.

Why can’t we get along?

When and where did we go wrong?

Its been said, self-first is worst.

What can you do? Be true.

Is there an answer to cancer?

True care and doing what should be done.

So yes.

Don’t mess.

You are my choice.

Lone voice.

Tich Ennis

30th September, 2016


The sleeping monster wakes.

From his somnolent sleep.

The Leviathan awakes.

With promises to keep.

He has endured vicissitudes.

That word, look it up.

At last his time is here to put up or shut up.

He can talk the talk.

Can he walk the walk?

He is a wordy man.

A man without a plan.

Is he worthy?

Is he earthy?

A question deserves an answer.

From a chancer.

Rock and roll dancer.

This emperor has no clothes.

And knows words no one knows.

All I shall reveal.

Its all about feel.

Keep listening, looking, trying.

An end to crying.

And dying.

Tich Ennis

29th September, 2016


Eddie The Eagle

I would win a poetry competition if no one else entered.

Myself I mentored.

I am a slow learner, slow burner.

Are you? Me too.

Is this the greatest poem ever written if no one else ever wrote one ever?

In that case yes, never say never.

This will last forever.

Goodbye Shelley, Byron, Wordsworth, you got there first.

I am the worst.

I lost the human race to my utter disgrace.

I died.

At least I tried.

No medal, no ribbon, no glory.

End of story.

Tich Ennis

28th September, 2016

Old Gold

Why do people only want the new, what’s wrong with the old?

Old can be as good as gold.

Your parents are older than you.

Where would you be without them, is that true?

The new is made from the old, after all.

You will be old if you don’t fall.

Old stuff can be good stuff, good stuff lasts.

We all have pasts.

Old ways and sayings are often good and wise.

Time tested truth is not a pack of lies.

Open your eyes.

Tich Ennis

27th September, 2016


Response Time

Don’t expect an instant response from others, you won’t get one from me.

You might wait seventy years for a cup of tea.

If you ask nicely, all is well.

Otherwise, go to Hell.

I am seventy-five and glad to be alive.

No jive.

Don’t be polite or nice, be good.

I should.

When you get it right I might too.

After you.

Tich Ennis

26th September, 2016

A surprise

Dancing Naked in Public

No one ever heard of me, should I care? And I’m not even a painter, I’m a writer and film maker, sometimes. Technophobe too, this is all screwed up, I don’t know what to do. Visit my youtube channel and from there my blog, its more substantial. I am an old neophyte, I don’t bite. Goodnight, Tich Ennis


Cody Delistraty | Longreads | September 2016 | 16 minutes (4,104 words)

If the contemporary art world seems like a place of pretension, status-seeking, and giant checks being paid through Larry Gagosian and David Zwirner, then it’s the critic Jerry Saltz who may be the last hope of bringing us all back down to earth. As Saltz once wrote: although contemporary art may not be of everyone’s taste, it’s still for everyone.

Born in Oak Park, Illinois, Saltz went to the Chicago Art Institute wanting to be a painter but dropped out; he soon became a long-distance truck driver, but after a decade of driving, he decided life couldn’t get any worse and that he might as well go back to his truest passion. So in the early-1980s, with no formal degree, he moved to New York and entered the art criticism scene, writing mostly for the Village Voice

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Monday, 26th of September, 2016


I hesitate to write. Infinity is a large subject, and is and is not here. I am at the café with a coffee and a cigarette and no money having spent almost my last penny on a third coffee.

I thought I would write when I got home to Reality, around the corner, but why not now?

I cannot send you those discs with the talks on infinity because I cannot get my cd recorder to work, including the new one I bought last weekend. Barry, as I said, has concussion from a knee in the head he got while at ju-jitsu on Sunday. He was to come and I hoped to get him to fix things so I can make recordings. But that was not to be, so you must wait for my cd’s and music I promised you. Another must wait too, the other Michael. I have his music at home, but there it must stay until another day.

With this letter I send you several things. A photograph of Michael’s redbrick house taken by himself at my request showing its name, Sin E, That’s It or That’s That in the English language translated from Irish, the sign made in wood by Louis Clear, carpenter, who made the sign for our house, nameplate, Reality, also in wood. We live in reality.

Michael’s house has a redbrick wall around and a yellow brick road to the door, put there by himself very recently, using skilled labour. Very tasteful, very good, a credit to him and all concerned.

Also here a printout made by George from a book on Irish newspapers about the paper I worked on when young and foolish, the Southern Star, incorporating the Skibbereen Eagle. Those were the days!

Anyway, infinity. In the talks on disc this is discussed from the view of the ancient Greeks to the present day, philosophically, theologically, mathematically and cosmologically and I don’t know what else. Immortality, do we want it? This question is raised as a point for discussion and discussed for some length but not to infinity.

Mathematics, amazingly enough, proves that mathematics does not work. Some mathematicians went mad, possibly realising their work was in vain. So also did Babbage, father of computing.

Am I mad? You may well ask. I have been so diagnosed. R. D. Laing said insanity is the only sane response to living in an insane world. I disagree, sanity for me.

I apologise for not sending you infinity with this letter, this is due to circumstances beyond my control. You must wait for infinity, and music.

I will put this letter on my blog when I get home and post it to you today, circumstances permitting. I may even read it to you on the phone, who knows?

It is not often that the gift of infinity is offered, buy now while stocks last.

This is a taste of things to come.

All things come to he who waits.

With love from David.


I will also send you the disc on the Emerald Elvis, as promised. I am not forgetting.

The world forgetting by the world forgot.

And I quote. C’est la vie. Say the old folks, which goes to show you never can tell. (Chuck Berry).

More later.

I go home.

Infinity is worth waiting for.


Tich Ennis

26th September, 2016


Something else:

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