Monthly Archives: October 2016

Preening Poetry

If you can understand a word of this I failed.

I am a poet not yet jailed.

Is modern poetry mad or sad or bad?

If you don’t read it, be glad.

There is a lot of rubbish here on Earth.

For what its worth.

Taking it seriously is a mortal sin.

When will sanity begin?

Strange words, meaning nothing, absolute rubbish, obfuscation.

Truth needs no clarification.

Are politicians poets too?

More sense is spoken in a zoo.

A fog of words meant to impress and confuse.

That’s not poetry, you give me a headache, don’t abuse.

Words are sacred, so is meaning.

Be it, say it, do it, stop your preening.

Tich Ennis

31st October, 2016


I need something to put my clothes on.


I could hang them on a tree.

Then everyone would see.

Naked me.

I could hide behind a bush.

Not to blush.

I was thinking of becoming a suicide bomber but I’m not sure what cause to do it for.

Possibly, ending war.

This may seem as from a different poem but you see I took a break.

Did I make a mistake?

That question is rhetorical, who are you, the Oracle?

Tich Ennis

27th October, 2016


May I believe in you, oh true.

There is nothing else to do.

I wish for belief.

No grief.

An Autumn leaf.

Beautiful colour on the ground.

Return to Earth, safe and sound.

You are around.

Hoping against hope not to be a dope.


I walk across Niagara Falls.

Avoiding squalls.

May I not put a foot wrong.

I sing your song.

I get along.

The other side seems far away.


When I get there I dance and sing.

You are my king.

My everything.

Tich Ennis

29th October, 2016


Is reading aloud allowed?

Before we don the shroud?

Pardon me for introducing a funereal note into the conversation.

Cheer up, it might never happen, your evaporation.

He who would make a pun would pick a pocket said some man who wouldn’t.

I do though I shouldn’t.

Lets see, what else can I say here or there?

Did you ever see a bare bear?

Hair loss may be to your regret.

If a hare lost its hair would it fret?

Tich Ennis

28th October, 2016

The Perfect Poem

Will it ever exist?

Have I got writer’s cramp in my wrist?

You will have to wait for the real thing.

Sooner or later it may come along, maybe next Spring.

In the meantime don’t be disappointed.

This poem is disjointed.

I know this is rubbish but roses grow in dung.

I prepare the way for the song not yet written, the singer has not sung.

I live in Ireland and in hope.

Throw me a rope.

I won’t hang around much longer.

Maybe your rope is stronger.

Tich Ennis

28th October, 2016


Nobody expects it, will it happen?


The world is a mess.

There are words, joy and infinity.

They mean a lot to me.

In fact, the lot.

They’re all I’ve got.

I have not got a lot.

When will they come, if ever?

I am hoping, not never.

Or hardly ever.

Music is a sign.

Do not waste time.

Enjoy what is here to enjoy.

Play with your toy.

This poem is simple.

A baby’s dimple.

Tich Ennis

13th October, 2016


Bank Letter

13th October, 2016

 Bank of Ireland

Dear Corporation,

Why do you allow people to debit my credit card when it has gone over limit? You make your own rules and break them. Am I allowed the same privilege you grant yourself?

May I not pay any charges you have allowed in breach of your own rules? Are rules for little people? How about obeying your own rules? Why not?

On Friday last I asked a pin-striped manager at your Arklow branch to inform me whether an email I received ostensibly from your organisation asking for my details was or was not a scam. I gave him the email and my phone number. He said he would contact me with an answer that day. He did not. Today I went in again and asked again. With the same result, nothing, no answer.

An Irishman, possibly you, said we’re Irish, we don’t do rules. I am also Irish. May I follow your rules even if you don’t? And refuse to pay any charges on my over-limit credit card? Would you like that? How do you like rules?   Not when they apply to you, apparently.

I note you charge an overlimit fee. How dare you?

The seventh circle of Hell, the lowest, is reserved for bankers. I understand why.   I don’t wish to live in Hell. I am careful about the company I keep, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I await your response but please don’t feed me waffle. Are you politicians?   It seems so.

Thank you very much for paying my bills. This is an unexpected pleasure.   I was unaware you are a charitable organisation.

Please keep it up. If I had a mortgage would you pay it?

If I labour under a misapprehension please enlighten me.

Lighten our darkness,

David Ennis,



Tich Ennis

13th October, 2016