Category Archives: Acting Profession

CD and Book

Singing and writing, who’s fighting?

I fight myself and sometimes win.

Is it too late to begin?

I nearly built a shop down a street where no one goes.

I still may do it, who knows?

Maybe someone lost their way.

Why not walk down and stay?

Bring something home with you, you may share it too.

If you wish to hear and see then come along with me.

I don’t cost much, not much, a widow’s mite.

Why fight?

Tich Ennis

17th October, 2017

Advertisements

Santa Claus

Not believing in Santa Claus doesn’t mean there isn’t one, you are responsible for your own belief.

Don’t give me grief.

At one time people believed the Earth is flat.

Fancy that.

So therefore you could be wrong.

Can you sing a song?

You may think so but what do others say?

Go away?

Are you looking forward to a Christmas present, be youPagan, Christian or Jew?

Or Muslim, to name but a few.

Possibly one will come.

Son of a gun.

The circulation of the blood and many other things were not believed.

Are you easily deceived?

Who gets your vote, who has you by the throat?

Speak up, spit it out.

Have you found out?

What makes you so sure?

Do roses grow well in manure?

Wherein lies your expertise?

Birds and bees?

Almost no one knows anything, that’s a fact.

Some actors don’t know how to act.

Consult yourself, what do you know?

One thing is sure, a snail moves slow.

Therefore, hang up your sock on Christmas Eve.

Santa Claus will tell you what to believe.

Or maybe he did long ago.

What do I know?

The Earth is round.

Sound.

I may speak the truth incidentally.

Do you know many like me?

Tich Ennis

11th October, 2017

 

Stupidity

Me: In the seventeen hundreds someone wrote a book which is still in print with the title Great Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds.

He: Brilliant.

Me: If he was alive today he could update it. It was about the South Sea Bubble and people paying ten thousand pounds for a tulip bulb. I can sell you a tulip bulb for only five thousand, do you want it?

He: No.

Me: Do you ever say to yourself how can people be so stupid?

He: I’ve given up asking that.

Me: In Cork there was a thing called Empowering Women. A man in England was said to have his tongue so firmly in his cheek no one knew it was there. I sometimes feel like laughing but don’t. What about men? Isn’t that sexist? It was a scam, a pyramid scheme. People who were taken in were interviewed, none of them said they were to blame.

He: They never do.

Me: One woman said she knew it was a racket but if she got in and out quick at an early stage she would make money, so she did. That’s like saying I don’t believe in prostitution but I have a brothel and it makes money, so that’s alright.

I said to a lawyer there’s a saying I can’t remember, when something seems too good to be true it usually is, sometimes is or always is. He said, usually.

When people are taken in by a confidence trick its because of gullibility, naivety, stupidity and greed. Stupidity can be defined as not thinking. Do they never read anything?

He: No.

Me: I remember saying years ago that my mother could spot a con man at twenty paces. Honest people can. They try to ingratiate themself with you, like Gay Byrne. That might be unfair.

He: To the conman.

Me: I said to an English couple, who didn’t talk at all, that Tony Blair was like a TV personality. Gordon Brown trained himself to smile.   You could see him doing it, it didn’t work. He should not become a comedian, maybe an undertaker. Television is a supeficial medium, its concerned with appearance, not reality.

Alec Douglas Home said there should not be television debates at elections. The best actor with the best script would win. Tony Blair.

         In the eighteen fifties in America there were snake oil salesmen, real snake oil salesmen. Methaphors come from something literal. When someone bought some as a cure all they would be followed onto the train and cheated out of their house. If they fall for snake oil they will fall for anything.

When Billy Graham was in London there were people going around local houses saying they were from the Billy Graham organisation and if you paid twenty pounds you would get into Heaven. Some people paid.  I read that out to my mother and said how can people be so stupid?

She said I’ll pay when I get there.

Tich Ennis

15th September, 2017

What You Say

No one thinks anyone means what they say like have a nice day.

Could they care less if you fell into a hole and shrivelled up your soul?

I am a fool who cannot lie.

I don’t know why.

I don’t fit into this world, this Earth, this planet.

I never met a girl called Janet.

I cannot work out a subterfuge.

My brain is not huge.

If you meet me, tolerate.

My suffering is very great.

Who treats people as meaning what they say? I do.

I mean you.

I suppose I was not treated exactly as a fool at school.

Where we were taught the golden rule.

I believed it but others went straight out into the yard and beat up small boys very hard.

Into their faces they would spit.

A cynic might say I was taught to be a hypocrite.

That’s something I did not learn, I treat words as true.

How about you?

To say I am perfect would be to create a wrong impression.

Others in my place suffer from depression.

In a mad bad world remaining sane gives me a pain.

I cannot pretend I neither hear nor see.

Who is blind and deaf? Not me.

I believe I see things as they are.

Including the guiding star.

You are what you are.

Should I tear out my eyes as in a myth from Greece?

I considered suicide but prefer peace.

No, I will not kill myself, I leave that to you.

You who spit in people’s faces, the rotten crew.

Among the slaves on board this boat are some brave and honest men.

Lest they suffer in silence I take up my pen.

The pen, they say, is mightier than the sword.

When you speak should I believe a word?

Big and small dictators I’m watching you.

When you stop your parrot talk you will be true.

You drive many round the bend but not me, I was born a fool.

As I said I met your kind at school.

I had and have a friend or two, that old word, good.

I see the tree, I see the wood.

Don’t let me be misunderstood.

Is understanding what you fear?

Then don’t lie into my ear.

I do understand you, the spitting kind, all too well.

You make life Hell.

You wish to create fear, and do.

There are degrees of course of all things.

Stop behaving like kings.

Don’t sneer, don’t condescend, don’t act superior.

Stop making people feel inferior.

Because I don’t mention you by name don’t think I don’t know your game.

You are responsible for worldly ills, drug addiction, madness, suicide, your treatment kills.

I am an old fool, on that we can agree, I speak of what I saw and see.

Who would listen to a fool like me?

Inhumanity is wrong.

I love a song.

To list all cruelties would take all day.

Be careful what you say.

I have not gone away.

Tich Ennis

4th September, 2017

 

Knife

A surgeon and a murderer have reasons for cutting with a knife.

One to give and one to take a life.

Motive matters, above all else the reason why.

One wants you to live, the other die.

A knife is neither good nor bad, the person using it is sane or mad.

Is a person how they want to be?

Yes, so it seems to me.

Whether they be rich or poor or somewhere in between.

Or from wherever or whoever, they write and act their scene.

Tich Ennis

2nd September, 2017

Court

Blackening one person’s name does not make another’s white.

If you believe that of yourself, goodnight.

So are some people shades of grey as far as you may know?

Including yourself, you ought to know.

Who is your judge and who are you to judge?

Yourself I say, and do not fudge.

As far as I am concerned the jury’s out.

I am inclined to give myself the benefit of the doubt.

Tich Ennis

3rd September, 2017

Prize Poem

Should I enter for a poetry competition when I never win?

To quote myself, when do I begin?

Has it all been said before, who am I to speak?

A nobody yet somebody my voice has not grown weak.

I speak for all who speak for true, I speak for me, I speak for you.

Do I need to win a prize?

I walk under rainy skies.

A poet lives, a poet dies.

A prize would come as a surprise.

To an unknown such as I.

I dare ask why.

I do not believe a lie.

I butter up no buttercup.

So I am told to shut up.

My answer, no.

So on I go.

The fee is money down the drain.

Irish criminals live in Spain.

Is it a crime to write in rhyme?

I write for now and all time.

I mean what I say.

Meanwhile the world puts on a play and looks the other way.

I do not want a prize, acclaim.

Here below I write my name.

Money would be welcome, who pays for poetry?

Don’t ask me.

I live in Hell, all is not well.

An artist describes what he sees.

Who wants truth in times like these?

Who makes honey, honeybees.

So alone I wander on.

If I enter, money gone.

Am I sorry just for me?

No, I’m sad for history.

Will I, won’t I, should I do it?

Its only money, there’s nothing to it.

I am in two minds, as you may see.

A schizophrenic, that’s me.

Who will win, someone better?

Or in common parlance, wetter.

Come on world, must do better!

I’ll leave it at that.

As Shakespeare said, I smell a rat.

There’s something rotten in the state.

I hold my nose, await my fate.

This poem may go on too long.

Am I right or am I wrong?

Should I take up writing prose?

I don’t know, maybe, I suppose.

God knows.

Tich Ennis

2nd September, 2017