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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

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Fancy Free

Money and me are passing acquaintances, money is fancy free.

I borrow from a friend to bring music to you.

You and you and you and me too.

Artists only buy from each other an artist said.

Are we all artists before we’re dead?

I wrote a book, I sang a song, how long, oh Lord, how long?

For a joke God made a money tree.

I sit under the apple tree.

My pockets are empty, can’t you see?

Tich Ennis

16th October, 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

 

Bits Of Time

While I wait.

For my fate.

I have a date.

A date with doom and gloom?

I hope not soon.

In between I wait and wonder.

My heart is torn asunder.

No wonder.

I live in hope.

This dope.

I don’t need rope.

This seems rather sad.

I like glad.

But then I’m mad.

Fools rush in they say.

This is a good day.

I asked for a receipt but you did not give me one.

I gave you a tip, have fun.

I said I would pay at the desk but you walked away.

Do you never listen to what I say?

A poem is never finished it is abandoned, said a poet to me.

I agree.

So you came back and said my receipt is on the bar.

Can I walk that far?

Later still you left it on my table the receipt, not a bill.

So okay things are not as bad as at first appears.

Postpone your tears.

Then I sold a cd of me singing for full price, ten.

He said his ninety-two year old mother will listen to every word, when.

Then I sold another to a woman who lives across the street.

Good to meet.

She will pay at my front door.

I have one foot on the floor.

So all in all so far a good day.

All things come to he who waits.

Our postman does not shut gates.

Tich Ennis

1st September, 2017

Art Again

I don’t wish to be abstract,

that’s a matter of fact.

When will I act?

In the fullness of time after a bottle of wine.

In the meantime you may consider I’m not here.

I may be on the beer.

Strangers sometimes give me a drink.

That makes me stop and think.

I am real, I am true.

Are you?

Tich Ennis

31st August, 2017

Sock

Deer Oirish Riters’ Soc, I want to rite but should I?

I can’t spell, but what the Hell?

Does grammar matter, should a thin person be fatter?

A writer must have something to say more than have a nice day.

Nothing rhymes with I except die.

That’s not completely true, are you?

I’ll put a sock in it for now.

Have a nice day despite the rain anyhow.

Tich Ennis

16th August, 2017

Good In Parts

I am good in parts like a curate’s egg.

I do not have a wooden leg.

Some people should be brought down a peg.

But what of others, what of I?

I do my best before I die.

We can but try.

Far from perfect, okay.

Have it your way.

Not without a glimmer of hope.

Mostly, but not always a dope.

See the good and not the bad.

Sometimes the best of us are mad.

Tich Ennis

8th July, 2017