Category Archives: Advertising

Gullible Audience

Given a gullible audience I could change the world.

I am David, a stone I hurled.

Gullible means easily led.

My followers, should you have stayed in bed?

If you are credulous, credit this.

It started with a kiss.

You believe yourself, I know you do.

Why not me too?

But, what have I said?

I am not dead.

I tell no lie.

I will never die.

Sometimes I cry.

To those who will not see I say believe me.

Stop believing lies.

Get wise.

Must I apologise?

Truth never lies.

Mad. Glad. Sad. Not bad.

Truth is not for the faint hearted.

I have barely started.

You lead yourself, the truth leads me.

Wait and see.


More later, alligator.

Tich Ennis

14th November, 2018

The Royal Family

The royal family are wonderful people, I demur.

They have their saving graces, I concur.

If the royal princes weren’t born where they are would they be on the dole?

Could an ignoramus play their role?

The queen has crown jewels, the Irish had until 1910.

Someone stole them then.

I was not around, don’t blame me.

Someone else dunnit, you see.

What price pageantry?

Tich Ennis

11th November, 2018

My Sins

For my sins I smoke outside.

Some people never smoked and died.

When I die will I go to Hell?

Oh well.

You’d have no trouble getting a light there.

Heaven has fresh air.

The wind tries to blow out my lighter.

I look forward, things will be brighter.

I don’t believe in hypnotism, I want a certain cure.

I don’t smoke gangster cigarettes, I am too pure.

Choose your way of wasting money.

Freedom isn’t funny.

Well, not really.

Its touchy feely.

Now my trousers are falling down.

I am an unofficial clown.

Why do I smoke, to ease the pain.

Its subtly comforting, life has its strain.

Do as I say, not as I do.

My advice to you.

As Sherlock Holmes said, I haven’t got a clue.

My sins are scarlet, or maybe slightly pink.

I also drink.

Smoking costs me most.

I am the holy ghost.

Who burned the toast?

Why should I impose on you this infliction?

Its all to do with my addiction.

Tich Ennis

8th November, 2018


Your man thinks he knows everything but could he catch a calf, can he make a haystack?

If he saw things through my eyes would he think he was so wise?

I know he has two degrees, I’m sick of hearing about it, he brings me to my knees.

There’s no fool like an educated fool said some man who should know.

I have a herd of cattle to sell, I bought them this morning.

I would not have come if I knew you were here, next time give me warning.

You could bore for Ireland with all your show off talk.

You don’t impress me though you try, oh brother take a walk.

It takes all sorts to make a world and some of them are nuts.

Mr. Eccentric shut your mouth with all your ands and buts.

I see you coming and I groan.

End of moan.

This poem is incomplete, not a complete demolition job.

I’ll leave that to God.

Go ahead, tell him a thing or two.

That’s just like you.

I know this poem does not rhyme in every line.

Next time.

Tich Ennis

30th October, 2018


Am I advertising myself or God?

I am an ordinary bod.

Is ordinariness enough?

Have you enough of that stuff?

I speak in a silent voice.

Rejoice, read Joyce.

I know that second last line doesn’t mean much, I just thought it sounded well.

People who use the words just or well should go to Hell.

I mean in excuse, what’s the use?

God, speak for yourself your humble spokesman begs.

I will succeed when a cripple wins running without legs.

In other words never.

Miracles happen hardly ever.

Still I live in hope.

An unrepentant dope.

Shall I advertise the skies?

Blessed are they who don’t tell lies.

At last I shut up.

Enjoy your coffee from your cup.

I know this poem is not bad, not good, not quite.

Its morning now, I slept last night.

Tich Ennis

25th October, 2018

Coffee Shop

Am I the sole customer in the coffee shop?

Are bricks and mortar coming to a full stop?

Is mortality all its cracked up to be?

What about me?

Have I no one to talk to, no one with whom to converse?

It could be better, it could be worse.

Later I will go to the shopping centre, business is slow.

And to the cheap supermarket, then home I go.

The coffee shop is here, there are five.

Sometimes I wonder why am I alive.

What rhymes with strive?

Tich Ennis

17th October, 2018


Criticism has a bad name.

For shame.

It can be constructive or destructive.

If you want praise ask your mother.

Failing that, your pet brother.

Some don’t want to hurt your feelings so they don’t say what they think.

They drive an honest man to drink.

If you want the truth ask a stranger.

You may expose yourself to danger.

Don’t ask someone in the same field, like a farmer.

Can you cure a self harmer?

Be your own critic, charity begins at home.

If you are your greatest fan leave me alone.

The truth is funny, among other things.

Not greatly favoured by kings.

Should I issue a clarifying statement?

Some music should be subject to noise abatement.

Why should I explain to those who don’t want to know?

I hesitate to say I told you so.

Tich Ennis

4th October, 2018


God doesn’t believe in God, is that the trouble?

Did you go broke in the last bubble?

Some people say there is no Hell, how do they know?

Because the Devil told them so.

They believe in nothing they can’t see.

Is that like you and me?

A person who knows everything is God, of course.

A pantomime horse.

You meet them everywhere, common as air.

If you are God then I am snoring, because you’re boring.

Maybe it doesn’t suit you to believe.

Who’s fooling who, goodbye, I take my leave.

Tich Ennis

3rd October, 2018

Fooling People

A man told me PR is misunderstood.

He was a PR man, was he good?

If a missile site is planned for next door to you you become a target too.

What to do?

A PR man will tell you its alright, sleep at night.

Here come the bombs, look the other way, have a nice day.

Does the big lie always work, are you taken in?

Mr. Confusion whispers in your ear, the truth is a sin.

Or so he says, who are you to believe?

Not the man whose job is to deceive.

Tich Ennis

20th September, 2018

The Crock Of Gold

The Crock of Gold, written by James Stephens, is a neglected masterpiece of which I wish to make an audio recording. This is an intimidating prospect, the book may be two hours long when read aloud. Nothing less than perfection suits me, I am a hard taskmaster. Of myself.

The book is divided into five books and consists of eighteen chapters. I recorded ten of the chapters a few years ago but am not satisfied with my reading of them. So I will start all over again. Joe told me every recording should be made at least three times and select the best. One chapter is over sixteen minutes long to read. There is a pause button on my recording device.

I thought I read too quickly in the first four chapters I recorded and played back to myself, but from there on did better. Of course I would not record this book in one day. At home, with a good quality microphone and a pop filter, which a recording engineer said should be used. Sounds called plosives do not record properly otherwise. This week I will have a pop filter, an inexpensive item.

When the recording is finished, whenever that is, my plan is to have it mastered, as I did with my singing recordings. Mastering improves the sound quality by a large percentage. This costs money, the mastering. Recording this book will be a labour of love, and love costs.   Audio books sell, I have been told, and know from experience.

My plan then would be to put it up for sale on Bandcamp, which costs nothing to sell from, except a small percentage on sales, if any. The best laid plans of mice and men gang oft a-gley. I dislike telling people what I am going to do because it might never happen. However, in this case I make an exception.

The Crock of Gold is an exceptional book, and worth going out of your way for. Therefore I make an exception in its case. I never panic until its time to panic. I am unique because I am the only person in the world who is not unique.

Tich Ennis

10th September, 2018