Category Archives: Ancient Greeks

Cure All

Did the ancient Greeks know it all, are we in a continuum heading for a fall?

Or will it work out alright after all?

Will we do the right thing after trying everything else first?

Are things going from bad to worst?

In many way things are getting better, such as in medicine, read the Zinoviev letter.

Yin and yang and light and dark, where art thou, divine spark?

May I mention Noah’s ark?

The Earth, for what its worth, is the location of your birth.

Mine too, welcome to the zoo.

The planet Mars is dead, its said.

Is the future of mankind taken as read?

Should I go to bed instead?

To sleep, perchance to dream.

Things are not as bad as they seem.

Ask a child eating ice cream.

You know what I mean.

Mars could have had inhabitants who tore their pants.

Is our future to be a dead star?

Is that what we are?

Well no, unless we make it so.

I like to end on a positive note, no nihilism please.

Atishoo, I sneeze.

The common cold is not a rare disease.

One day perhaps a cure will come.

Hot whiskey maybe, or cola mixed with rum?

Symptoms can depress, we need a cure.

It will be found when peace and love endure.

When poets are not poor.

Tich Ennis

5th January, 2018

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Orbit

It seems odd that poems often revert to source.

You may have noticed this, of course.

Back where they came from, they began.

This may be the poet’s plan.

Walk in a circle as the Earth around the Sun.

Back where you came from, where you begun.

You may say orbits are elliptical, of course.

That is if you studied in a bourse.

Look it up in a book if you must before you return to dust.

Or, as I now say, source.

Tich Ennis

27th December, 2017

Book and CD’s

15th Decenber, 2017

Michael,

Here is the book you asked for, recently published, The 50 Francis Street Photographer, compiled by his grand daughter, Suzanne Behan, photographs of people and places mostly in the Liberties area of Dublin, mostly in the 50’s and 1960’s.   Black and white photographs and nice large text.

Today I got the 50 duplicated CD’s of my Great Irish Songs CD from CD Duplication, the company, costing 60 euros including courier delivery, ordered by me only a few day ago. One enclosed here, with the printing on the CD as specified by me, although not exactly laid out to my specification.   Pretty good all the same, I think.

Here also is my design work for the artwork on the CD on an A4 sheet of paper, compare with the layout on the CD itself, I prefer mine, but ok. My idea is to redesign the CD cover as on the A4 page here, complete with surrounding green square and with the existing Vale of Avoca picture on the inside of the front cover, if I can get around to it. This sort of thing requires time, thought and know how and a fair amount of experimentation. I’ll have a go, it would be an improvement.

Apart from the Great Irish Songs CD here also are the following titled CD’s:

  1. Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, a Book at Bedtime from BBC radio 4, ten fifteeen minute readings, a first novel by the author and very funny it is.
  2. Eternity 5 Views, BBC radio three talks, speakers of various religions.
  3. Pop and Reality, great series of short talks from the BBC.
  4. Epicureans, Stoics, Cynics, on Greek philosophies.
  5. Irish Singers Interviewed, three of Miriam O’Callaghan’s Sunday programs on RTE radio one, Shane McGowan and others interviewed.

Also here an article about Ireland’s Own magazine taken from the Sunday Times.   I just might advertise in that magazine if I ever have the funds. Fuddy duddies like my stuff, hopefully not only them, but a person has to start somewhere. Whats wrong with the past?

Best wishes and a happy Christmas, we will speak before that of course. Here comes the turkey!   David or whatever-you-call-him Tich Ennis

Nude Girl

Some man said I should have a nude girl on the cover of my book. Sexist pig!   I think it was the same man who said I should have rape, violence and bloodthirsty murder in my book.   For that sort of thing read the papers. Sex sells, it has been said, ask a brothel keeper.

My mother said nudity symbolises truth, the truth stands naked. Did I ever swim naked? Yes. In the presence of women? No. Would that this were for Ireland, said a man dipping his toe in the water.

In London when young I visited a sex shop, done up like a Boots chemists. The female assistant asked me could she help me, I said I was only looking. She was disgusted. No money in that. I bought nothing. I treated it like a museum, they are free.

In Moore street in Dublin the vegetable sellers at stalls ask are you buying? Think twice before you do. Nice white mushrooms on the stall, but brown ones from under the counter if you buy.   They sell throw outs from the fruit and vegetable market, a little known fact. I’ll scrawb the fatures off you said one to another, so my father told me.   The song Biddy Mulligan celebrates them and their ilk.

This is a long way from nude girls, my mind wanders. The female form has been celebrated by artists throughout the ages, not to speak of the male. See the Sistine Chapel, was that Leonardo or Michelangelo? Don’t tell me, don’t show off. I don’t care if the Pope has dirty pictures in his chapel, we’re not having them, said a politician in our parliament discussing censorship of books with W.B. Yeats, poet and senator. We’ve got over that now, we have sex shops.   There was no sex in Ireland before television said another politician of ours. We are all the result of miracle births.

I speak of course of the old days. We have grown up and got sense since. Or what passes for it.   You learned about sex by osmosis in the old days, but you did learn. What is the difference between education and training? There’s sex education in schools, not sex training. Now you know.

A pretty girl on the cover sells a book, said Laurence O’Bryan, novelist and editor, to me, so I had one there. Hence the remark of that man, the nude girl fancier. So far, no nude girls in or on any book of mine. You have to draw the line somewhere, as Picasso might have said.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. Use your imagination. Did you have any bad thoughts, a priest might ask a confessor. In totalitarian states there’s such a thing as thought crime. I have thoughts but I don’t agree with them, said a man when asked in those circumstances.

A pretty girl is like a melody said someone, maybe Shakespeare. They’re all the same in the dark, said someone else. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Beauty is only skin deep. Beauty comes from within. Make up your own mind, if you have one.

I leave you to your fantasies.

How about a nudist colony in the Arctic Circle?

Tich Ennis

3rd December, 2017

Honey

Stands the clock at half past three and is there coffee still for tea?

Who wrote that, me.

Strongly influenced by Rupert Brooke who’s poem is worth a second look.

He died in the first world war possibly in the trenches.

When alive he may have sat on village benches.

Everyone loved his poem he said he wrote it in five minutes flat.

That’s that.

I suppose I’m less serious than him.

The boy in Treasure Island is called Jim.

Robert Louis Stevenson wrote that and many others you have heard of but may not know he wrote.

Frank Sinatra was called old golden throat.

I sailed on the mailboat.

I name some famous names here.

They come and go and disappear.

Life is not homosexual but queer.

I’m still here.

Tich Ennis

30th November, 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

 

Remember

We knew everything before and discover it anew.

Some ancient philosopher said that, I don’t know who.

Alright, he said it is as if that is the case.

I don’t want egg on my face.

In a flash of illumination and recognition we know, at last.

As if we knew it in the past.

What can this mean, is all time one?

There’s nothing new under the Sun.

Is my life nearly run?

Not quite I hope when I have not begun.

Tich Ennis

29th August, 2017