Category Archives: Battle

Solution

Concepts are converging, so a Russian scientist said.

Things are mighty complex, will I know before I’m dead?

The Devil has been described as the master of confusion.

String theory is a ball of twine, just another illusion.

The theory of everything, when will it emerge?

Oh my God simplicity, towards thee I ever urge.

When theory and practice are one in one place then and only then are we in a state of grace.

Human race wash your face.

Tich Ennis

3rd October, 2017

Advertisements

Mirror Two

The past shouldn’t have happened, so some people say.

Yeah, well, what about today?

Like, what’s happening man, as the hippies say?

Is everything okay?

We can do nothing about the past but we can work now.

If we bother, anyhow.

If we know the past is wrong what is our present song?

Why can’t we get along?

The past is more or less the same as now, people made mistakes, and how.

And we make them now.

Today will be the past before you know it, who will blame you then?

Other men?

The time we can change is now, the past is over anyhow.

Forget the past, do not relive it.

If he did you wrong, forgive it.

Who is perfect, who’s all wrong, is what aboutery your song?

Bear no grudge, do not complain or we forever live in pain.

A child knows happiness is best.

I lay down my pen, I take a rest.

Listen to the child you were.

Let us not kill him or her.

I say what everybody knows.

You say shut up, I suppose.

So on and on it goes.

Stepping on each other’s toes.

Do you want war to end?

In that case I am your friend.

Make do and mend.

Tich Ennis

9th September, 2017

Choice

To convince those who don’t want to know.

To tell the truth before I forever go.

This is a Herculean task.

A big ask.

Quite obviously almost all is wrong.

Hear the news, sing the blues, a sad, sad song.

Greed for power, money, fame.

All the same I’m glad I came.

Nothing is not what I want to do.

There’s work to be done for me and you.

I sing my song of right and wrong.

I ask how long, oh Lord, how long?

Set us free from eternal me.

You, the other, must come first.

Or else we’re cursed.

Do you want best or worst?

Tich Ennis

29th August, 2017

Up And Down

Things are looking up and down again, some things aren’t half bad.

Some things are only slightly mad.

Not quite as bad as I thought whoever or from whomever I bought.

Life is quite fraught.

Not quite as bad as I thought.

But still not quite completely all there.

When I trust them I go spare.

So the misleading mislead the misled.

I sometimes think I should have stayed in bed.

Tich Ennis

17th August, 2017

 

Full Stop

My best friend Michael O’Brien agrees I should stop giving my stuff away for nothing on my blog. I have written various things and not put them there recently, too busy.

I have only 75 or 76 followers on my blog. My nephew said people liking and following other people’s blogs often only want a like or a following in return. I don’t want those likes and followers. I know at least one is genuine, the only one I wrote to and who replied. Thank you.

My plan is to have a book printed and sell it locally, quite a few people, maybe 43, have said they will buy. I will sell it for almost nothing, the printer will make more than me.

I ordered a book on self-publishing from Amazon today, by Rick Smith, which seems the best on the subject. So my work may be available as a print on demand book (POD) and also electronically when I can get my head around how to set up writing for those and uploading and all that.

That way is known as going over the heads of the gatekeepers, who are very good at slamming doors in people’s faces and ignoring them. Going direct to the public.

25 per cent of the top selling books on Amazon are self published, usually half POD and half digitally. Digital books have a 65 per cent market share, and growing.   People buying digital books buy more books, presumably because they are cheaper than on paper, as well as instantly delivered and other advantages.  Being old and traditional I prefer paper books and do not own an electronic book reader. Also being broke.

The paper method costs more, including to me to get my book printed locally for which I will have to borrow.   Selling as a self publisher through Amazon involves a steep learning curve, hopefully I get to the top of that hill!   But no cost to the writer, except time and know how.   The know how I do not have but hope to learn.

Of course not every book sells, I am well aware of that. Today I heard I failed to win a short story competition. A friend of mine said, when you’re starting you have to do everything for yourself.

Contrary to my title here, this may not be my last word ever on my blog. Look forward to Full Start.

I’m a crazy mixed up old man, not a crazy mixed up kid.

Tich Ennis

4th August, 2017

Truth Tellers

Truth tellers are not welcome it seems to me.

Oh well, the best is yet to be.

Can I have a good cup of tea?

Look all around you, see the worst.

So much with lies and falsehood cursed.

Hear everyday ordinary political speech.

Is the truth beyond their reach?

Or ours.

Grow flowers.

I write by the way of a bouquet.

This is what I have to say.

People say what suits them not what they think about a lot of things.

This is true of many kings.

Note I do not say all.

Extremism could kill us all.

That’s all.

Tich Ennis

28th July, 2017

Explaining Myself

Or attempting to. What am I? Who am I? Do I matter? If so to who or, much less, what? Are these irrelevant questions? If irrelevant, irrelevant to what? To what matters. What does matter? You. You matter to me. Do I matter to you? You who hear or read these words. Does it matter if I matter to you? It matters to me. Does it matter to you if you matter to me? I suppose so. It should. Who says? I do. Am I what I say and do? To a large extent yes. In fact that is all that matters about me. You too? Yes. Questions are limited. How, where, what, why, when and who. Am I defined in those terms and are those things all there are to say about me? For me read you. What is the most important question? Not what, that’s for sure. Why is the question, the supreme question. Why am I? Why are you? Why not? Why a pear, an apple, a blade of grass? Our environment. The environment from which we spring and of which we are a part. Self aware matter. Does matter matter? Yes. For a while. Our life is a while. We could not exist in material form except in a material world. Or universe or galaxy. Does matter last forever? No. It changes form. Will I or you last forever? No. Not in material form. Life is a life sentence. Hard labour. I mention that in passing. Life is a passing thing. Why and how are important, more than what. Reality is the essence of the real. I am my essence, you are yours. You are how you are what you are. I attempt to explain myself but explain you. A poor explanation. Another word for essence is spirit. When the spirit leaves the body we are dead. Dead to the world. We are no more. In the eyes of the world. We are our spirit. How we are. I am I. You are you. You are your spirit, me too. Does this matter? The word matter again. The soul of the thing. The thing I am, but more than a thing. What is my wish? That people not be treated as things. I or you. Anyone anywhere. Speaking for myself I know people have not much time for my longer pieces such as this. Unparagraphed now as I write. Should I care? Yes. About that? I don’t know. Should people care for each other? Yes. Who is the other? You. Me too. There are more questions than answers. Always. Here in this piece for example. The question why is all important. I must be talking to myself. You too. Have I answered those questions about myself? It seems not. I still don’t know. Do you? About you? Meanwhile I press on regardless. What have I said? I don’t matter, I am not matter, not a thing. If I matter to myself I am wrong. You matter. Who will read these words? Almost no one perhaps. Only you. That makes two. Me and you. A dream come true. Poets ask these questions and answer them better than I. Every man his own poet. We are part of a poem, you and I. The poem is the universe. Words are stars sprinkled in the sky. The question why. Maybe I will answer before I die.

I have a friend in hospital, maybe I will read him this. He will say it is too long. He is usually right. So long.

I read it to him. He said blog it. As is.

Tich Ennis

24th July, 2017