Category Archives: Bullshit

Believe Me

Believe me, I don’t lie.

Don’t ask why.

Lies don’t make sense and if you lie you can’t remember what you said.

In a world of liars, or mostly, lets not be extreme, who says what they mean?

Me, for one, I’m not the only one.

Liars rule the roost, they shout loudest, they give out abuse.

Heck no, I will not join.

There are two sides to a coin.

Tich Ennis

9th 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

Coin

The good things and the bad things are both made by man.

Two sides of a coin, thats God’s plan.

Do you need to toss a coin to make your choice?

Choose good, then rejoice.

You made your choice.

A coin may balance on its edge.

Sucicides stand on a ledge.

In life we take rough with the smooth, good and bad.

Sane and mad.

Good makes you glad.

Tich Ennis

26th July, 2017

Daggers Drawn

Why are we at daggers drawn until dawn?

Who fights a duel except a fool?

Death rather than dishonour, yes, he said, as for me I’d rather stay in bed.

He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.

So they say.

Why fight all night, why be uptight?

Alright.

I am seventy-six and survived some dirty tricks.

Its as clear as mud to me its better if we agree.

Now and then, as Elvis sang, there’s a fool such as me.

People just like me died young, alone, unhonoured and unsung.

I don’t wish to die for a flag or any other rag.

That’s not my bag.

Nor do I wish to die alone in a tangled mess of blood and bone.

Why can’t we leave each other alone?

Talk, at least on the telephone.

Friendliness is not unknown.

Blood or an ice cream cone?

I know which choice is mine.

I hope the weather keeps fine.

Tich Ennis

13th July, 2017

Zoo

A snake in the grass. The elephant in the room. The monkey on my back. A laughing hyena. Head-in-the-sand ostrich.

These and many other colourful metaphors describe the human zoo. We live there, there is no entrance fee. The demon drink. Okay, a demon is not an animal, although depicted as a horned beast, and tailed. Heads I win, tails you lose, that sort of guy.

What do you get when you cross a sheep with a kangaroo? A woolly jumper. That ancient wisdom is on a clay tablet of pre-1960 era, anthropocene. Our era, get used to it. Its all we have to go on.

In earlier, less enlightened times people would visit the local lunatic asylum to see the lunatics raving or otherwise. Now, the lunatics have taken over the asylum. This is the elephant in the room. A room with a view. Isn’t nature wonderful?

Nature red in tooth and claw, said Rudyard Kipling, who spoke a lot of sense. Sense is not popular in intellectual circles, see asylum above. Genius at a push, which is said to be akin to madness. But not the same thing. Different, yes. Vive la difference. The colours of the rainbow, from which all other colours are made.   No, the world is not monochrome, one colour, boring if so, but no.

Reality is multi-coloured, variety is the spice of life. As has been said, possibly by a parrot. Myself in that instance. Sheeplike. Bovine. Alright for sheep and cows. A bull in a china shop. A horse of a different colour. Or a person. Why not? Why indeed? Sameness is boring. But you knew that already.

I hesitated whether to call this piece Metaphorical Zoo, but no, not simple enough. Or A Zoo or The Zoo? The indefinite or the definite article, there is a vast difference. There I go again. Biodiversity in its infinite variety. The variety of human experience. My family and other animals, Gerald Durrell. Planet of the apes. A film, or movie if you prefer.   Your fellow humans.     Enjoy the show. Am I my brother’s keeper or my keeper’s brother?

Don’t try to understand other people’s motives. That way madness lies. One man’s philosophy, I do what I like and laugh at everyone else. Not my philosophy.   There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Shakespeare. My kind of creature.

Its not all bad or mad or sad, of that I’m glad.   This piece is subject to revision. As much else.   Hopefully the truth may evolve. It’s a slow process. Each must play their part. Must or should? That would be telling you.

Tich Ennis

10th July, 2017

Arklow Resident

I have decided to postpone my suicide until the local river is cleaned up because it is so full of sewage I can’t face entering the water.  Therefore, I will live forever, for that reason and that reason alone.  I do not own a gas mask so ending it all by that method is out of the question.  I am old but will live to be very old indeed.  I and the sewage are infinite.  Time stands still here.  So do I.  And the county council.

Tich Ennis

7th July, 2017

Three Things

6th July, 2017

Michael,

Three CD’s here. Two one-act plays by Joe Orton, collectively known as Crimes of Passion, an interview with Phil Coulter, songwriter, and one with three items, a Hindu prayer, Luther’s Legacy and Exploring Truth, some clergymen waffling on and getting more or less nowhere. In that order, diminishing order of importance.

The Hindu religion appears rather more practical than others, as I said to you before, but why bore you by repeating myself? Sort of everyday reality, if you know what I mean. Life, whatever that is, and how to deal with it.

The Orton plays are brilliant and very funny. The Erpingham Camp, a satire on empire set in a holiday camp, no knobbly knees contest but a screaming one. The Ruffian on the Stair is grand guignol, full of menace, could be called black comedy, also extremely funny. Sentimentalism, savagery, murder and humour, it could almost be Irish.

The Irish do make an appearance, and why not? Oh wad such power, etcetera, to see ourselves as others see us. Some other Celt said that.   Robbie Burns, why not share the blame?

Now, real life. I am thinking of bringing out a book of poetry of less than forty-eight pages to sell for five euros, A5 size, already some have said they will pay that for it, sight unseen. Disposable income, why not? A printer is lined up, poems not yet selected, I will be the judge, all in cyberspace as of now or yet to appear there where apparently no one or almost no one knows they’re there. I am about to face reality. The real thing. Virtual no, not on your Nelly!

I have a title selected and more or less decided on the cover but may include some non-poetic work, why not? In some pubs a pint costs more than a fiver but you can’t bring it home with you. An heirloom. Owners could have themselves buried with it clutched in their hands to show to God on the day of judgement. If he hasn’t read it already.

I am my own judge, jury, prosecuting counsel and defence counsel in this matter as in all others. I let myself off with a caution.   I refuse to recognise the court. I play dumb. I promise never to do it again. That would be boring.

Oscar Wilde said being boring is a mortal sin. Who am I to disagree? It kills the soul. The dead kill the living. We live in the valley of the walking dead, but for how long? Until we find the off-switch.

Why do skulls have a grin on their face? You don’t think they took it seriously, do you? Neither do I. Yours ever, d

Tich Ennis