My life’s blood spills out upon a page.
Will I die in peace or rage?
Get over it, it could be worse, cheer up, Irish people say.
Yeah, right, I say in my last words, who will write them down except this clown?
Oh, sorry, I wrote a line that does not rhyme.
Someday I may.
Blood, they say, is thicker than water, I know which I like to drink.
Hello there, my pen has not run out of ink.
Tich Ennis
25th June, 2017
You never tell me whether you like my stuff, okay, what am I looking for, praise?
The end of days.
Lost in a maze.
See through the haze.
Is that the white flag of peace I see through the smoke or a bloodstained bandage, give my heart ease.
The turmoil and the tumult batter on.
When peace comes war is gone.
So I die and no one knows.
Do you prefer poetry or prose?
God knows.
Tich Ennis
23rd June, 2017
When quantum computing comes all codes will be crackable, that includes Russian, American and Chinese and what have you.
And terrorists and drug dealers too.
It will be an open book if you want to take a look.
That will give the security services something to do, pornographers look out.
There’s a spy about.
The truth will find you out.
At leat I hope so, God willing.
Are you the full shilling?
I look forward to the truth.
I have since youth.
Okay, so your missile codes are known.
Will you be blown up alone?
Call a help line on the phone.
When secrecy and double dealing ends will we be friends?
When hatred ends.
I pen a line or two to you now and then.
I’m heartsick, sore and sorry until when?
Tich Ennis
22nd June, 2017
Do you use deodorant? No sweat.
What’s this, another stinking ad I’ll bet.
Because you’re worth it die in a dung heap.
Hopefully while you’re asleep.
Is it vulgar, is it rude to mention unmentionables, is it crude?
Is your name Ermintrude?
Why is a Latin name of a body part alright but not to say fart?
The scent of roses poets talk about, they don’t say smell.
It seems to me the same thing, oh well.
If you had a bath or shower you would not stink.
That’s what I think.
Tich Ennis
17th June, 2017
