I live in the same world as you.
Are you an actor too?
Some words have been true.
It means meaning what you say.
Not just saying have a nice day.
The word just is used to justify.
It means it’s a lie.
It means you don’t care what you say, I do.
I gave up acting, did you?
Acting is only acting when its true.
When its real.
You are not on stage, are you?
Tich Ennis
25th June, 2017
God exploded and broke apart, we broke his heart.
God is past, present and future all in one and, oh yes, the Sun.
We carry a little piece of him in our heart and his mortal enemy, the Devil is also there.
Be careful which you choose, above all, care.
Someday in the future God will join together again when there is peace among men.
I am a heretic, burned at the stake, my question is, how long will it take?
When end heartbreak?
What difference can a poet make?
Walter Scott wrote The Lady of the Lake.
Be not fake.
This is my Sunday poem.
By their works ye know ‘em.
Tich Ennis
25th June, 2017
Where is a man with a better brain than me?
I need some help you see.
I mean what the Hell, oh well.
I know what I want but not how to do it, I’m not a bloody expert in everything.
I know almost nothing about some things, how can I know everything?
I could pay someone to do it if I had money, that’s funny.
Experts can be a pain in the arse, someone told me to go somewhere and ask for Mr. Jarse, Hugh Jarse.
I can’t make my website, that’s what I’m saying.
Should I try praying?
Swearing at technology doesn’t make it work but it makes you feel better.
End of letter.
(I apologise for cursing and swearing.
It’s a substitute for caring.
Some man in India and many others have offered help, at a price.
If you want a thing done right do it yourself, that’s my advice.
Einstein’s brain has been preserved.
I am unnerved.)
Tich Ennis
18th June, 2017
I spin a web of golden threads from the story of my life, of this world, my world, your world, the Moon above, the universe.
I wish to free all that and those from war and want and misery, to free all of us above all else from a fatal curse.
A golden ladder to Heaven’s gate I wish to build, I wish to make, a bridge that all may cross who live under the Sun.
I dream this dream asleep, awake, I dream with every breath I take that all may be one.
Well, not quite, but more or less.
I’m only human, goodnight, God bless.
Tich Ennis
16th June, 2017
Bubbles in the Bath by Wynne D. Bottom
Stains on the Wall by Hoo Flung Dung. He’s a Chinaman.
Heard in the playground at age ten. Need I be more specific? There were others, some of which I heard and others they would not tell me because they said I was too innocent. I would like a complete list of them for posterity’s sake, and to make me laugh.
They say everyone has a book in them, with some maybe it should stay there. At least in written form. We write the story of our own lives, for better or worse.
The nub of the issue. I die, I face God.
God: What did you do with your life?
Me: Nothing much. This and that. Kissed girls, drank beer, gave good parties. Danced. Listened to music. Went out. Talked with people, known and unknown. Had friends. A lot of nothing.
God: So I see.
Me: If you know everything why ask me? Is this a case of out of their own mouths they are condemned?
God: Something like that. And to pass the time of day.
Me: Am I going to Heaven or Hell?
God: It’s a matter of choice. Which do you prefer?
Me: I don’t know. Irish people say they want to go to Hell, all their friends will be there. People say Heaven would be boring.
God: What do you think?
Me: Perfection can’t be boring.
God: Have you met perfection?
Me: I’m talking to you amn’t I?
God: In real life?
Me: What we laughingly call real life. If I haven’t then something very close to it. From time to time.
God: Often?
Me: No.
God: What do you want?
Me: The same only different. A little of what you fancy does you good. Me too.
God: What were you told at school?
Me: We are vehicles for the truth.
God: What did you think?
Me: I don’t know the truth. Maybe I will when I’m older.
God: What age were you?
Me.: Ten.
God: Years?
Me: Not days. If you weren’t God I’d say don’t be stupid.
God: That wouldn’t be nice.
Me: Nice is fake good.
God: Now you’re talking.
Me: I thought the truth was something said in words.
God: What do you say now?
Me: It is done, not spoken. Words may be lies.
God: They often are. Too often. Words can be true.
Me: Words mean nothing if not put into action.
God: Did you follow that in your life?
Me: I wrote and spoke words. Often for fun. Shaw said if you want to write a comedy tell the truth. Nothing is funnier than the truth.
God: Do you love the truth?
Me: It’s the only thing.
God: If I send you to Hell will you convert others to your way of thinking?
Me: That’s the divil of a job.
God: I asked him but he was busy.
Me: I don’t know what to say.
God: I will put words in your mouth.
Me: Is this like being a Hindu, getting another go?
God: Keep going until you get it right.
Me: Is Hell eternal?
God: It could be. Maybe yes, maybe no. Not unless you want it to be.
Me: Why me?
God: That’s what they all say.
Me: I’ll have a go. I might as well be doing something as nothing.
God: That’s the spirit.
Me: Will I forget this?
God: Yes. You always do.
Me: Sorry to keep you waiting.
God: The man who made time made plenty of it. On the count of three, go. One, two, three.
Me: I’m gone.
After that brief digression back to unwritten books. Who will write a book to change the world? A friend asked that and said he knows it could not happen. Who believes in miracles? Some. Sorry to keep you waiting.
Tich Ennis
13th June, 2017
Is it alright to be funny as well on your way to Hell?
Oh well.
Yes, I believe in all that stuff that matters most but I have a sense of humour.
I should say and, so what, love is not a rumour.
So, okay I laugh and cry, I wipe a tear from my eye.
I may cry laughing or die laughing I don’t care which.
It looks like I won’t die rich.
Tich Ennis
7th June, 2017
Do you think I never make a mistake?
Heartbreak.
Why then do I find a mistake in my blog from time to time?
To make a mistake is no crime.
I read over even later and correct.
I find the odd mistake, what do you expect?
I fix it, make it right.
By day or night.
I am not mister perfect, he does not exist.
Ask girls I kissed.
Or sometimes missed.
To achieve perfection make correction.
Its best not to make a mistake in the first place.
Perfection has a lovely face.
When I speak of myself I speak of you.
How do you do?
Also me.
Do you see?
Must I drive that point home?
In this poem.
Our object must be to attain perfection.
Perfection requires no correction.
Tich Ennis
7th June, 2017
