Category Archives: Fake News

Seventy-Six

I’ve heard so much rubbish in my life I might as well go deaf.

I don’t know if I’m right or left.

I see good and bad in everything, for every Winter there is a Spring.

It’s how you use it, not what you do.

Or how you do it, that is true.

Should I put my head in the sand like an ostrich and say everything is grand?

I have not shut my eyes and ears, you reduce me to tears.

Don’t realise my worst fears.

I am a man of seventy-six years.

Tich Ennis

23rd August, 2017

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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

 

Contradiction

I said I would post no more to my blog yet here I am again. So, I changed my mind, what’s wrong with that?

I just talked with my best friend Michael O’Brien on the phone. He said to put my poem Believe Me on my blog, so I did, just now.

Why do I write? To make money? No. Posting to a blog makes no money. Michael more or less said to put all my stuff up there, although he agreed with me recently not to give everything away for nothing.

It costs nothing to post to my blog.

Man does not live by bread alone, but does need bread. (Bread = money, hippy talk). I have almost no bread in the house, of either kind. I will buy two loaves in the cheapest supermarket later today.

I have no idea what the future holds. (Predictions are impossible, especially about the future).

I write because I love it. Is my writing good? That’s not for me to say. If someone else wrote it, would I like it? Yes. Then there would be no need for me to write it.

Does what I write need to be said? I think so. I believe so. So I say it, so I do it.

Have any real live people I meet face to face liked my writing? Yes. Not only one. Genuine people, people I trust and like. So that’s something. So its worth doing. I mean every word I say. I believe meaning. Is there anything else to believe? No. That is my message. All the time, for all time.

There is more rubbish on the internet than good stuff but there is good stuff. The world is the same. More bad stuff than good stuff but there is good stuff. (What’s rare is valuable).

Don’t lose hope.

Tich Ennis

9th August, 2017

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

God Again

God is dejected and rejected.

God is the way things are, the way we are.

He sure as Hell is not our guiding star.

I may not put this on my blog.

If you mention the word God they think you mean a backward dog.

Tich Ennis

21st 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