Category Archives: Feeling

Considering

Considering they never look, read, listen or say thank you should I bother with people?

Impale them on a church steeple?

Not absolutely everyone, some old fashioned folks do.

Bring back the old days, they had a better view.

Thank you.

Tich Ennis

15th August, 2017

Jukebox

The gloss and glitter of an old jukebox,

play rhythm and blues, the music rocks.

Play something slushy, play something sweet,

the music gets you right off your feet.

Elvis, Chuck, Fats, Little Richard, Buddy, Eddie Cochran,

the music’s great, its gone, gone, gone.

The Promised Land, oh yeah, Chuck Berry,

Rock ‘n’ Roll music gets you there in a hurry.

Don’t forget Brenda Lee, Sweet Nothin’s, Fool Number One.

Play Stupid Cupid, Connie Francis, under the setting sun.

Never force anything, feel it, that’s the way.

Rock ‘n’ Roll music has a lot to say.

Tich Ennis

10th July, 2017

Truth Again

I ignored you for so long, you are the only thing.

I know above all else you are the only king.

I know, I know you’re always there, you gave me hints and tips.

You lived on in memory, I kissed girls lips.

Now I know I’m old, I may live in memory.

I know you too live on, as Ian Dury sang, a cup of tea.

My best friends I know, some took refuge in drink.

Because, because you are ignored, oh may we ever think.

We stand at the brink.

Tich Ennis

10th July, 2017

Good In Parts

I am good in parts like a curate’s egg.

I do not have a wooden leg.

Some people should be brought down a peg.

But what of others, what of I?

I do my best before I die.

We can but try.

Far from perfect, okay.

Have it your way.

Not without a glimmer of hope.

Mostly, but not always a dope.

See the good and not the bad.

Sometimes the best of us are mad.

Tich Ennis

8th July, 2017

Open Letter to John Carey

John Carey emeritus professor of literature at Oxford university and beekeeper

Dear Professor,

I admire your book reviews in the Sunday Times. It may have been you, and I think it was, who said the great writers possess greatness of soul. Also that eighty per cent of what is accepted as art in any age is not art. I write. We can’t all be Pushkin or indeed Russians of any description. I write poetry and what have you. Another said I write rhymes.

Avoidance of cliches, such as ‘the struggle of the artist to get his voice heard’, is important. I have said, and I quote, I breathe new life into old cliches. Truisms are nonetheless true for being self evident.

I have written possibly a thousand poems and am seventy-six years old, but enough statistics. I call them poems, and why not? Also plays, essays, stories mostly suited to the short attention span generation. But does anyone pay attention? Some, yes. A poem of mine, Snowdrop, has been spoken of in the same breath as the work of Seamus Heaney, Nobel prize winner. Not by an emeritus professor but by a farmer’s wife.

Pardon me for writing to you, but a cat may look at a king.   You may quote Oscar, I don’t know you but your manner is familiar.

Now, serious matters. John Kennedy Toole’s masterpiece A Confederacy of Dunces was not published until after his death by suicide and only then after his mother gave it to a literature professor who recommended it for publication, when it won the Pulitzer prize. History has been said to repeat itself, the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce.

Now, farcically, I provide you with links to recent writings of mine which please share if you feel so inclined.   Cliché. There’s no harm in asking.   There’s lots more where these came from.   I and my writing exist more than merely in cyberspace. But, yes, there.

Now, links:

https://tichennis.wordpress.com/2017/07/01/thats-all/

https://tichennis.wordpress.com/2017/07/03/my-mind-wanders/

https://tichennis.wordpress.com/2017/07/01/renegade/

Question: Does a sense of humour preclude one from serious consideration? What about Dostoevsky? Catch 22?

Regards,

Tich Ennis, birth name David, although that may be disputed.

3rd July, 2017

No One

No one likes my long stuff, no one wants me serious.

Should I be delirious?

I prefer happiness and joy, I understand.

I danced and listened to the band.

Someone made the instruments, someone wrote the tune.

Someone wrote the song, a Moon in June.

Hear the singer croon.

Nothing comes from nowhere, rain and Sun and air.

You’re there.

Someone built the house you live in, do you need to see the plan?

More or less no is the answer, it began with one man.

A house to love and live in, it is not built on sand.

Care and thought goes in the making of happiness in the land.

The foundation is all important, it is laid down with care.

Yet, when all is said and done, no one knows its there.

Tich Ennis

1st July, 2017

You Know

You know when something is good, you don’t have to be told.

What you are told may be fool’s gold.

And often is, showbiz.

What suits you suits you, that’s that.

You may like a dog or cat.

Or not, or a bird singing in a tree.

You are me.

Do you understand?

That’s grand.

You are unique, everyone’s a freak.

On some things almost everyone agrees.

We need peace in times like these.

Tich Ennis

30th June, 2017