Category Archives: First World War

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

Toddler

Bemused, confused, I toddle on.

Who knows right from wrong?

Excuse my look of consternation.

I overhear your conversation.

So, some are older even than me.

Some younger too, I toddle on.

With whom shall I agree?

Someone, somewhere set me free.

Am I a slave until my grave?

Fortune favours the brave.

Each step I take nearer to my maker I make.

Should I put him right on a thing or two or is that me or is it you?

What’s a guy to do?

Ask you?

When all else fails observe jet trails.

Birds fly in the blue.

They know what to do.

Tich Ennis

30th June, 2017

Blood

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

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

Axe

Everyone has an axe to grind.

When I say everyone I mean nearly everyone, do you mind?

Take the media, for example.

Look at a cross sample.

Video, print, whatever.

Are they objective never?

Hardly ever.

Similarly in politics and people supporting football teams.

Fairness? Honesty? In your dreams.

My country right or wrong is an old song.

As some black guy said, why can’t we get along?

His name was Rodney King if memory serves me right.

The white police were spoiling for a fight.

Goodnight.

Who knows wrong from right?

We have wars, dislike and hate because we choose.

That is the news.

No wonder black men sang the blues.

You would in their shoes.

In wars we lose.

How many dead and wounded on both sides?

As fish in the sea in waves and tides.

Pick up the pieces after, son or daughter, from the slaughter.

A child knows peace is best.

Harmony, music, a friend and the rest.

Out of the mouths of babes came forth the truth.

Must young men die in youth?

I say no.

And so I go.

Tich Ennis

18th June, 2017

Students

A student started the first world war in which millions died including many, many young.

Treated like dung.

Ask students will they do it again before they turn into men.

Students have a lot to learn if they do it.

Get down to it.

Should students teach or preach or ban free speech?

In case you don’t know or never think the answer is no.

Sense tells you so.

They don’t know.

A student is one who studies, look it up.

If I was rude I might say shut up.

So learn.

Then you may earn.

Tich Ennis

20th May, 2017

 

Tablet

Are you taking the pill of life? Is it doing you good?

It will, touch wood.

Touch wood is superstition, never mind.

The harmless kind.

As long as you don’t believe it, take it or leave it.

For what or when or where is life the cure?

Illusion? Delusion?

Is the cure worse or better than the disease?

Are you on your knees?

I mention fleas.

In times like these.

Take the tablets one day at a time.

Read rhyme.

Life sentence for what crime?

Yours or mine?

Live coward or dead hero?

You killed your mother, Nero.

Must we take the blame?

For shame.

The first world war was based on illusion.

I thought I’d just say that, the hero delusion.

Stupidity has no limit nor the potential of the human race.

We live in more or less disgrace.

So it seems to me.

You may or may not agree.

Should we fight about it, shout about it or live in harmony?

What’s best for you and me?

Have you a clue?

How do you do?

I end here.

Thanks for your ear.

(Must I spell things out as to a child?

Peaceful tribes live in the wild).

Tich Ennis

19th May, 2017