Category Archives: Humanity

Smoke

Why is everyone so screwed up, including me?

I watch your faces, you see.

Okay, not always, not quite everyone.

Why do most look like they never had any fun?

Had or have, have it your own way.

All potential customers of mine walk by every day.

I went so far as to write a book, some enjoyed it, some won’t even look.

My brother gives my book away, for God’s sake why?

Alright, its not that bad, some pay for it before they die.

Would you die laughing if I told you a joke?

I am a living cliché, a poet who is broke.

And I smoke.

Tich Ennis

12th October, 2017

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Stutter

At the risk of repeating myself may I say I have a stutter?

Some people think I am a nutter.

I say what I want to say, eventually.

In the meantime, have a cup of tea.

I am not disfigured as far as I know in any other sense.

I don’t want your pity, you have mine, tolerate me sitting on the fence.

Sometimes I make a joke which is not understood.

I wish you would.

I thought of saying p-p-p peace between all m-m-m men.

You would not understand even then.

When?

Tich Ennis

6th October, 2017

Error

I make a mistake now and then, its human to err.

My sister spotted one, I said that to her.

Did you think I was perfect says I to a friend?

No I did not says he, bringing that topic to an end.

The man who never made a mistake never made anything said a man.

He made them big time, I am not a fan.

Accidentally on purpose is not a mistake.

Have you bought an antique fake?

I prove I am human which does not require much proof.

My house has not got a leaky roof.

There’s many a true word spoken in jest.

Its over, do I pass the test?

Tich Ennis

21st September, 2017

Mental Health

Is the world driving people mad or is it just each other?

Civil war is brother against brother.

There are more in mental institutions than before.

Indifference and contempt are part of the cause.

And I suppose ridiculous laws.

Officialdom has a lot to answer for.

Who wants war?

The sheer insanity of what is treated seriously.

Have people forgotten the meaning of humanity?

Madness is not sanity.

I blame the ones who say that they are sane.

They give gentle folk a pain.

Tich Ennis

12th September, 2017

What You Say

No one thinks anyone means what they say like have a nice day.

Could they care less if you fell into a hole and shrivelled up your soul?

I am a fool who cannot lie.

I don’t know why.

I don’t fit into this world, this Earth, this planet.

I never met a girl called Janet.

I cannot work out a subterfuge.

My brain is not huge.

If you meet me, tolerate.

My suffering is very great.

Who treats people as meaning what they say? I do.

I mean you.

I suppose I was not treated exactly as a fool at school.

Where we were taught the golden rule.

I believed it but others went straight out into the yard and beat up small boys very hard.

Into their faces they would spit.

A cynic might say I was taught to be a hypocrite.

That’s something I did not learn, I treat words as true.

How about you?

To say I am perfect would be to create a wrong impression.

Others in my place suffer from depression.

In a mad bad world remaining sane gives me a pain.

I cannot pretend I neither hear nor see.

Who is blind and deaf? Not me.

I believe I see things as they are.

Including the guiding star.

You are what you are.

Should I tear out my eyes as in a myth from Greece?

I considered suicide but prefer peace.

No, I will not kill myself, I leave that to you.

You who spit in people’s faces, the rotten crew.

Among the slaves on board this boat are some brave and honest men.

Lest they suffer in silence I take up my pen.

The pen, they say, is mightier than the sword.

When you speak should I believe a word?

Big and small dictators I’m watching you.

When you stop your parrot talk you will be true.

You drive many round the bend but not me, I was born a fool.

As I said I met your kind at school.

I had and have a friend or two, that old word, good.

I see the tree, I see the wood.

Don’t let me be misunderstood.

Is understanding what you fear?

Then don’t lie into my ear.

I do understand you, the spitting kind, all too well.

You make life Hell.

You wish to create fear, and do.

There are degrees of course of all things.

Stop behaving like kings.

Don’t sneer, don’t condescend, don’t act superior.

Stop making people feel inferior.

Because I don’t mention you by name don’t think I don’t know your game.

You are responsible for worldly ills, drug addiction, madness, suicide, your treatment kills.

I am an old fool, on that we can agree, I speak of what I saw and see.

Who would listen to a fool like me?

Inhumanity is wrong.

I love a song.

To list all cruelties would take all day.

Be careful what you say.

I have not gone away.

Tich Ennis

4th September, 2017

 

Sloppy Guy

I am a messy sloppy guy, don’t ask the reason why.

I was born to feel not think, I can do things, I write with ink.

Technical explanations leave me cold, I have grown to be so very old.

When they tell me what to do but leave out how I’m all at sea I cannot plough.

So I should ask some other guy, less sloppy than you or I.

Maybe some guy says it clear, I wish he would show up here.

Or preferably do it for me while I drink a cup of tea.

Will that ever be?

Why leave it all to me?

Set me free.

Yours frustratedly.

I want to do things in the simplest possible way.

That’s all I’ve got to say.

Today.

Or for now anyway.

Tich Ennis

2nd September, 2017

Prize Poem

Should I enter for a poetry competition when I never win?

To quote myself, when do I begin?

Has it all been said before, who am I to speak?

A nobody yet somebody my voice has not grown weak.

I speak for all who speak for true, I speak for me, I speak for you.

Do I need to win a prize?

I walk under rainy skies.

A poet lives, a poet dies.

A prize would come as a surprise.

To an unknown such as I.

I dare ask why.

I do not believe a lie.

I butter up no buttercup.

So I am told to shut up.

My answer, no.

So on I go.

The fee is money down the drain.

Irish criminals live in Spain.

Is it a crime to write in rhyme?

I write for now and all time.

I mean what I say.

Meanwhile the world puts on a play and looks the other way.

I do not want a prize, acclaim.

Here below I write my name.

Money would be welcome, who pays for poetry?

Don’t ask me.

I live in Hell, all is not well.

An artist describes what he sees.

Who wants truth in times like these?

Who makes honey, honeybees.

So alone I wander on.

If I enter, money gone.

Am I sorry just for me?

No, I’m sad for history.

Will I, won’t I, should I do it?

Its only money, there’s nothing to it.

I am in two minds, as you may see.

A schizophrenic, that’s me.

Who will win, someone better?

Or in common parlance, wetter.

Come on world, must do better!

I’ll leave it at that.

As Shakespeare said, I smell a rat.

There’s something rotten in the state.

I hold my nose, await my fate.

This poem may go on too long.

Am I right or am I wrong?

Should I take up writing prose?

I don’t know, maybe, I suppose.

God knows.

Tich Ennis

2nd September, 2017