Category Archives: Insane Asylum

Litter

Should I write a poem about the bad things in life, a mugger’s weapon or a surgeon’s knife?

A knife may be used for good or ill, to cure or kill.

Dirt is misplaced matter, eat the wrong food and get fatter.

Uranium makes a bomb or an x-ray, kill or cure children while they play.

I hate the word nice, nice is fake good, I should take my advice.

Superstition is not good, touch wood.

Does a gun serve any useful purpose except as a paper weight?

Skaters skate a figure of eight.

Self defence it was decided in the year four hundred is alright.

Make a preemptive strike, goodnight.

I am not quite so sure.

May peace and love endure.

Tich Ennis

16th August, 2017

Coin

The good things and the bad things are both made by man.

Two sides of a coin, thats God’s plan.

Do you need to toss a coin to make your choice?

Choose good, then rejoice.

You made your choice.

A coin may balance on its edge.

Sucicides stand on a ledge.

In life we take rough with the smooth, good and bad.

Sane and mad.

Good makes you glad.

Tich Ennis

26th July, 2017

Heart And Head

A heartless society would be awful and a mindless society would be mad.

Can heart and head be at one in a day to make us glad?

Lesser options are sad.

Can art provide the answer where skill and care are one?

That appears to me to be the case, behold the setting sun.

When eternal war comes to an end we face eternity.

Another name, another time, peace, infinity.

Oh, may it be!

Tich Ennis

16th July, 2017

Zoo

A snake in the grass. The elephant in the room. The monkey on my back. A laughing hyena. Head-in-the-sand ostrich.

These and many other colourful metaphors describe the human zoo. We live there, there is no entrance fee. The demon drink. Okay, a demon is not an animal, although depicted as a horned beast, and tailed. Heads I win, tails you lose, that sort of guy.

What do you get when you cross a sheep with a kangaroo? A woolly jumper. That ancient wisdom is on a clay tablet of pre-1960 era, anthropocene. Our era, get used to it. Its all we have to go on.

In earlier, less enlightened times people would visit the local lunatic asylum to see the lunatics raving or otherwise. Now, the lunatics have taken over the asylum. This is the elephant in the room. A room with a view. Isn’t nature wonderful?

Nature red in tooth and claw, said Rudyard Kipling, who spoke a lot of sense. Sense is not popular in intellectual circles, see asylum above. Genius at a push, which is said to be akin to madness. But not the same thing. Different, yes. Vive la difference. The colours of the rainbow, from which all other colours are made.   No, the world is not monochrome, one colour, boring if so, but no.

Reality is multi-coloured, variety is the spice of life. As has been said, possibly by a parrot. Myself in that instance. Sheeplike. Bovine. Alright for sheep and cows. A bull in a china shop. A horse of a different colour. Or a person. Why not? Why indeed? Sameness is boring. But you knew that already.

I hesitated whether to call this piece Metaphorical Zoo, but no, not simple enough. Or A Zoo or The Zoo? The indefinite or the definite article, there is a vast difference. There I go again. Biodiversity in its infinite variety. The variety of human experience. My family and other animals, Gerald Durrell. Planet of the apes. A film, or movie if you prefer.   Your fellow humans.     Enjoy the show. Am I my brother’s keeper or my keeper’s brother?

Don’t try to understand other people’s motives. That way madness lies. One man’s philosophy, I do what I like and laugh at everyone else. Not my philosophy.   There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Shakespeare. My kind of creature.

Its not all bad or mad or sad, of that I’m glad.   This piece is subject to revision. As much else.   Hopefully the truth may evolve. It’s a slow process. Each must play their part. Must or should? That would be telling you.

Tich Ennis

10th July, 2017

Love Is The Word

In the beginning was the word then it became absurd.

Love became hate and shut Heaven’s gate.

Lies were chosen, love was frozen.

War and misery putting first me.

Bitter fruit we eat, when may friends meet?

Triviality came first, the best lost to the worst.

Are we cursed?

Once more the word will be when truth is set free.

Free us all from Hell, this prison cell.

The jailer is me, I was blind, now I see.

Turn the key.

Set us free.

So the best can be.

Say the word.

Love is heard.

Tich Ennis

8th July, 2017

Your Point Of View

Why can’t you agree with me?

Is that the problem, you see?

From your point of view do you say the same thing too?

Communes fall apart, they always do.

Who’s turn to wash the dishes or sweep the floor?

I’ve had enough, I’m going out the door.

I can’t stand it any more.

Idealism appears unrealistic, it doesn’t work.

Unfortunately many want to shirk.

It does work when each one is a saint.

Are you? I ain’t.

People putting themselves first is the name of the game.

To their eternal shame.

Its human nature, for better or worse.

Some pray, some curse.

Tich Ennis

6th 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