Category Archives: International Relations

Explosion

God exploded and broke apart, we broke his heart.

God is past, present and future all in one and, oh yes, the Sun.

We carry a little piece of him in our heart and his mortal enemy, the Devil is also there.

Be careful which you choose, above all, care.

Someday in the future God will join together again when there is peace among men.

I am a heretic, burned at the stake, my question is, how long will it take?

When end heartbreak?

What difference can a poet make?

Walter Scott wrote The Lady of the Lake.

Be not fake.

This is my Sunday poem.

By their works ye know ‘em.

Tich Ennis

25th June, 2017

When

When quantum computing comes all codes will be crackable, that includes Russian, American and Chinese and what have you.

And terrorists and drug dealers too.

It will be an open book if you want to take a look.

That will give the security services something to do, pornographers look out.

There’s a spy about.

The truth will find you out.

At leat I hope so, God willing.

Are you the full shilling?

I look forward to the truth.

I have since youth.

Okay, so your missile codes are known.

Will you be blown up alone?

Call a help line on the phone.

When secrecy and double dealing ends will we be friends?

When hatred ends.

I pen a line or two to you now and then.

I’m heartsick, sore and sorry until when?

Tich Ennis

22nd June, 2017

Brain

Where is a man with a better brain than me?

I need some help you see.

I mean what the Hell, oh well.

I know what I want but not how to do it, I’m not a bloody expert in everything.

I know almost nothing about some things, how can I know everything?

I could pay someone to do it if I had money, that’s funny.

Experts can be a pain in the arse, someone told me to go somewhere and ask for Mr. Jarse, Hugh Jarse.

I can’t make my website, that’s what I’m saying.

Should I try praying?

Swearing at technology doesn’t make it work but it makes you feel better.

End of letter.

(I apologise for cursing and swearing.

It’s a substitute for caring.

Some man in India and many others have offered help, at a price.

If you want a thing done right do it yourself, that’s my advice.

Einstein’s brain has been preserved.

I am unnerved.)

Tich Ennis

18th June, 2017

Spring

Must I write every blooming thing?

Should I recite the seasons, including Spring?

Porn is not my thing.

Porn treats people as things, are you a thing?

Porn of every type is everywhere, to children, of children, with children, its in the air.

Do you care?

People like heroin, would you put in your children’s stew?

Is giving people what they want the thing to do?

I ask you.

My meandery mind is not made up.

Often I am told, shut up.

I say nothing everyone doesn’t know.

I told you so.

The truth is everywhere ignored.

Why heroin, are you bored?

There are many drugs and addictions, of course.

Computer games, don’t get me started, back a horse.

The inventor of the iPad would not let his children have one, ask why?

Does a drug dealer feed his children fantasy, truth or lie?

Very clever people sell their soul.

To part you from your money, make you pay a toll.

For what? For rubbish, waste your time.

A little goes a long way, like wine.

Nothing is inherently good or bad, too much of a good thing makes you mad.

I am sad.

Doing things because others do them makes no sense.

Who says you have to? Get up off the fence.

Alright, someday I will be dead.

These things should not go unsaid.

It’s as clear as day to me, look at our horrible history.

Now is now and one day will be past.

In living memory Jews were gassed.

I do not care about the colour of your skin or creed, I take no side.

Has truth nowhere to hide?

Look inside.

Pretend you don’t understand, what do you want to happen in your land?

How about old fashioned love and peace?

They had more sense in ancient Greece.

This is not my last poem, I guarantee.

You will hear more from me.

When do people die, when they are fed up?

I’m not dead yet, I will not shut up.

Drink the loving cup.

Its all so bloody obvious, I don’t want to curse.

Are you afraid of something worse?

Things are bad enough, too bad, the way they are.

Truth is my guiding star.

If I do not shut up why do you?

If you prefer it, do it, be true.

I am like you.

I’m just another you.

Trying to be true.

That will do.

For me and you.

Now I have a coffee to drink and a cigarette to smoke.

Perhaps I’ll ring a friend and tell a joke.

I’m not sorry I spoke.

I’ll leave it at that, I can’t go on forever.

When will the truth be, never?

I won’t say hardly ever.

That’s it, I’m tired.

I have not expired.

Old, but not retired.

End, begin. Win.

I really can’t go on.

Sometimes I go on too long.

So long.

Au revoir, before you say get out.

I prefer a whisper to a shout.

Leave me out.

I am driven nearly mad by life but not quite.

Before I die I hope to see things right.

Goodnight.

Yes, I do mean what I say.

Good day.

No one thinks anyone means what they say.

How on Earth can you talk to people then?

Am I alone among men?

I know I do have followers, some few.

Thank you.

Followers on my blog I mean.

As a boy I ate ice cream.

I still do on rare occasions when Summer shows its head.

I’m not dead.

As I seem to go on and never stop I now, for now, shut up shop.

I look forward to Spring.

Do your thing.

Tich Ennis

15th June, 2017

Intensity

The intensity of feeling when it is for something or someone good.

How can we understand things, are we lost in a wood?

How may I explain love and hurt and death and pain?

Must I explain all to you and me too?

I do my best, I am a smoker, drinker, thinker.

Can a man in a pub give the brass jug a rub?

Call forth the genie, make a wish, enlightenment is all.

I muse, I wonder, write words here, I love large and small.

Zeitgeist is a word that means the spirit of the age.

It is filled with hatred, greed, gluttony and rage.

Indifference is not quite complete.

When may true hearts meet?

I am quite old, must it go on like this?

Is there joy in life more than a lover’s kiss?

Oh bliss.

I’m not sure how to end this poem or my life.

Many girls could have been my wife.

What is or was or could be everlasting joy?

Playing with a hoop when I was a boy.

Tich Ennis

14th June, 2017

Words Are Not Enough

How can I say it in words that contradict themselves?

There are books on the shelves.

Might they as well not have been written?

I am smitten.

Say, Why Our Children Can’t Read, to name but one.

Who is swayed by that under the Sun?

Even one?

If words could do it we are doing well.

In truth, though I hate to say it, we are in Hell.

Talk the talk or walk the walk or both?

We have truth by the throat.

Liars, liars everywhere.

Poisoning the air.

Lies kill, if we let them do it they will.

In the name of God do you want to live?

To love means to give.

Give yourself, give what you do your all.

When you hear music go with it, your ears are not a wall.

Must we sink in a sea of corruption, death and lies?

You know you don’t believe them, be wise.

All I ask, all you have to do, in everything be true.

Why oh why do you think that’s a tall order?

Who wants a wall on the Mexican border?

All it means is doing what you do.

Really doing it, for your sake and God’s be true.

Let yourself go, sink into a book.

Or film or whatever, if its good its worth a second look.

You know what’s good, its what suits you, and often many others too.

Don’t let others make up your mind, you own your brain, be kind.

Accept guidance from the good, they’re on your side the good ones, be as you should.

When you know if you know tell others, share.

If you care.

It’s a hard oul’ station as people in Ireland say and getting harder all the time.

We suffer from crime.

You can do this, you can’t, you can’t say that, who made the rules?

Crooks and fools.

Don’t be argumentative, don’t be like them, just do it.

Be yourself, there’s nothing to it.

Why do I have to tell you what a baby knows?

The king has no clothes.

The truth stands naked with nothing to hide.

When people cover up you know they lied.

Say what you mean, mean what you say.

You are as good as your word.

I go away.

The truth is here to stay.

It never goes away.

Truth is your friend.

I end.

Tich Ennis

14th June, 2017

Mad Poet

I wrote two poems yesterday, one called Care. I rang a friend and read them to him.  He said I sounded angry. I don’t want to sound angry.

Me: Do you think I was always mad or am I going mad in my old age?

He: I think the former rather than the latter.

Me: I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t like to think I am deteriorating in my old age.

He laughed.   I asked another friend if I got rich and famous might I become obnoxious?   Do you mean more obnoxious than you are, he asked?

An English girl barmaid in the same place said the Irish are very friendly until you get to know them. She chooses to live here. Is she a masochist? Join the club.

In life we must choose the least worst option. It’s a matter of choice.   My brother and I had a car accident when an English couple drove head on into us. My head hit the windscreen and I was temporarily unconscious. Did your whole life flash before your eyes, a barman asked? It was like a porn movie I said.

An Irish writer said a friend of his swore he saw a headline in an Irish paper, Irish girl killed by English train. They’re still doing it to us said another person.

Being Irish is defined as not being English, said an Irishman, not me. We’re Irish, we don’t do rules, said someone else.

If I am a poet why am I writing prose? What is prose, asked a barman who reads five books a week? Anything that isn’t poetry I said. Is a poet mad to write prose? Quite likely. A politician said we campaign in poetry, we govern in prose. A would be senator who failed to get elected said the people have spoken, the bastards. Similarly, the British voted for Brexit.

Do people know what’s good for them? They vote for heroin, cannabis, obesity, eating disorders and many other fads and fancies, with their feet and their mouths. What is populism? Giving the people what they want, not what they need. They don’t want that. Self inflicted wounds are the hardest to heal.

Populism is popular, the easy option. Its always someone else’s fault. Like blaming the English in Ireland. Who runs this bit of it anyway?

The Irish are an acquired taste. I dislike the term love-hate but it will do to be going on with. Says I who am Irish. Yours madly,

Tich Ennis

30th May, 2017