Category Archives: Media

Patreon – Maybe?

I am considering signing up for the artists’ patronage site, Patreon.  At a glance it appears good or maybe very good.  I don’t allow myself to get excited.  Some guy said he doesn’t believe in positive thinking because you think its going to happen and it doesn’t then you get all depressed.

Where have all the patrons gone?  Gone to the digital world, everyone.  There goes the mob, I am their leader, I must follow them.  After further consideration.  Look before you leap.  Yesterday we stood on the edge of an abyss, today we take a great leap forward – Russian politician.

My most recent poem blogged here, Sinn Fein, is not my most recent poem, I normally put them up chronologically, in order of writing.  I suppose I’ll get around to putting that earlier one up.   I need to read up about Patreon.

Its snowing here now, first snow I’ve seen for a long time.  Predicted, but predictions are often unreliable.  You can’t be wrong all the time.

About Patreon, when I know what, how, and why I may write further on that topic.  If it works, it works.  It appears to work for some, as far as I can see from a brief study.

I feel my stuff is uncategorisable, does not fit any niche or genre, I know some like it.  The real world and the virtual, the real world is more expensive.  Matter matters, matter costs.  Paper, ink, printing, plastic discs, but I like that world too.  It is my first love.

So I climb a learning curve.  Slow learner though I be.  I desire a comprehensive overview.  I feel it may take me three days to get there, the summit, apex, pinnacle, look up your thesaurus.  Top.  From where I will survey the scene.

Where to have the picnic?  Or whether, weather permitting.  The top will do, enjoy the view.  Birds may eat the crumbs.  The joy of alfresco, no floor to sweep up.  And if you spill your drink don’t panic.  Far from the kitchen sink.

Patreon here I come but will you notice?  New worlds to conquer, said the unwanted immigrant.  Napoleon was not French, I console myself with that thought.  An outsider.  With an objective view.

Does anyone want my tourist postcards?

Tich Ennis

16th January, 2018

 

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Screaming Headlines

Oh God is it the end of the world right now?

I’m not ready anyhow.

You mean like that’s it?

Time to quit?

I have things to do, I don’t know about you.

If I believed what you say I’d call it a day.

Heck, its not that bad.

One of us is mad.

Is it your job to make us worry?

Be in a hurry?

Pull the other one, its got bells on it.

I’m not ready to quit.

That’s it.

Tich Ennis

11th November, 2017

Bits Of Time

While I wait.

For my fate.

I have a date.

A date with doom and gloom?

I hope not soon.

In between I wait and wonder.

My heart is torn asunder.

No wonder.

I live in hope.

This dope.

I don’t need rope.

This seems rather sad.

I like glad.

But then I’m mad.

Fools rush in they say.

This is a good day.

I asked for a receipt but you did not give me one.

I gave you a tip, have fun.

I said I would pay at the desk but you walked away.

Do you never listen to what I say?

A poem is never finished it is abandoned, said a poet to me.

I agree.

So you came back and said my receipt is on the bar.

Can I walk that far?

Later still you left it on my table the receipt, not a bill.

So okay things are not as bad as at first appears.

Postpone your tears.

Then I sold a cd of me singing for full price, ten.

He said his ninety-two year old mother will listen to every word, when.

Then I sold another to a woman who lives across the street.

Good to meet.

She will pay at my front door.

I have one foot on the floor.

So all in all so far a good day.

All things come to he who waits.

Our postman does not shut gates.

Tich Ennis

1st September, 2017

Hope

Is there a glimmer of hope for even the maddest dope?

Throw me a rope.

I walk across, at a loss.

The line is tight, alright, all night.

No safety net.

Not on your Nelly, you bet.

I’ll get there yet.

Where is there, it is not here, I’m only here for the beer.

Give me no push or shove, I search for love.

Heaven’s above.

Tich Ennis

14th July, 2017

Depend

You can’t depend on the weather in Ireland or anything else at all.

Hear politicians talking, they might as well be talking to the wall.

They make no sense at all.

Ireland is rather small.

Does it punch above its weight in anything or is it fate?

We’re not bad at talking, when will we start walking?

We wrote some books, we sang some songs, we tried to right some wrongs.

Occasionally, once or twice, we get it right.

We emigrate, take flight.

Beannacht De libh, good night.

Alright.

Another wonderful day, as Beckett said.

Cheer up, you could be dead.

Tich Ennis

30th June, 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

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