Category Archives: Media

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

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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