Category Archives: Mundanity

Being Holy

I can’t be holy all the time, I am made of mud and slime.

Apologies, God, for this rhyme.

See you sometime.

Tich Ennis

28th April, 2018

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Traditional

I am a traditionalist poet with traditional concerns.

Get me a Rennies, my heart burns.

How do I fit into the modern age?

Do people read a page?

The anti-social media has become what people are addicted to.

Its worse than Asian flu.

Young people almost never talk.

They have smart phones before they walk.

Are we robots or machines or what?

Humanity is here since time forgot.

Do you value a human smile?

Walk, hold hands together for a while.

Allow reality intrude.

Ignoring each other is rude.

I pray for a change of mood.

Tich Ennis

17th February, 2018

Skull Two

I like saying things that mean two things at once.

Some hate it and treat me as a dunce.

Two for the price of one as I once said.

You may get the joke before you’re dead.

Why has a skull a grin on its face?

Maybe a joke is not out of place.

Must I explain clearly as to a fool or child?

Some don’t want to know at school, they drive their teacher wild.

The skull smiled.

Tich Ennis

26th December, 2017

Remain

God in the damp, God in the stain, God in the pleasure, God in the pain.

They do their best to kill God, kill the truth. God remain.

Stay sane.

Tich Ennis

26th December, 2017

Music Maker

Should I tell the truth as it applies to me or is that boring wait and see.

If you sing and record at home your song needs mastering, or maybe poem.

Here is a boring fact, ISRC code, what’s that?

You need one on each track for identification on a radio station.

They are free if you look around and do no harm to the sound.

Whoever duplicates your CD if you make one puts them on at no extra cost.

No one told me all this, not all is lost.

I found out by asking, looking around and a little luck.

There are good guys out there who read the book.

When you’re starting you have to do everything for yourself including finding who to use for what.

Quite a lot.

If someone lived my life before could they tell me more?

Little by little I find how, your way would be different, a different hand on the plough.

I still have more to find out will I get there?

Yes, if I care.

So there.

What’s good is rare.

And who, you?

Maybe me too.

It is a case of doing things one step at a time.

As I wrote this rhyme.

This has been a blog, online diary, my recent history.

Why anyone else would be interested is a mystery.

I said nothing about how many cups of coffee I had nor a photo of my coffee cup.

Now at last I shut up.

Tich Ennis

15th November, 2017

Truth Tellers

Truth tellers are not welcome it seems to me.

Oh well, the best is yet to be.

Can I have a good cup of tea?

Look all around you, see the worst.

So much with lies and falsehood cursed.

Hear everyday ordinary political speech.

Is the truth beyond their reach?

Or ours.

Grow flowers.

I write by the way of a bouquet.

This is what I have to say.

People say what suits them not what they think about a lot of things.

This is true of many kings.

Note I do not say all.

Extremism could kill us all.

That’s all.

Tich Ennis

28th July, 2017

Explaining Myself

Or attempting to. What am I? Who am I? Do I matter? If so to who or, much less, what? Are these irrelevant questions? If irrelevant, irrelevant to what? To what matters. What does matter? You. You matter to me. Do I matter to you? You who hear or read these words. Does it matter if I matter to you? It matters to me. Does it matter to you if you matter to me? I suppose so. It should. Who says? I do. Am I what I say and do? To a large extent yes. In fact that is all that matters about me. You too? Yes. Questions are limited. How, where, what, why, when and who. Am I defined in those terms and are those things all there are to say about me? For me read you. What is the most important question? Not what, that’s for sure. Why is the question, the supreme question. Why am I? Why are you? Why not? Why a pear, an apple, a blade of grass? Our environment. The environment from which we spring and of which we are a part. Self aware matter. Does matter matter? Yes. For a while. Our life is a while. We could not exist in material form except in a material world. Or universe or galaxy. Does matter last forever? No. It changes form. Will I or you last forever? No. Not in material form. Life is a life sentence. Hard labour. I mention that in passing. Life is a passing thing. Why and how are important, more than what. Reality is the essence of the real. I am my essence, you are yours. You are how you are what you are. I attempt to explain myself but explain you. A poor explanation. Another word for essence is spirit. When the spirit leaves the body we are dead. Dead to the world. We are no more. In the eyes of the world. We are our spirit. How we are. I am I. You are you. You are your spirit, me too. Does this matter? The word matter again. The soul of the thing. The thing I am, but more than a thing. What is my wish? That people not be treated as things. I or you. Anyone anywhere. Speaking for myself I know people have not much time for my longer pieces such as this. Unparagraphed now as I write. Should I care? Yes. About that? I don’t know. Should people care for each other? Yes. Who is the other? You. Me too. There are more questions than answers. Always. Here in this piece for example. The question why is all important. I must be talking to myself. You too. Have I answered those questions about myself? It seems not. I still don’t know. Do you? About you? Meanwhile I press on regardless. What have I said? I don’t matter, I am not matter, not a thing. If I matter to myself I am wrong. You matter. Who will read these words? Almost no one perhaps. Only you. That makes two. Me and you. A dream come true. Poets ask these questions and answer them better than I. Every man his own poet. We are part of a poem, you and I. The poem is the universe. Words are stars sprinkled in the sky. The question why. Maybe I will answer before I die.

I have a friend in hospital, maybe I will read him this. He will say it is too long. He is usually right. So long.

I read it to him. He said blog it. As is.

Tich Ennis

24th July, 2017