Category Archives: Optimism

Spinner

I spin a web of golden threads from the story of my life, of this world, my world, your world, the Moon above, the universe.

I wish to free all that and those from war and want and misery, to free all of us above all else from a fatal curse.

A golden ladder to Heaven’s gate I wish to build, I wish to make, a bridge that all may cross who live under the Sun.

I dream this dream asleep, awake, I dream with every breath I take that all may be one.

Well, not quite, but more or less.

I’m only human, goodnight, God bless.

Tich Ennis

16th 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

Great Poetry

Heaven in a grain of sand said William Blake.

So he spake.

Cast a cold eye on life and death, horseman pass by.

W.B. Yeats said that, I know why.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light, I do with all my might.

Dylan Thomas from Wales wrote that line.

He gave it to me, it is mine.

Need I go on and on and on?

We are here, then gone.

One more I’ve got to say before I go away.

The best lack all conviction and the worst are full of passionate intensity.

Yeats spoke those words to me.

And you, its true.

May I inject some fun into this poem?

By their works shall ye know them.

My only conviction in a literal sense is for being in a pub after hours.

I like flowers.

In their natural setting.

I tried horse betting.

But not for long, it was not my song.

Have I any conviction or belief in the transcendental sense?

Its not all about pounds shillings and pence.

Yes, I do, I have, I believe those words of great men.

They confirm my belief that all is not lost, God guide my pen.

I love words of Ghandi and Martin Luther King.

After Winter, Spring.

If I can’t write great poetry at least I can quote.

This I wrote.

Tich Ennis

8th June, 2017

What To Do

How can I put up with you?

You are a sorry crew.

The worst of it is, I am one of you.

Tell me what to do!

Have you a clue?

No? Me too.

Should I put up or shut up?

Will bellyaching save the nation state?

From fate.

I aspire to love not hate.

I’ll get it right, just wait.

I am the late great.

I hesitate.

Why wait?

Checkmate.

Tich Ennis

5th June, 2017

 

Spirit Level

I’m just another spirit level trying to go straight.

Will I ever get it right, I can hardly wait.

Okay, my bubble moves around and up and down like mad.

Am I in captivity, should I be always sad?

Whoever is the carpenter, I am his trusty tool.

Must I always get it wrong, always play the fool?

I cannot argue with the facts, the line is straight or not.

Okay, I’ll say it one more time, I’ll give it all I’ve got.

Tich Ennis

2nd June, 2017

Word Way

How are words to you and me, may they set us free?

I ask you and me.

Words are everywhere, in books and in the air.

In song, in story, in every form, on stone.

We are not alone.

In the future, in the past, free from self at last.

When oh when oh where oh where will we be there?

Yes, if we care.

I say yes, words may.

Someday.

Words are the way.

Tich Ennis

13th May, 2017

A. A. Gill

Why did you die on me? Where are all the good guys gone?

In memory you live on.

Some more or less good remain.

The rest give me a pain.

Oh God above, Hellfire and brimstone would be a change.

Your cat has mange.

Brain transplants all around and replacement hearts, send them please.

I’m on my knees.

Where are the trees?

In times like these.

We need performing fleas.

I liked your line, A. A., about someone speaking like a duchess in a poorhouse.

Jazz music in the whorehouse.

Still the Sun shines, sometimes.

Tich Ennis

10th May, 2017