Being from Ireland or any part of it doesn’t mean you’re great.
Do I get shot for saying that, what is my fate?
How about the people in jails and looney bins and the dail?
Are they Irish all?
We all have our cross to bear.
I don’t care.
Tich Ennis
23rd March, 2018
If I became rich and famous might I become obnoxious, I asked a friend, he said do you mean more obnoxious than you are?
I don’t own a car.
God may be sparing me for something, but what the Hell?
Oh well.
Fame has not gone to my head, I have obscurity instead.
Its not hard to be humble when no one knows you’re there.
Ask me, see if I care.
Could I possibly stand up to fame?
You don’t know my name.
I am honest, I am poor.
May the truth endure.
Tich Ennis
7th February, 2018
If you don’t send a message you can’t expect one in return.
I have a lot to learn.
I spoke with various friends today.
I have not gone away.
They heard what I had to say.
Life has its ups and downs for all concerned.
That is what I learned.
Message returned.
This poem appears to say almost nothing at all.
That’s all.
Tich Ennis
3rd February, 2018
My best friend Michael O’Brien said I will be famous after I’m dead.
He died first, instead.
Do I want fame for myself, no.
The truth comes dropping slow.
I want what everyone wants but hardly dares to expect.
World peace, an end to war and argument as you might suspect.
I write my words, they say the same.
Allow children play a game.
Maybe Michael’s right, may my words be true.
I want a perfect world for you.
How about me too?
A perfect world requires perfected people, they are rare.
The burning question, do you care?
Tich Ennis
2nd February, 2018
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
An apple fell from off a tree right into my lap, lucky me.
You can’t expect everything to fall into your lap, you sap.
At least sit under the tree, like me, why not pick one, one that’s ripe?
Don’t believe tripe.
Its not all luck, you make your own.
Call the right person on the phone.
Hermit, alone.
An apple waits for you, you’ve got to do.
I was like you, look at me now.
Under the bough.
Tich Ennis
12th January, 2018
What do I want, I want the truth to be.
To Hell with me.
I write and sing for what its worth.
I want peace and happiness on Earth.
Joy, let joy be unconfined.
I am imperfect, do you mind?
So where is the perfect man, nowhere I suppose.
In the meantime may I wear his clothes?
I speak truth, I hope to be it too.
I waited everlastingly for you.
Some clown here says he wants the truth to be.
Who? Me.
I well know I may be misunderstood.
The rubbish man says swap bad and mad for good.
I want to make it perfectly clear.
That’s why I’m here.
My aim is for perfection, may I not aim in vain.
The world is in pain.
May my words not go down the drain.
The rubbish man would like a holiday in Spain.
Tich Ennis
10th January, 2018
