Category Archives: Peace

Rich And Famous

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

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Messages

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

The Question

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

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

 

Apple

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

Rubbish Man

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

Cruel God

Is God vengeful, vindictive, a sore loser? Getting his own back on us?   What did we do wrong?   What did I do wrong?   Is being born a mortal sin?   Our mortality rate is very high, a hundred per cent. We’re here for a good time, not a long time said a man in a pub.   And I quote.

Edna O’Brien, who is a good Irish writer, not of Mills and Boon type though we have some of those, said her mother said we are not meant to be happy. Another man in a pub said there’s no such thing as happiness. He said his wife went off with a million pounds. I recommended my sister marry him, she said she doesn’t want to marry a man who drinks whisky at ten in the morning.   He has a nice house but my sister has one already.

Why marry? Find a woman you don’t like and give her your house. I’m full of quotations, some Irish comedian said that first. Another man said he tried being a comedian but no one laughed.   That’s a joke for a start.

Now where was I, God. Don’t get me started. I asked my nephew, who does not believe in God, if there is a God could he have made people with a burning desire to be an artist, with the soul of an artist but not the talent?   Yes, my nephew replied. He is an artist, my nephew, not God. Ok maybe God is an artist. A piss artist. Will I go to Hell for saying that? Is God Van Gogh, passionate, I would say so. Is he misguided? Who has he to look up to?

As a young person I had interaction with a paedophile but he didn’t do anything. He said I was too innocent. He did with other boys. Duane Eddy, guitarist, had a piece of music called last moment of innocence, which I didn’t like. I mean the name. I thought it was too close to the bone, being then a teenager, innocence left behind. And lamented.

God, do we have to do it all for you? Do I? Okay, joke. A man asked another why do you always answer a question with another question and the other man said do I?   He was a Kerryman. Has God a dirty mind? What can he have been thinking of when he dreamed up sexual reproduction? Porn movies?

My title here, Cruel God, may be ironic, sardonic, sarcastic, whatever, or just a grab your eyes headline, speaking as a former journalist. Are you buying? A newspaper should make you fall out of your chair in amazement said William Randolph Hearst, newpaper magnate. See tabloids, red tops, comics. Or any other paper, posh or otherwise. We read newpapers which support our prejudices. Judge not lest ye shall be judged.

Is God a psycho? If so, what hope is there for us? Some boys like pulling the wings off flies. Are those boys made in God’s image, as we are told at school we all are? A fight broke out in a jail during anger management class, I think that’s funny but that’s just my sense of humour.   Would psychiatric help help? Help God, I mean. After all, he is a serial killer. He kills us all. Can he reform or be reformed? You have to want to give up your addiction. Are you persuasive?

I’m dying to meet God, so are many others. In fact all, believers and non believers alike.   Does God believe in God? Do you believe in yourself? Do you believe yourself? Can you believe your eyes? Are you hallucinating? Is God a drug addict? Or has he left us to our devices, devilish though they may be?

Imagine for a moment that I am God. What do I say? I’ve done my bit, now its up to you.

Call me mad, call me non-existent, but call me. Wars are waged in my name. Who’s wrong, who’s right? You figure it out. I’ve got better things to do. Sudoku. Karaoke singing. Whatever turns you on.

Life is a joke but you don’t get it.

Sorry God, I’m only joking.

Tich Ennis

8th December, 2018