Category Archives: Poorhouse

Love Is The Word

In the beginning was the word then it became absurd.

Love became hate and shut Heaven’s gate.

Lies were chosen, love was frozen.

War and misery putting first me.

Bitter fruit we eat, when may friends meet?

Triviality came first, the best lost to the worst.

Are we cursed?

Once more the word will be when truth is set free.

Free us all from Hell, this prison cell.

The jailer is me, I was blind, now I see.

Turn the key.

Set us free.

So the best can be.

Say the word.

Love is heard.

Tich Ennis

8th July, 2017

Open Letter to John Carey

John Carey emeritus professor of literature at Oxford university and beekeeper

Dear Professor,

I admire your book reviews in the Sunday Times. It may have been you, and I think it was, who said the great writers possess greatness of soul. Also that eighty per cent of what is accepted as art in any age is not art. I write. We can’t all be Pushkin or indeed Russians of any description. I write poetry and what have you. Another said I write rhymes.

Avoidance of cliches, such as ‘the struggle of the artist to get his voice heard’, is important. I have said, and I quote, I breathe new life into old cliches. Truisms are nonetheless true for being self evident.

I have written possibly a thousand poems and am seventy-six years old, but enough statistics. I call them poems, and why not? Also plays, essays, stories mostly suited to the short attention span generation. But does anyone pay attention? Some, yes. A poem of mine, Snowdrop, has been spoken of in the same breath as the work of Seamus Heaney, Nobel prize winner. Not by an emeritus professor but by a farmer’s wife.

Pardon me for writing to you, but a cat may look at a king.   You may quote Oscar, I don’t know you but your manner is familiar.

Now, serious matters. John Kennedy Toole’s masterpiece A Confederacy of Dunces was not published until after his death by suicide and only then after his mother gave it to a literature professor who recommended it for publication, when it won the Pulitzer prize. History has been said to repeat itself, the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce.

Now, farcically, I provide you with links to recent writings of mine which please share if you feel so inclined.   Cliché. There’s no harm in asking.   There’s lots more where these came from.   I and my writing exist more than merely in cyberspace. But, yes, there.

Now, links:

https://tichennis.wordpress.com/2017/07/01/thats-all/

https://tichennis.wordpress.com/2017/07/03/my-mind-wanders/

https://tichennis.wordpress.com/2017/07/01/renegade/

Question: Does a sense of humour preclude one from serious consideration? What about Dostoevsky? Catch 22?

Regards,

Tich Ennis, birth name David, although that may be disputed.

3rd 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

 

Theresa May

Theresa May is up a gumtree, she made a mess.

As she is first to confess.

Do you like her dress?

She is a power walker, power strutter, is she a nutter?

She appears to lack empathy, if you know that word.

Are grammar schools absurd?

So I’ve heard.

So said Jones minor of the lower third.

Well I suppose she learned a lesson.

We’ve heard her confession.

Margaret Thatcher did not have advisors, she made up her own mind.

Theresa is not that kind.

Tich Ennis

17th June, 2017

Laugh And Cry

Is it alright to be funny as well on your way to Hell?

Oh well.

Yes, I believe in all that stuff that matters most but I have a sense of humour.

I should say and, so what, love is not a rumour.

So, okay I laugh and cry, I wipe a tear from my eye.

I may cry laughing or die laughing I don’t care which.

It looks like I won’t die rich.

Tich Ennis

7th June, 2017

Medical Consultation

Doctor: What’s your complaint?

Patient: I’m Irish.

Doctor: That’s incurable.

Patient: Is it catching?

Doctor: It depends what you do in your spare time.

Patient: The man who made time made plenty of it.

Doctor: What’s that supposed to mean?

Patient: What it says on the tin.

Doctor: Take off your clothes.

Patient: Why?

Doctor: I want to take a look at you.

Patient: Don’t look while I undress.

Doctor: Tell me when to look.

Patient (undressed): You can look now.

Doctor: It’s a boy!

Patient: It’s well knowing you went to medical school.

Doctor: You didn’t need to take off your underpants.

Patient: I don’t wear underpants.

Doctor: Why not?

Patient: What you don’t know won’t hurt you.

Doctor: Everything that passes between me and you is subject to medical confidentiality.

Patient: That’s a load of bull. What about the freedom of information act?

Doctor: We’ll let that pass. You may make full disclosure.

Patient: I am naked.

Doctor: So I see.

Patient: I take my clothes off when it rains.

Doctor: Why?

Patient: My skin is waterproof.

Doctor: What about sunshine?

Patient: You can have too much of a good thing.

Doctor: Well said. Would you like me to prescribe an antibiotic?

Patient: They don’t work because doctors prescribe too much of them.

Doctor: You have to feel you’re getting something for your money.

Patient: It isn’t all about feelings.

Doctor: It is.

Patient: I beg to differ.

Doctor: Doctors differ and patients die. What would you do if I told you you have six months to live?

Patient: I’d get a second opinion.

Doctor: You’re growing too fast for you height.

Patient: You stole that one. Call yourself a doctor!

Doctor: I am a doctor. See that certificate on the wall? Certified insane.

Patient: That’s not funny. I could be mad. Am I alright?

Doctor: Physically yes. Mentally I’m not sure.

Patient: Did Freud say its impossible to psychoanalyse an Irishman?

Doctor: That’s a myth but I can well believe it.

Patient: Can I dress now?

Doctor: Yes. I’ve had a good look.

Patient: There are seven orifices on the human body at the last count.

Doctor: Who’s the doctor around here? Did you go to medical school?

Patient: Don’t pull rank.

Doctor: You’ll feel better when you pay my fee.

Patient: I’m on a medical card.

Doctor: Then it doesn’t matter.

Patient: My symptoms disappear when I visit a doctor. Suddenly I’m well.

Doctor: It’s my bedside manner. I’m Irish too.

Patient: What!

Doctor: That doesn’t mean I’m no good, a quack, anymore than you are.

Patient: I never said I could cure anything.

Doctor: I guarantee nothing. Your satisfaction is my guarantee.

Patient: God knows I’ve heard some rubbish in my time. You should be a politician.

Doctor: I have medical ethics.

Patient: You’ve got it bad and that ain’t good. Is there no cure for my condition?

Doctor: You could emigrate or take a holiday.

Patient: In Ireland? What good would that do?

Doctor: A change is as good as a rest. The same only different.

Patient: You’ve done me a power of good.

Doctor: It’s all in the mind.

Patient: I don’t mind.

Doctor: Mind how you go now. Watch yourself crossing the road. I don’t want to be left picking up the pieces.

Patient: Would a rub of the relic do me any good?

Doctor: Whatever you think yourself.

Patient: Should I go to Las Vegas or Lourdes?

Doctor: I have patients waiting. I can’t sit here all day talking to the likes of you.

Patient: One for a man, two for a horse.

Doctor: Quack quack.

Patient: Will my story have a happy ending?

Doctor: This is it. Next please!

Patient: I’ll remember you in my will. I’m broke.

Doctor: That’s life. Get used to it. Come back if you get worse.

Patient: Kill or cure. What can’t be cured love must be endured love.

Doctor: If you attempt to sing I’ll call the police and have you ejected.

Patient: I can take a hint. (Leaves, closing door behind him).

Doctor: Thank God that’s over!

Omniscient all-seeing Author: And so say all of us.

Tich Ennis

7th June, 2017

 

 

Leftwing Capitalism

What is that?

Does it wear a top hat?

Can the consumer society coexist with socialism or is there something I missed?

Socialism, is it productive, is it seductive?

Economics like, does it mean a thing without a king?

Do we choose baubles, bangles and beads, do they answer all our needs?

Can we be poor but honest or is that too much to endure?

I’m not sure.

Tich Ennis

29th May, 2017