Category Archives: Propaganda

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

America

Part of America was bought, is everything for sale?

Does money get you elected in the land of the Christmas sale?

Money may buy you health, what is looked up to, wealth?

Is everything about money, their comedians are funny.

Is money what its all about, death and taxes find you out.

What does it profit a man if he loses his soul, they fought to keep their country whole.

Oh land of striving which speaks of the free, your music means a lot to me.

Tich Ennis

23rd July, 2017

Zoo

A snake in the grass. The elephant in the room. The monkey on my back. A laughing hyena. Head-in-the-sand ostrich.

These and many other colourful metaphors describe the human zoo. We live there, there is no entrance fee. The demon drink. Okay, a demon is not an animal, although depicted as a horned beast, and tailed. Heads I win, tails you lose, that sort of guy.

What do you get when you cross a sheep with a kangaroo? A woolly jumper. That ancient wisdom is on a clay tablet of pre-1960 era, anthropocene. Our era, get used to it. Its all we have to go on.

In earlier, less enlightened times people would visit the local lunatic asylum to see the lunatics raving or otherwise. Now, the lunatics have taken over the asylum. This is the elephant in the room. A room with a view. Isn’t nature wonderful?

Nature red in tooth and claw, said Rudyard Kipling, who spoke a lot of sense. Sense is not popular in intellectual circles, see asylum above. Genius at a push, which is said to be akin to madness. But not the same thing. Different, yes. Vive la difference. The colours of the rainbow, from which all other colours are made.   No, the world is not monochrome, one colour, boring if so, but no.

Reality is multi-coloured, variety is the spice of life. As has been said, possibly by a parrot. Myself in that instance. Sheeplike. Bovine. Alright for sheep and cows. A bull in a china shop. A horse of a different colour. Or a person. Why not? Why indeed? Sameness is boring. But you knew that already.

I hesitated whether to call this piece Metaphorical Zoo, but no, not simple enough. Or A Zoo or The Zoo? The indefinite or the definite article, there is a vast difference. There I go again. Biodiversity in its infinite variety. The variety of human experience. My family and other animals, Gerald Durrell. Planet of the apes. A film, or movie if you prefer.   Your fellow humans.     Enjoy the show. Am I my brother’s keeper or my keeper’s brother?

Don’t try to understand other people’s motives. That way madness lies. One man’s philosophy, I do what I like and laugh at everyone else. Not my philosophy.   There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Shakespeare. My kind of creature.

Its not all bad or mad or sad, of that I’m glad.   This piece is subject to revision. As much else.   Hopefully the truth may evolve. It’s a slow process. Each must play their part. Must or should? That would be telling you.

Tich Ennis

10th July, 2017

Three Things

6th July, 2017

Michael,

Three CD’s here. Two one-act plays by Joe Orton, collectively known as Crimes of Passion, an interview with Phil Coulter, songwriter, and one with three items, a Hindu prayer, Luther’s Legacy and Exploring Truth, some clergymen waffling on and getting more or less nowhere. In that order, diminishing order of importance.

The Hindu religion appears rather more practical than others, as I said to you before, but why bore you by repeating myself? Sort of everyday reality, if you know what I mean. Life, whatever that is, and how to deal with it.

The Orton plays are brilliant and very funny. The Erpingham Camp, a satire on empire set in a holiday camp, no knobbly knees contest but a screaming one. The Ruffian on the Stair is grand guignol, full of menace, could be called black comedy, also extremely funny. Sentimentalism, savagery, murder and humour, it could almost be Irish.

The Irish do make an appearance, and why not? Oh wad such power, etcetera, to see ourselves as others see us. Some other Celt said that.   Robbie Burns, why not share the blame?

Now, real life. I am thinking of bringing out a book of poetry of less than forty-eight pages to sell for five euros, A5 size, already some have said they will pay that for it, sight unseen. Disposable income, why not? A printer is lined up, poems not yet selected, I will be the judge, all in cyberspace as of now or yet to appear there where apparently no one or almost no one knows they’re there. I am about to face reality. The real thing. Virtual no, not on your Nelly!

I have a title selected and more or less decided on the cover but may include some non-poetic work, why not? In some pubs a pint costs more than a fiver but you can’t bring it home with you. An heirloom. Owners could have themselves buried with it clutched in their hands to show to God on the day of judgement. If he hasn’t read it already.

I am my own judge, jury, prosecuting counsel and defence counsel in this matter as in all others. I let myself off with a caution.   I refuse to recognise the court. I play dumb. I promise never to do it again. That would be boring.

Oscar Wilde said being boring is a mortal sin. Who am I to disagree? It kills the soul. The dead kill the living. We live in the valley of the walking dead, but for how long? Until we find the off-switch.

Why do skulls have a grin on their face? You don’t think they took it seriously, do you? Neither do I. Yours ever, d

Tich Ennis

Am I Wrong?

Is everything alright, is this the way you want things to be?

I don’t mean this verse, the universe and you and me.

Do you see?

If you think so, I’ll go.

I could be crazy or just lazy.

I want to clear up the mess but not if you like things as they are, I confess.

I see myself as the universal dustman, clearing up rubbish, righting wrongs, singing songs.

A garbage disposal operative you might say I am.

I am the little boy with his finger in the dam.

Tich Ennis

6th July, 2017

My Mind Wanders

I am quite old.

A story retold.

What holds my interest right through?

Anything well done by me or you.

Quite or rather good or even sometimes when I should, my mind moves away.

The best should stand the test, I can go back another day.

I focus like a laser beam in a dream.

Which sometimes occurs when reading his or hers.

Dreams are best, God bless imagination.

The Garden of Eden requires restoration.

Tich Ennis

2nd July, 2017

Renegade

I am a renegade because I believe in meaning.

Is everybody dreaming?

Okay I’m old and old fashioned, maybe so.

I wish to speak the truth before I go.

Truth also is treated as false, dead.

How then is that true, that’s what I said.

How may this be true, meaning is meaningless?

If it means anything at all the speaker is a mess.

His sin I confess.

Confusion, illusion, delusion?

Excuse your intrusion.

Tich Ennis

1st July, 2017