Category Archives: Rhyme

Beard

I don’t need to shave because I grew a beard.

The truth is most feared.

I do need to wash my face to be in a state of grace.

Sometimes I wash my hands.

I listen to rock’n’roll bands.

Or did in times gone past, the future is catching up with me fast.

Its pointless complaining that I have to cut my nails, my patience fails.

I do get out of bed, well said.

I am alive until I’m dead.

I enjoy life more or less.

God bless.

Tich Ennis

16th October, 2017

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The Halloween Ring

Slowly, imperceptibly things are happening, or maybe.

What rhymes with gravy?

I waited for a man on a white horse.

He never came, of course.

Could Clint Eastwood make my day?

He stayed away.

Mind you I said nothing, don’t get all excited.

May I allow myself to be delighted?

For every horizon there is another one.

I follow the Sun.

Something is better than nothing, I search for something.

Maybe I will get the Halloween ring.

Tich Ennis

16th October, 2017

Fancy Free

Money and me are passing acquaintances, money is fancy free.

I borrow from a friend to bring music to you.

You and you and you and me too.

Artists only buy from each other an artist said.

Are we all artists before we’re dead?

I wrote a book, I sang a song, how long, oh Lord, how long?

For a joke God made a money tree.

I sit under the apple tree.

My pockets are empty, can’t you see?

Tich Ennis

16th October, 2017

Smoke

Why is everyone so screwed up, including me?

I watch your faces, you see.

Okay, not always, not quite everyone.

Why do most look like they never had any fun?

Had or have, have it your own way.

All potential customers of mine walk by every day.

I went so far as to write a book, some enjoyed it, some won’t even look.

My brother gives my book away, for God’s sake why?

Alright, its not that bad, some pay for it before they die.

Would you die laughing if I told you a joke?

I am a living cliché, a poet who is broke.

And I smoke.

Tich Ennis

12th October, 2017

Lost

I left my belongings at the gate and hurried inward to my fate.

I rang my sister about my brother and did one or two or more things other.

Then I said, where are my things, who knows what misfortune brings.

I looked high and low and on the floor, then gave up, no more, no more.

I settled for a substitute, bitter fruit.

Later I went out again and discovered my belongings then.

Cigarettes, a lighter and a pen.

A lapse of memory occurred.

This is not my final word.

I found what’s lost, oh welcome home!

Turn of the tide, bedecked with foam.

Tich Ennis

10th October, 2017

Perfection

Perfection knows no flaw, maybe I never saw.

If scenery is any indication we have some good stuff in this nation.

Perfection, to which I aspire, is it always higher?

Before I expire in the mire.

How good is my best, I suppose I know.

Its good, alright, I’ll let it go.

Only best is good enough for me.

Whether it be gold or a cup of tea.

Or a meal at a hotel.

I dislike saying oh well.

Hell and Heaven are opposite extremes.

Must we be in between?

You know what I mean.

The middle way is not good enough.

If you don’t like this poem, tough.

This is my kind of stuff.

You probably know words like mediocre, mediocrity.

How about a plastic covered sea?

I say what I see.

Perfection, no, I have not found.

Music?

I like the sound.

Tich Ennis

9th October, 2017

Way

Which way to the world and which way back?

Can I get in through a crack?

I am a poet no one knows.

I wear old clothes.

I have a big nose.

I like the word penumbra but I haven’t got one of those.

Must I toil and weep and moan?

Who pays for my telephone?

I wend along my meandery way.

Never forgetting bills to pay.

Who hears what I have to say?

One or two, maybe you.

Tich Ennis

9th October, 2017