Category Archives: Self Publishing

Artist

I am an artist, I just want to make.

If I said I was in PR I’d be a fake.

Who wants to manufacture distribute and sell?

To me that’s Hell.

What price the Liberty Bell?

So almost no one knows of me or my output, my work, my art.

My breaking heart.

I don’t want to cry on your shoulder, I might shrink your collar.

Can you spare a dollar?

Nothing is free, not even me.

I am unwritten history.

I will have to learn to swim sometime.

Doing nothing is a crime.

I speak metaphorically of course, I’m a poet, not a horse.

Some idiot asked do I not know how to swim, that’s Michael O’Brien, that’s him.

Can I get anything into anyone’s thick head?

I’ll keep trying until I’m dead.

By swim I meant come down to Earth, get in the swim of things.

Knock on doors, try bell rings.

Must I speak simply as if everyone is a dope?

Including myself and the Pope.

Some hope.

Tich Ennis

11th September, 2017

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Problem

Must I beg, borrow and steal to bring the world to heel?

What about how I feel?

Far be it from me to impose, I speak in rhyme, not prose.

So it goes.

The fair name of poetry has been maligned but not by me.

People think poets speak no sense, they’re not far wrong, get thee hence.

To revert once more, where can I get money?

I want to buy your freedom with a book both true and funny.

Problem, no money.

Tich Ennis

8th September, 2017

Court

Blackening one person’s name does not make another’s white.

If you believe that of yourself, goodnight.

So are some people shades of grey as far as you may know?

Including yourself, you ought to know.

Who is your judge and who are you to judge?

Yourself I say, and do not fudge.

As far as I am concerned the jury’s out.

I am inclined to give myself the benefit of the doubt.

Tich Ennis

3rd September, 2017

Sloppy Guy

I am a messy sloppy guy, don’t ask the reason why.

I was born to feel not think, I can do things, I write with ink.

Technical explanations leave me cold, I have grown to be so very old.

When they tell me what to do but leave out how I’m all at sea I cannot plough.

So I should ask some other guy, less sloppy than you or I.

Maybe some guy says it clear, I wish he would show up here.

Or preferably do it for me while I drink a cup of tea.

Will that ever be?

Why leave it all to me?

Set me free.

Yours frustratedly.

I want to do things in the simplest possible way.

That’s all I’ve got to say.

Today.

Or for now anyway.

Tich Ennis

2nd September, 2017

Prize Poem

Should I enter for a poetry competition when I never win?

To quote myself, when do I begin?

Has it all been said before, who am I to speak?

A nobody yet somebody my voice has not grown weak.

I speak for all who speak for true, I speak for me, I speak for you.

Do I need to win a prize?

I walk under rainy skies.

A poet lives, a poet dies.

A prize would come as a surprise.

To an unknown such as I.

I dare ask why.

I do not believe a lie.

I butter up no buttercup.

So I am told to shut up.

My answer, no.

So on I go.

The fee is money down the drain.

Irish criminals live in Spain.

Is it a crime to write in rhyme?

I write for now and all time.

I mean what I say.

Meanwhile the world puts on a play and looks the other way.

I do not want a prize, acclaim.

Here below I write my name.

Money would be welcome, who pays for poetry?

Don’t ask me.

I live in Hell, all is not well.

An artist describes what he sees.

Who wants truth in times like these?

Who makes honey, honeybees.

So alone I wander on.

If I enter, money gone.

Am I sorry just for me?

No, I’m sad for history.

Will I, won’t I, should I do it?

Its only money, there’s nothing to it.

I am in two minds, as you may see.

A schizophrenic, that’s me.

Who will win, someone better?

Or in common parlance, wetter.

Come on world, must do better!

I’ll leave it at that.

As Shakespeare said, I smell a rat.

There’s something rotten in the state.

I hold my nose, await my fate.

This poem may go on too long.

Am I right or am I wrong?

Should I take up writing prose?

I don’t know, maybe, I suppose.

God knows.

Tich Ennis

2nd September, 2017

 

Bits Of Time

While I wait.

For my fate.

I have a date.

A date with doom and gloom?

I hope not soon.

In between I wait and wonder.

My heart is torn asunder.

No wonder.

I live in hope.

This dope.

I don’t need rope.

This seems rather sad.

I like glad.

But then I’m mad.

Fools rush in they say.

This is a good day.

I asked for a receipt but you did not give me one.

I gave you a tip, have fun.

I said I would pay at the desk but you walked away.

Do you never listen to what I say?

A poem is never finished it is abandoned, said a poet to me.

I agree.

So you came back and said my receipt is on the bar.

Can I walk that far?

Later still you left it on my table the receipt, not a bill.

So okay things are not as bad as at first appears.

Postpone your tears.

Then I sold a cd of me singing for full price, ten.

He said his ninety-two year old mother will listen to every word, when.

Then I sold another to a woman who lives across the street.

Good to meet.

She will pay at my front door.

I have one foot on the floor.

So all in all so far a good day.

All things come to he who waits.

Our postman does not shut gates.

Tich Ennis

1st September, 2017

Explanation

My purpose seems to be to explain.

The truth appears to give people a pain.

Will we have rain?

What do you expect in Ireland except bad weather?

It gives us something to talk about, keeps us together.

Alright, so one and one makes two.

Are you listening, are you hearing when I speak to you?

It appears no is the answer.

You dismiss me as a chancer.

Suppose I have a cure for cancer?

Doctor heal thyself you all cry out.

Alright, I heard you, do not shout.

Am I entitled to fool about?

At least don’t tell me to shut my mouth.

Tich Ennis

29th August, 2017