Category Archives: Soul

Dead And Gone

But they live on.

I don’t know why we have to die.

In a way we never do.

I hope me too. And you.

Tich Ennis

5th April, 2018

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Broke Artists

Does God mean artists to be broke?

I am, no joke.

I would like to make this clear, I am not God.

I am a lazy sod.

You don’t get rich writing poetry someone said to me.

Was he right? Look and see.

I sing as well.

What the Hell.

Tich Ennis

10th March, 2017

Modern Star

Instagram and twitter, do you know what these things are?

Modern person, part of a star.

If you want to say things go where people are.

Tich Ennis

5th March, 2018

Two In One

Do I have to say this, don’t you know?

The spiritual is expressed through the physical, there you go.

Its not one or the other or the other not at all.

Its both together hand in hand or else look how we fall.

Why do I have to say this, listen to a singer sing.

He uses heart and lungs and soul and voice, he gives everything.

Or she, not to be gender specific.

When done right it is terrific.

Body and Soul is an old jazz standard, it says what I say here.

Someone has to brew your beer.

I’m a poor poet saying what needs to be said.

Before I’m dead.

Tich Ennis

20th February, 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

Ballbreaker

God keeps kicking me in the balls or is it the other fellow?

Have I a streak down my back of vivid yellow?

I never really expect anything much, I sure don’t get it.

I lay in bed as a child and wet it.

Now in later life I have no wife.

If I had how would she put up with me?

Patron saint of lost causes, rescue me.

Some few like what I do.

Do you?

A lonely soul struggling to be true.

I apologise for using a coarse word.

Its not the worst I ever heard.

That word is synonymous with bravery.

I’ll have a cup of tea.

Should I end here or say so many promises are broken?

I speak a truth unspoken.

Where is Hoboken?

I do my best all the time.

Am I guilty of a crime?

Kafka instructed that all his work be burned.

I am the worm who turned.

No, I don’t want my stuff to go up in smoke.

I don’t want my life to be a dirty joke.

Self-pity is despicable, I know that too.

I’ll get over it, will you?

Believe me I pity all of you.

I have more or less run out of tears in my advanced years.

Against all odds I have one more thing to say, to turn night into day.

This dope has hope.

Tich Ennis

10th December, 2017