Category Archives: Soul

Writer Singer

I am a writer posing as a singer although I never wrote a song.

A singer put one of my poems to music, they need to be quite long.

He played and sang it at my book launch, a woman was highly impressed.

I should do what I do best.

So a guy in Scotland said if I make myself famous for something else someone might publish my book.

You have ears as well as eyes, listen and look.

Read the book.

Tich Ennis

16th August, 2017

Sock

Deer Oirish Riters’ Soc, I want to rite but should I?

I can’t spell, but what the Hell?

Does grammar matter, should a thin person be fatter?

A writer must have something to say more than have a nice day.

Nothing rhymes with I except die.

That’s not completely true, are you?

I’ll put a sock in it for now.

Have a nice day despite the rain anyhow.

Tich Ennis

16th August, 2017

Diamond

May the finite comprehend the infinite?

Maybe if I try with all my might.

Diamonds are formed under great compression.

Many suffer from depression.

I am not the worrying kind.

When will I make up my mind?

Tich Ennis

14th August, 2017

The Singing Stone

A stone sang to me and said set me free.

Must I just be?

Is it your will that I be a stone?

Leave me alone.

I want your throne.

Skim me across a lake for Heaven’s sake.

Or throw me and cause ripples where I land.

Doing nothing I can’t stand.

All the same I suppose I’m meant to be what you see.

Just me.

Tich Ennis

11th August, 2017

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

Explaining Myself

Or attempting to. What am I? Who am I? Do I matter? If so to who or, much less, what? Are these irrelevant questions? If irrelevant, irrelevant to what? To what matters. What does matter? You. You matter to me. Do I matter to you? You who hear or read these words. Does it matter if I matter to you? It matters to me. Does it matter to you if you matter to me? I suppose so. It should. Who says? I do. Am I what I say and do? To a large extent yes. In fact that is all that matters about me. You too? Yes. Questions are limited. How, where, what, why, when and who. Am I defined in those terms and are those things all there are to say about me? For me read you. What is the most important question? Not what, that’s for sure. Why is the question, the supreme question. Why am I? Why are you? Why not? Why a pear, an apple, a blade of grass? Our environment. The environment from which we spring and of which we are a part. Self aware matter. Does matter matter? Yes. For a while. Our life is a while. We could not exist in material form except in a material world. Or universe or galaxy. Does matter last forever? No. It changes form. Will I or you last forever? No. Not in material form. Life is a life sentence. Hard labour. I mention that in passing. Life is a passing thing. Why and how are important, more than what. Reality is the essence of the real. I am my essence, you are yours. You are how you are what you are. I attempt to explain myself but explain you. A poor explanation. Another word for essence is spirit. When the spirit leaves the body we are dead. Dead to the world. We are no more. In the eyes of the world. We are our spirit. How we are. I am I. You are you. You are your spirit, me too. Does this matter? The word matter again. The soul of the thing. The thing I am, but more than a thing. What is my wish? That people not be treated as things. I or you. Anyone anywhere. Speaking for myself I know people have not much time for my longer pieces such as this. Unparagraphed now as I write. Should I care? Yes. About that? I don’t know. Should people care for each other? Yes. Who is the other? You. Me too. There are more questions than answers. Always. Here in this piece for example. The question why is all important. I must be talking to myself. You too. Have I answered those questions about myself? It seems not. I still don’t know. Do you? About you? Meanwhile I press on regardless. What have I said? I don’t matter, I am not matter, not a thing. If I matter to myself I am wrong. You matter. Who will read these words? Almost no one perhaps. Only you. That makes two. Me and you. A dream come true. Poets ask these questions and answer them better than I. Every man his own poet. We are part of a poem, you and I. The poem is the universe. Words are stars sprinkled in the sky. The question why. Maybe I will answer before I die.

I have a friend in hospital, maybe I will read him this. He will say it is too long. He is usually right. So long.

I read it to him. He said blog it. As is.

Tich Ennis

24th July, 2017

God Again

God is dejected and rejected.

God is the way things are, the way we are.

He sure as Hell is not our guiding star.

I may not put this on my blog.

If you mention the word God they think you mean a backward dog.

Tich Ennis

21st July, 2017