Category Archives: Truth

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

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Memo

I haven’t been happy with your work lately. I prefer to smile.

Its been a while.

Perfection is hard to attain.

I know that, do you?

Me too.

It is worth the pain.

There is much to gain.

You may not seek my approval.

Are you ready for removal?

God knows I’m a patient man.

At least I think I am.

To end my report, must do better.

Don’t cry when you read this letter.

I’ll see you in my office after work.

May I quote Edmund Burke?

I may, and many others too.

Do Shakespeare’s words mean anything to you?

To be or not to be and so on.

Mull over my words, I won’t go on and on.

See you later on.

Tich Ennis

7th December, 2017

Prestige Project

This is my prestige project, I am what you see.

Are you another me?

To see means understand, I’ll let that pass.

I am trees, green grass.

It fails to pass my understanding why prestige projects exist.

I kissed a girl who never kissed.

You are on my list.

A monument to your own glory, hang the expense.

Does it make sense?

Your achievements speak for themselves, such as they are.

Who made a shooting star?

You are what you are.

I am ordinary, you are extraordinary.

Far be it from me to gild the lily.

This poem might become silly.

I am the Sun, the stars, the Earth, the flowers.

Holy hours.

I warned you this might happen, now you see.

Elvis sang now and then there’s a fool such as me.

And Hound Dog, Don’t Be Cruel, All Shook Up.

I love a simple flower, e.g. buttercup.

Now like a flower I shut up.

Tich Ennis

6th December, 2017

Fake News

Pope to canonise Paisley to make the unionists happy.

Bob Dylan said Abba are sappy.

Jerry Lee Lewis said I’m better than Elvis and I’m not dead.

Donald Trump says that’s not what I said.

Teresa May, the Virgin on the Rocks, says what she really thinks.

Arlene Foster stinks.

Tich Ennis

5th December, 2017

Converging Concepts

Maths, art, science, literature, philosophy, religion are converging to a single point.

A Russian scientist said that, whom the saints anoint.

Speaking for myself, I concur.

I who infrequently err.

Love is where you find it wherever that may be.

An old pop song or a cup of tea.

Did Adam and Eve do wrong or did they make a mistake?

The Reader’s Digest said that in my years of heartache.

I made mistakes in my time.

Who is without crime?

Everything should rhyme.

I do be and I does be talking rot.

That’s not all I’ve got.

Whoever is responsible, thanks a lot.

I think this poem is rather good but who am I to say?

Have it your way.

Perhaps the last two lines should be in parentheses or, as you might say, bracket.

If you have a bad child do you smack it?

Tich Ennis

4th December, 2017

Nude Girl

Some man said I should have a nude girl on the cover of my book. Sexist pig!   I think it was the same man who said I should have rape, violence and bloodthirsty murder in my book.   For that sort of thing read the papers. Sex sells, it has been said, ask a brothel keeper.

My mother said nudity symbolises truth, the truth stands naked. Did I ever swim naked? Yes. In the presence of women? No. Would that this were for Ireland, said a man dipping his toe in the water.

In London when young I visited a sex shop, done up like a Boots chemists. The female assistant asked me could she help me, I said I was only looking. She was disgusted. No money in that. I bought nothing. I treated it like a museum, they are free.

In Moore street in Dublin the vegetable sellers at stalls ask are you buying? Think twice before you do. Nice white mushrooms on the stall, but brown ones from under the counter if you buy.   They sell throw outs from the fruit and vegetable market, a little known fact. I’ll scrawb the fatures off you said one to another, so my father told me.   The song Biddy Mulligan celebrates them and their ilk.

This is a long way from nude girls, my mind wanders. The female form has been celebrated by artists throughout the ages, not to speak of the male. See the Sistine Chapel, was that Leonardo or Michelangelo? Don’t tell me, don’t show off. I don’t care if the Pope has dirty pictures in his chapel, we’re not having them, said a politician in our parliament discussing censorship of books with W.B. Yeats, poet and senator. We’ve got over that now, we have sex shops.   There was no sex in Ireland before television said another politician of ours. We are all the result of miracle births.

I speak of course of the old days. We have grown up and got sense since. Or what passes for it.   You learned about sex by osmosis in the old days, but you did learn. What is the difference between education and training? There’s sex education in schools, not sex training. Now you know.

A pretty girl on the cover sells a book, said Laurence O’Bryan, novelist and editor, to me, so I had one there. Hence the remark of that man, the nude girl fancier. So far, no nude girls in or on any book of mine. You have to draw the line somewhere, as Picasso might have said.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. Use your imagination. Did you have any bad thoughts, a priest might ask a confessor. In totalitarian states there’s such a thing as thought crime. I have thoughts but I don’t agree with them, said a man when asked in those circumstances.

A pretty girl is like a melody said someone, maybe Shakespeare. They’re all the same in the dark, said someone else. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Beauty is only skin deep. Beauty comes from within. Make up your own mind, if you have one.

I leave you to your fantasies.

How about a nudist colony in the Arctic Circle?

Tich Ennis

3rd December, 2017

Midnight Hour

At the end of the day it’s the midnight hour, that’s self evidently true.

I’d believe it if I were you.

Twelve midnight, not half past two.

Truism is a word you may not have heard.

It means self evidently true, not false, absurd.

One and one makes two.

That’s an example, a free sample.

We’re born, we live, we die, all that stuff.

If you don’t like it, tough.

There’s no getting away from it, the truth is true.

Believe it or not its up to you.

To believe in the true.

I would if I were you.

I do.

Tich Ennis

30th November, 2017