Category Archives: Zeitgeist

Coffee Shop

Am I the sole customer in the coffee shop?

Are bricks and mortar coming to a full stop?

Is mortality all its cracked up to be?

What about me?

Have I no one to talk to, no one with whom to converse?

It could be better, it could be worse.

Later I will go to the shopping centre, business is slow.

And to the cheap supermarket, then home I go.

The coffee shop is here, there are five.

Sometimes I wonder why am I alive.

What rhymes with strive?

Tich Ennis

17th October, 2018

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October

Its too hot in the Sun and too cool in the shade.

Is this the best October day God made?

Far be it from me to mock your beliefs if you have any.

Beliefs are two a penny.

Will I vote blasphemy should not be a crime?

Is that a waste of time?

I do not favour insults and put downs.

In the circus watch the clowns.

I met Joe and my brother today and saw no snow.

Pending the penultimate, here I go.

Am I a poet or a holy show?

I don’t know.

Tich Ennis

15th October, 2018

Spirit

Trapped in a material world my spirit yearns to be free.

How do I play this violin that is me?

Or sometimes maybe I’m a saxophone, I loved rock’n’roll, leave me alone.

The meaning of music, what can words say?

To explain would take more than a day.

Or maybe more than life.

I raise my bow, end eternal strife.

Music flows.

God knows.

Naked without clothes.

The truth stands naked without cover up.

The world replies, shut up.

Must all be explained to those with eyes wide shut?

Can Tiger Woods do a putt?

Yes, it appears, but why, why, why?

Shall mind and heart be one before I die?

Call me fed up, call me naïve.

I believe.

Tich Ennis

21st September, 2018

The Crock Of Gold

The Crock of Gold, written by James Stephens, is a neglected masterpiece of which I wish to make an audio recording. This is an intimidating prospect, the book may be two hours long when read aloud. Nothing less than perfection suits me, I am a hard taskmaster. Of myself.

The book is divided into five books and consists of eighteen chapters. I recorded ten of the chapters a few years ago but am not satisfied with my reading of them. So I will start all over again. Joe told me every recording should be made at least three times and select the best. One chapter is over sixteen minutes long to read. There is a pause button on my recording device.

I thought I read too quickly in the first four chapters I recorded and played back to myself, but from there on did better. Of course I would not record this book in one day. At home, with a good quality microphone and a pop filter, which a recording engineer said should be used. Sounds called plosives do not record properly otherwise. This week I will have a pop filter, an inexpensive item.

When the recording is finished, whenever that is, my plan is to have it mastered, as I did with my singing recordings. Mastering improves the sound quality by a large percentage. This costs money, the mastering. Recording this book will be a labour of love, and love costs.   Audio books sell, I have been told, and know from experience.

My plan then would be to put it up for sale on Bandcamp, which costs nothing to sell from, except a small percentage on sales, if any. The best laid plans of mice and men gang oft a-gley. I dislike telling people what I am going to do because it might never happen. However, in this case I make an exception.

The Crock of Gold is an exceptional book, and worth going out of your way for. Therefore I make an exception in its case. I never panic until its time to panic. I am unique because I am the only person in the world who is not unique.

Tich Ennis

10th September, 2018

Mr. Nobody

He doesn’t expect anyone to do anything, is he right?

Mr. Goodnight.

Who says things are alright?

Not me, do you?

What’s a fellow to do?

I dislike proving anyone wrong.

I like when we get along.

Mr. Perfect has not shown up.

If he did would you say shut up?

If I plug my finger in the dam will you say who do I think I am?

I dislike napalm in Vietnam.

And man’s inhumanity to man.

Must I do something if you don’t?

I will, I will, I will, I won’t.

Okay maybe, give me time.

I’ll get around to it in rhyme.

Will truth and love win?

Where do I begin?

I meant to say when.

I am the least of men.

Hope lives here.

Maybe next year.

I disappear.

Tich Ennis

5th September, 2018

Modern Song

I want to commit suicide but I haven’t got the guts.

Don’t you know I’m nuts?

I want to share my misery and pain with you.

I think that’s the right thing to do.

You’re nuts too.

You enjoy my stuff because you are a misery boots.

I don’t give two hoots.

I am a comedian on stage, I give vent to rage.

A funny thing happened on the way to the loony bin.

Or alcoholic treatment place or drugs clinic, where do I begin?

I am depressed and I want the world to know.

Its my ego, its not small, I am a bomb about to blow.

Yeah, well, so people get killed at pop shows, so what?

I have the ticket money, thanks a lot.

I made sense once but I forgot.

Cheer up some other voice said.

It could be worse, you could be dead.

Who says everything is futile?

Some guy who forgot how to smile.

Life is awful, you’ll get over it in a while.

Is there no place for laughter, none for joy.

Not from this boy.

I say life is a one way suicide trip.

And people say I’m hip.

There is a word, masochist, look it up.

When you understand its meaning I might shut up.

And drink the loving cup.

In the meantime, okay, eat my turds.

You don’t understand words.

Because you don’t want to, it doesn’t suit you.

People like you shoot you.

Wallow like a pig.

Call me mister big.

Since when has it been best to be insane?

As that stupid saying has it, feel my pain.

Your pain is self inflicted.

You are addicted.

Grow up, get out more, life your life you fool.

Did you learn insanity at school?

Okay, I’ve had my say, I don’t eat vomit.

I prefer Wallace and Gromit.

I smoke and smoking is mad so I’m mad too.

Just like you.

I am the meaning of this song.

If I gave you a rope would you say so long?

Who has the cure, you or me?

Wait and see.

I do not choose misery and woe.

I go.

And so do you, what are you, Asian flu?

Solve the Arab Israeli conflict and I’ll believe you.

You are not the answer.

Chancer.

As for me, I am a dancer.

You are a romancer and romance is false.

I prefer rock‘n’roll to the waltz.

I too have faults.

If you see yourself in this song well, hello.

I don’t want to say I told you so.

Music should be fun or transcendental.

Not, as we say in Ireland, mental.

Is there a place for gentle?

Tich Ennis

1st August, 2018

The Poor And Injustice

The poor should not be crucified, why are they poor?

How long must injustice endure?

Don’t say its all their fault, life is a trial.

Would you help an old lady across a style?

I helped an old lady across a street and she prayed for me all the way over.

That was long ago, Very Lynn might have been singing the White Cliffs of Dover.

Some are beggars because of drugs, thrown out of house and home.

Others fell on hard times, some have a mobile phone.

The poor are the same as you and me but they have less money.

Being poor is not funny.

How would you like to die in a ditch?

It doesn’t often happen to the rich.

Tuppence hapenny looking down on twopence, gimme a break.

For God’s sake.

I certainly don’t want change at the point of a gun.

Guns are not fun.

Good luck everyone.

Tich Ennis

28th July, 2018