Tag Archives: Art

Creature

I am a creature of my time and place, I have a handsome face.

So a woman said to me as I passed by, who am I to disagree, who am I?

My time is all time that went before and youth and age, do I bore?

My place is here, stick in the mud, I travelled, I have Irish blood.

So there you have it, God’s child speaks, holidays in how many weeks?

So I may have asked at school in endless time, was I a fool?

Time goes faster when you’re old, but I don’t care, my story told.

I am not sure quite what I am.

Frankly, I don’t give a damn.

Clark Gable said that before me in the most popular film in history.

Until Star Wars came along, I saw that too, another song.

I like art of almost every kind.

Simple things are best, I find.

Tich Ennis

10th December, 2017

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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

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

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

Schizophrenia

I have two names, David and Tich.

I am not rich.

I am diagnosed schizophrenic, so what?

Thanks a lot.

I dislike labels.

I like chairs and tables.

In their proper places, I don’t like airs and graces.

Under the name of David I drink and as Tich I sit and think.

And sometimes write.

I hope not shite.

I was born in Ireland to be geographic.

Should I go pornographic?

I might be a bigger seller.

Like Joseph Heller.

Another feller.

My brother says Joseph Heller was not pornographic, must I point that out?

He wrote Catch 22, a great book, no doubt.

Very funny too.

My best to you.

This poem is semi-demi autobiographical, often the best type.

Like David Copperfield and other tripe.

Allow the madman speak.

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

What would you say if you spoke someone said to me.

Well, nothing much, do you agree?

At least I’m me.

Tich Ennis

1st December, 2017

The Arts Council

Is it true the Arts Council are creeps and they only support pretentious stuff?

I’ve had enough.

I’m no insect, I don’t crawl.

I’ve heard shite, I’ve seen it all.

It cuts no ice with me at all.

Am I completely, absolutely, totally wrong, do they ever get it right if only by mistake?

Should I take a chance, are they completely fake?

Will there be any mourners at their wake?

When people don’t understand something they say its art.

A bloody fart.

Not in my face, drop dead.

Enough said.

Tich Ennis

30th November, 2017

Explaining Stupidity

I will now explain stupidity to those who have no brain.

There are none of those, the emperor wore no clothes.

A child could see and see it all.

Yet others chose blindness turning their faces to the wall.

Use your brain you dope you lazy thing.

See through the emperor or king.

Stupidity is not using your brain, you have it, use it.

It is really there, you didn’t lose it.

Is it true you’d rather die than think?

If so that’s why you’re stupid, my pen runs out of ink.

Tich Ennis

29th November, 2017