Tag Archives: Art

Acquired Taste

My work is an acquired taste which not many have acquired.

Are my services required?

I have not expired.

Nor retired.

Stop reading, you are tired.

Tich Ennis

28th November, 2018

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Change

Will this poem change the world for the better?

This letter.

I urgently await an answer.

Can I cure cancer?

Not without trying.

Is living dying?

I wish to wake from a bad dream.

That things are as they seem.

Don’t wake me until then, don’t wake me up.

I shut up.

That appears abrupt.

Must the world be corrupt?

I look forward to a change of course, of course.

Back to source.

Tich Ennis

26th November, 2018

Sentient Matter

We have been described as sentient matter, some aren’t very sentient.

Think hard, you’ll know what I meant.

In the South Seas there is a limpet which when born swims around until it finds a rock it can lock onto for life.

Him and his wife.

Then it eats its brain because it doesn’t need it anymore.

Is that you when you left school or before?

Brains or their use are in short supply.

Maybe I’ll use mine before I die.

I laugh that I may not cry.

And sometimes sigh.

This poem is expressive of a mood.

At least it is not rude.

Is this too intellectual for you?

It will have to do.

Tich Ennis

19th November, 2018

Perjury

I committed perjury twice.

I was not nice.

I did it to keep my job.

Was I a slob?

I suppose it wasn’t very important what I swore.

It made no difference really, it really happened, I could say more.

Do you believe me when I broke my oath?

As requested by a man living in Ratoath.

It went against the grain, made me feel sick.

Browbeaten into a dirty trick.

Smiling the boy fell dead.

I lived on instead.

My employer was a man in the legal profession.

This is my confession.

Later I left that job of my own volition and had fun in another.

I am somebody’s brother.

If I am a saint its of the plaster kind.

Is my soul my mind?

By the way, nice is fake good.

I wish people understood words, I wish they would.

I sailed, I swam, I flied.

Until now I have not died.

My goodness is hypothetical.

I end before becoming anasthetical.

Freud was a fraud, applaud.

Though held in high esteem.

Don’t ask me to interpret your dream.

I was young, not spelled with a J.

If that means nothing to you look the other way.

I met Marianne today.

Finally the end, finis.

That’s me.

Tich Ennis

2nd November, 2018

Converge

Concepts are converging and yet they drive us apart.

I am an organism, brain, lungs and heart.

When shall religion and mathematics, philosophy and art realise they are one thing, each a tiny part.

When we come together, flying on love’s dart.

Begin before you start.

Science, learn from art.

Consensus, you are my apple tart.

Brain, learn from heart.

You may be a better poet than me.

When may we agree?

The truth lies in poetry.

Tich Ennis

24th October, 2018

The Cure

To cure the madness of the world is why art is here.

Some go mad, some say God is here.

In a pint of beer.

Look and listen, open your eyes and ears.

What do you see around you, is life full of fears?

A work of art can play its part, with dedication it is made.

Bring art into the light, out of the shade.

Art is seeing, being, doing.

To a lover it is wooing.

What is life without those things?

In my heart music sings.

See what is, see what’s real.

Above all, feel.

This artist delivers to you this pill.

Should I speak from a hill?

A perfect world had we the will.

So why say art is mad?

The world is, the world is sad.

Art exists to make you glad.

Drink in, drink up and take the cure.

A perfect world for rich and poor.

Tich Ennis

10th September, 2018