Tag Archives: Artists

Am I Wrong?

Is everything alright, is this the way you want things to be?

I don’t mean this verse, the universe and you and me.

Do you see?

If you think so, I’ll go.

I could be crazy or just lazy.

I want to clear up the mess but not if you like things as they are, I confess.

I see myself as the universal dustman, clearing up rubbish, righting wrongs, singing songs.

A garbage disposal operative you might say I am.

I am the little boy with his finger in the dam.

Tich Ennis

6th July, 2017

Advertisements

Depend

You can’t depend on the weather in Ireland or anything else at all.

Hear politicians talking, they might as well be talking to the wall.

They make no sense at all.

Ireland is rather small.

Does it punch above its weight in anything or is it fate?

We’re not bad at talking, when will we start walking?

We wrote some books, we sang some songs, we tried to right some wrongs.

Occasionally, once or twice, we get it right.

We emigrate, take flight.

Beannacht De libh, good night.

Alright.

Another wonderful day, as Beckett said.

Cheer up, you could be dead.

Tich Ennis

30th June, 2017

 

Quantum Computing

When it comes it comes, if it does.

Who will own it, the big boys because?

Will it serve a good use or let Hell loose?

Well both, I suppose.

Heaven only knows.

All that power, holy hour!

For good or bad or sane or mad.

The uranium atom is more or less the same.

To kill or cure, which is your game?

They are absolutely not the same.

Who to shame or blame?

In whose name?

Yours or mine?

May hearts entwine.

Life is a glass of wine.

Tich Ennis

26th May, 2017

Tweet

Okay, you’ve had your say in a word or two.

You are, you seem to think, the man who knows what to do.

Apparently some others think so too.

Yeah, well, pull the other one, mister strongman big brain rich.

Do you care about the people living in a ditch?

They could move into a luxury hotel.

Before you bring us all to Hell.

Oh well.

Tich Ennis

15th April, 2017

Michael Whoever You Are

I regard you as a fundamental particle.

The genuine article.

I know someone said you’re mad.

That’s sad.

You make me glad.

Okay, have I gone away?

From the beginning, stopped sinning?

Why are you fundamental, if not gentle?

Its like this, you see.

You are part of me.

And I of you too.

In this Irish stew.

There is more to say but who do you think I am?

I give a damn.

So do you I know.

You did before I told you so.

You give me hope, you dope.

Dope is taken to get over things.

Politicians and kings.

Things like these bring us to our knees.

Birds and bees.

Why mention nature, not the human kind?

Because it makes sense, never mind.

Others like you too I know.

I go.

I said before I don’t know when to end a poem.

By their friends shall ye know ‘em.

But Hell, I mean how do we get out of this hole?

You play a role.

That will have to do.

Me too.

Tich Ennis

25th March, 2017

Cold House

It’s a cold house for poets who have no money.

If I had a sense of humour I might think that was funny.

Do we need the internet in the internet age?

Yes we do, we write on a page.

I want feedback, some, some voices bring me joy.

How may I communicate with them through a broken toy?

My internet is down, I have not paid their bill.

I ought to ring them up and say I will.

I postpone things, that is my sin.

When do I begin?

I’ll go to the café and have a coffee and a smoke.

I am a joke.

I have a sense of humour, that is no rumour.

Just when things appeared to be starting to go well I descend into Hell.

Oh well.

I hold back, that’s my crime.

Have I endless time?

Is it best to know the worst, does the worst come first?

I should try before I die.

Things are not as bad as you think, it is better to swim than sink.

I guess I’ll do it after all.

I’ll give them a call.

Can a cold house become warm?

I’ll give it a chance. Sure where’s the harm?

I believe in charm.

Fortune favours the brave.

I have my soul to save.

Could I save yours too?

That’s the thing to do.

Can poetry save my soul?

Make me whole.

To be precise I’m nice.

Don’t think twice.

That’s my advice.

Okay, I’ve done it and its done.

I am my father’s son.

Tich Ennis

21st March, 2017

Broke

My internet and emails are cut off because I have not paid my bill because I cannot afford to.   I have my cd to publicise but can’t, for that reason. Life is getting me down into a hole. I owe about 2 months payment to my internet provider. Due to circumstances beyond my control.

Is there any point in bellyaching? None whatever. And my emails stopped working outwards due to a bug.   I sent some today using another service or program, but alas no more.

A broke poet. What else is new?   I write this to see if I can or cannot put anything on my blog, maybe yes, maybe not. I will soon find out. Incommunicado. God is not dead, the lines are down. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Or if possible quicker.

So help me God. I can ask a friend, I owe him money already, or my sister who has not got much money. Who has?

This may or may not go on my blog, that is in the lap of the Gods, singular or plural. I am 76 years old. Or young. Does that make any difference? Not much, to me. At least I have my health.

Frustration. Happenstance. Its not all my fault. Only partly. I am not organisation man, the man in the button down collar. There are extenuating circumstances. It’s the system. Pelion on ossa. Know your Greek myths.

Hell on Earth. My life and welcome to it. Must I be a hermit? At least we have no car tax to pay because we have no car. Neither a borrower nor a lender be, etcetera, etcetera, you know the rest.

Moan and groan. The well known firm of lawyers.   Is there any hope? Yes. Still. Still I go on. Am I to write poetry for no reader at all, at all? Possibly. And things seemed to be going quite well. I am very happy with my film to publicise my cd. Now on the internet, for everyone else except me to see.

Okay, enough bellyaching. I will now attempt the impossible, try to put this on my blog, which may or may not work, my sweetness may be wasted on the desert air. Thanks to all my followers, yes Ankit, you too. Here goes nothing,

Tich Ennis

21st March, 2017