Tag Archives: Avoca

Art In Arklow

Make of Ireland a work of art.

Arklow would be a start.

Art comes from imagination and feeling, it is inspiring.

Some old politicians are retiring.

Does hope lie in the young or not so young or some so old?

More or less anywhere there is gold.

Once in Avoca there was a goldmine, not mine.

Ask a leprechaun for wine.

Anyway, how can we make Arklow hop?

Try not to close a shop.

What about the main street, where people meet?

Should there be more benches so people can rest their feet?

I say so, yes.

Its not all a mess.

How can we stop it getting worse?

The river sewage demands a verse.

Must politicians be a curse?

Its not necessarily politicians, it’s the powers that be.

From whom set us free.

Allow me to be me.

The truth will set you free.

Who said that, not me.

If it ain’t broke don’t fix it said an American.

Let that be your plan.

If it is, get to it.

Do it.

Tich Ennis

27th May, 2019

Eddie The Eagle

I would win a poetry competition if no one else entered.

Myself I mentored.

I am a slow learner, slow burner.

Are you? Me too.

Is this the greatest poem ever written if no one else ever wrote one ever?

In that case yes, never say never.

This will last forever.

Goodbye Shelley, Byron, Wordsworth, you got there first.

I am the worst.

I lost the human race to my utter disgrace.

I died.

At least I tried.

No medal, no ribbon, no glory.

End of story.

Tich Ennis

28th September, 2016

Surprise 2

Nobody expects anything, they’re in for a surprise.

They don’t believe anything, they’ve been told a pack of lies.

They think everyone is a liar, well thanks all the same.

My name is Tich Ennis, now you know my name.

If everyone is a liar do you ask why?

Do you use the word I?

Tich Ennis

24th September, 2016

At Last

At last I am here.

A word in your ear.


Click to hear and see.

Its only me.

Have a cup of tea.

On me.

Share if you care.

I’m there.

Above in blue.

Where are you?

Me too.

It up to you.


 Tich Ennis

24th September, 2016

Some Say

Some say there is no such thing as perfection.

Are they in need of correction?

Also, there are no absolutes.

Much less eternal truths.

Do people say what suits?

Maybe it doesn’t suit them to believe.

To what do they aspire, what do they achieve?

Of course, we often hear there is no God.

It’s all a cod.

Is that going too far?

Is there no guiding star?

Look where we are.

Note, I have not nailed my colours to the mast.

I do not like to go too far, too fast.

Can this last?

Is our future better than our past?

That’s all for the present.

May we have sense.

In whatever tense.

We live in an eternal now, someone said.

Is he alive or dead?

We all die.


Who choose to believe a big lie?

Do they cause people to cry?

Perhaps I’ll understand before I die.

Until then, goodbye.

Some say more than their prayers, a parting word.

We live in the theatre of the absurd.

Do not believe everything you heard.

What everyone knows is wrong.

I end my song.

Is this poem too long?

I seek my guiding star.

Near and far.

I frequent a bar.

Drown my sorrow for tomorrow.

The best is yet to be.

Take it from me.

Wait and see.

The past is history.

Life is a mystery.

There are those who know and those who don’t.

Those who will and those who won’t.

I am just one.

This poem ends.

Have I begun?

I do not wish to be wilfully obscure and hard to understand.

That’s life, take it in your hand.

The evidence is before your eyes.

Do not believe a pack of lies.

Someday may we wake from a nightmare into a dream.

Things are not as they seem.

Some cry, some scream.

What is my advice?

Eat ice cream.

Would it matter if I had never been?

Do you see what I mean?

The truth is vast, profound, simple and very deep.

May we wake from sleep.

Open our eyes.

Get wise.


I live in reality, do you.

That’s the name of my house, too.

My last house had a lovely view.

Goodnight, goodbye to you.

Be true.

Tich Ennis

16th September, 2016

Rant – Publicist


Tich Ennis,

19th July, 2016

Paul, (literary agent),

What I need is a good publicist.  But are there such?  He or she would need the following qualifications:

    1.    They would have to like my stuff.  Believe it is worth publicising and worth publishing.

    2.    They would have to have an in with publishers who would have to know they only promote what is good and worth publishing.

    3.    They, he or she, would have to believe that what is worth publishing means what will sell.

    4.    The public are not fools, most of the time.  Nor are publishers, most of the time.  Not the successful ones.  A publicist knows this.

    5.    There is no point five.

    6.    I have no money.  The publicist would have to work for the future and believe in the future.  Then get his or her share.

    7.    My stuff is all blogged, and more coming.  Easily accessible.  And removable from the blog if published, or whatever.

    8.    The publicist needs to be a human being.  I only deal with human beings.

    9.    Does such a creature exist?  I don’t want people liking my stuff in quotes, the real thing or nothing.  And they do.  Real people.

    10.    That’s all.

How the whatever do I find such a person?

A friend, in the music business, said when you are starting you have to do it all for yourself.  Accountancy, legalities, every blooming thing.  Even though you know nothing about those.  It’s Hell.  He didn’t say that, but I do.

Welcome to Hell.  All mod cons.  Central heating as standard.  Air conditioning extra.

Okay, as Samuel Pepys says, and so to bed,


——– Forwarded Message ——–

Subject: Rant
Date: Mon, 18 Jul 2016 20:54:12 +0100
From: David Tich Ennis
To: Paul Thompson, literary agent

    Where are publishers who want to publish stuff people like to read?  Ordinary people.  They like my stuff.  Certainly not only relatives, I am not sure if my relatives are ordinary.  Objective, dispassionate outsiders.  Disinterested, a misunderstood word.  People who would not normally read poetry, certainly not the modern stuff, it would drive them mad.  They are sane, and intend to keep it that way.  I don’t only write poetry.  Some guy whose work was popular said at a conference you are authors, I’m a writer.  I echo that.

    I keep having false dawns.  They are a recurring nightmare.  There’s a guy in the U.S., Dave Eggers, article about him in the Sunday Times culture section last Sunday, very highly thought of, won awards, I think.  Has or had a publishing house called McSweeney, I think.  I looked at that, it appeared only to publish his own stuff.

    Then, to get right down to Earth, wherever that is, S*** My Dad Says was very popular and very funny.  Even I thought so.  I went so far as to buy it.   Number one on the N.Y.Times bestseller list can’t be bad.  I suppose I could try contacting the publisher of that.

    But, Hell, do these people ever (effing, pardon me) listen to or read submissions from nonentities such as my good, or fairly good, self?

    I have my blog.  People are liking my stuff.  I got some followers, entirely without bribery.  Whatever I am good at, if anything, I am Hellishly bad at self promotion and the research involved, it makes my head swim.  I am also awful at the technical aspects of computing and the internet, this is all Hell to me.  I do exist.

    I suppose I could go on for about five or ten years as now putting up stuff sometimes several times a day, getting a few likes and less followers, but some, and then, say, Hey, look at me, all those followers, put your money where your mouth is, if you’re not in you can’t win, get your finger out, call yourself a publisher, prove it, nothing ventured, nothing gained, etcetera etcetera until the cows come home, why wait, its on a plate, and so on ad infinitum.

    In the long run we’re all dead – John Maynard Keynes, he should know.  How do you speed up time?  I haven’t long to live.  Relatively speaking.  Lets see, my grandfather was ninety five, I’m seventy five.  And counting.  I could die of boredom.

    Horses for courses.  People are not equal, they are complementary.  No, I didn’t say that first.  I’m a copycat.  Not all of us have all the talents.  Possibly modesty is at the same time my greatest failing and my greatest virtue.  Or something like that.  I am not a fairground barker.  That is not my calling.

    Anyway, I’m growing a beard, so I have other things to do.  Also a pint awaits.  Drown my sorrows,


Tich Ennis

19th July, 2016

Down To Earth

I am a retired gentleman.  I was a gentleman but I stopped being one.  I have come down to Earth.

I write, I sing, I make movies.  They’re all here, here there and everywhere.  On YouTube and my blog.  I am a reformed and reforming character.  Quite a character.

I change old to new.  Rhymes, yarns, scripts, pieces, notes and personal were called poems, stories, plays, essays, letters and messages.  Out with the old, in with the new.

I love simplicity.  Less is more.  I do my own thing, mine is yours.  Listen, read, see.  Enjoy yourself.  I do.  Why not you?

Past, present and future are here.  The new is made from the old.  I am old, I have stories.  I have a story to tell, I tell it.  Pull up a chair and sit down.

You haven’t heard the half of it.  Sure we’re only starting.  The night isn’t half over.

Dawn is coming.  Wait for it.  Read on.  Listen up and listen good!

It’s all for you.  Come on in, you’re very welcome.  Make yourself at home.  Need I say more?  If I don’t stop I’ll never start.  Fiddlers, play!

Let joy commence.

Who cares for commonsense?

Get off the fence.

What was is past tense.

Eternity immense.

Tich Ennis

29th June, 2016

See me on YouTube