Tag Archives: blog

CD and Book

Singing and writing, who’s fighting?

I fight myself and sometimes win.

Is it too late to begin?

I nearly built a shop down a street where no one goes.

I still may do it, who knows?

Maybe someone lost their way.

Why not walk down and stay?

Bring something home with you, you may share it too.

If you wish to hear and see then come along with me.

I don’t cost much, not much, a widow’s mite.

Why fight?

Tich Ennis

17th October, 2017

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Value

Do I give good value? Does fresh air?

Thank you for nothing you seem to say, there, there.

More or less no one says they like what I do.

I am human too.

Alright, a few, now and then.

Whether for my voice or pen.

I guess I’m not the best self advertiser.

I have no money, I am not a miser.

What do you see, read, hear?

This, that and the other while you drink your beer.

Be of good cheer.

I am a king without a throne.

Throw the dog a bone.

Tich Ennis

14th September, 2017

Sloppy Guy

I am a messy sloppy guy, don’t ask the reason why.

I was born to feel not think, I can do things, I write with ink.

Technical explanations leave me cold, I have grown to be so very old.

When they tell me what to do but leave out how I’m all at sea I cannot plough.

So I should ask some other guy, less sloppy than you or I.

Maybe some guy says it clear, I wish he would show up here.

Or preferably do it for me while I drink a cup of tea.

Will that ever be?

Why leave it all to me?

Set me free.

Yours frustratedly.

I want to do things in the simplest possible way.

That’s all I’ve got to say.

Today.

Or for now anyway.

Tich Ennis

2nd September, 2017

Prize Poem

Should I enter for a poetry competition when I never win?

To quote myself, when do I begin?

Has it all been said before, who am I to speak?

A nobody yet somebody my voice has not grown weak.

I speak for all who speak for true, I speak for me, I speak for you.

Do I need to win a prize?

I walk under rainy skies.

A poet lives, a poet dies.

A prize would come as a surprise.

To an unknown such as I.

I dare ask why.

I do not believe a lie.

I butter up no buttercup.

So I am told to shut up.

My answer, no.

So on I go.

The fee is money down the drain.

Irish criminals live in Spain.

Is it a crime to write in rhyme?

I write for now and all time.

I mean what I say.

Meanwhile the world puts on a play and looks the other way.

I do not want a prize, acclaim.

Here below I write my name.

Money would be welcome, who pays for poetry?

Don’t ask me.

I live in Hell, all is not well.

An artist describes what he sees.

Who wants truth in times like these?

Who makes honey, honeybees.

So alone I wander on.

If I enter, money gone.

Am I sorry just for me?

No, I’m sad for history.

Will I, won’t I, should I do it?

Its only money, there’s nothing to it.

I am in two minds, as you may see.

A schizophrenic, that’s me.

Who will win, someone better?

Or in common parlance, wetter.

Come on world, must do better!

I’ll leave it at that.

As Shakespeare said, I smell a rat.

There’s something rotten in the state.

I hold my nose, await my fate.

This poem may go on too long.

Am I right or am I wrong?

Should I take up writing prose?

I don’t know, maybe, I suppose.

God knows.

Tich Ennis

2nd September, 2017

 

Considering

Considering they never look, read, listen or say thank you should I bother with people?

Impale them on a church steeple?

Not absolutely everyone, some old fashioned folks do.

Bring back the old days, they had a better view.

Thank you.

Tich Ennis

15th August, 2017

State Of Play

The situation is in a state of flux. Everything always is, said a friend. Metamorphosing he said. I dislike saying what I am going to do because it might not happen. As Spike Milligan said, I have no plan so nothing can go wrong.

Be that as it may Shinobu has said she can lend me 500 euros towards the publication and printing of my proposed book, which exists in the ether of this computer on which I write. Politics has been described as the art of the possible.

I texted my solicitor, Gus Cullen, asking should I buy an ISBN number for it, which is not a legal requirement. Mainly this book will be sold locally, perhaps through one bookshop and two hotels of a friendly nature, but 50 or so individual people have said they will buy. They need no ISBN, those individuals, of course.

ISBN numbers cost 100 euros plus VAT for one or 250 pounds sterling plus VAT for ten. I may self-publish on Amazon, not the book I am proposing getting printed locally, but a variation of it, of a higher page count. As a POD and also digitally, if I get around to it. I like to keep my options open, but not forever.

I would not have to borrow if I was not broke. There is some kind of Arts department of the local county council which apparently give grants in some circumstances. I spoke with their representative after a poetry reading I gave at Arklow culture night and she said they would give a grant towards the cost of bringing out a book.

A visual artist I know said they are no good, they promise a grant and fail to keep their promise.   My sister, who knows that artist, said that is just him. I said the silly bitch did not have a card. My sister said if I call her that I won’t get any money. I suppose she’s right, my sister.   She sometimes is.   I am trying to avoid being annoyed with the world and all its works and pomps but am having difficulty doing that. Restraint is a virtue at which practice makes perfect.   I’m not there yet.

Maeve Binchy said she does not agree with subsidised art, neither do I. Beggars can’t be choosers. There’s no harm in trying. They can only say no, although I foresee having to jump through many bureaucratic hoops before achieving a result, positive or negative.   Bureaucracy and me are not good friends. A bureaucrat thinks rules are more important than people.

I was never too proud to be on the dole. If the county council come up with the goodies I could return it at a later date. There is always that possibility. Bob Dylan took some time deciding whether to accept the Nobel Prize money. I myself walked to the dole office on foot, not barefoot. Through the snow.

That then is the state of play. Situation normal, all fouled up. A solicitor I worked for said to a client “We will wait until the situation clarifies itself”.   Situations don’t clarify themselves, you have to clarify them.   Or in this case, me.   I must be the clarifier. With help from my friends.

Thanks, Shinobu. Also to others who would blush if I mention their names.   Humility is the greatest virtue. But you know that already.

I will work it out as I go along, crossing my bridges as I come to them. That is my plan. But what did Spike Milligan say? “I’m walking backwards to Christmas”.

And so say all of us.

Tich Ennis

10th August, 2017

Contradiction

I said I would post no more to my blog yet here I am again. So, I changed my mind, what’s wrong with that?

I just talked with my best friend Michael O’Brien on the phone. He said to put my poem Believe Me on my blog, so I did, just now.

Why do I write? To make money? No. Posting to a blog makes no money. Michael more or less said to put all my stuff up there, although he agreed with me recently not to give everything away for nothing.

It costs nothing to post to my blog.

Man does not live by bread alone, but does need bread. (Bread = money, hippy talk). I have almost no bread in the house, of either kind. I will buy two loaves in the cheapest supermarket later today.

I have no idea what the future holds. (Predictions are impossible, especially about the future).

I write because I love it. Is my writing good? That’s not for me to say. If someone else wrote it, would I like it? Yes. Then there would be no need for me to write it.

Does what I write need to be said? I think so. I believe so. So I say it, so I do it.

Have any real live people I meet face to face liked my writing? Yes. Not only one. Genuine people, people I trust and like. So that’s something. So its worth doing. I mean every word I say. I believe meaning. Is there anything else to believe? No. That is my message. All the time, for all time.

There is more rubbish on the internet than good stuff but there is good stuff. The world is the same. More bad stuff than good stuff but there is good stuff. (What’s rare is valuable).

Don’t lose hope.

Tich Ennis

9th August, 2017