Tag Archives: Earth

Should I Stop?

Should I stop trying to succeed in the real world, this planet Earth?

For what its worth.

Give my stuff away free, that’s me.

How many paid money or even bought me a drink?

Let me think.

Some yes, some few, God bless.

People say they love my work, that’s pleasing.

That’s the reason.

Officially I am ignored, apparently the powers that be are bored.

Maybe I should stop trying if people aren’t buying.

And stop crying.

I don’t know. On I go.

More later, alligator.

Tich Ennis

7th February, 2018

Advertisements

Nothing To Do

I write because I have nothing to do.

The sky is black, not blue.

Its night time, nothing good on the radio.

So I write, goodnight.

Will I ever get things sorted out, find out what its all about?

Trying to make sense of it all, that’s what I do and am doing.

A cause worth pursuing.

I’d rather write in hope and be considered a dope, I have plenty of scope.

I hang about not on a rope.

So I write these words instead of being dead.

The purpose of life is to find the purpose of life amid the strife.

That’s life.

Tich Ennis

5th February, 2018

Messages

If you don’t send a message you can’t expect one in return.

I have a lot to learn.

I spoke with various friends today.

I have not gone away.

They heard what I had to say.

Life has its ups and downs for all concerned.

That is what I learned.

Message returned.

This poem appears to say almost nothing at all.

That’s all.

Tich Ennis

3rd February, 2018

Patreon – Maybe?

I am considering signing up for the artists’ patronage site, Patreon.  At a glance it appears good or maybe very good.  I don’t allow myself to get excited.  Some guy said he doesn’t believe in positive thinking because you think its going to happen and it doesn’t then you get all depressed.

Where have all the patrons gone?  Gone to the digital world, everyone.  There goes the mob, I am their leader, I must follow them.  After further consideration.  Look before you leap.  Yesterday we stood on the edge of an abyss, today we take a great leap forward – Russian politician.

My most recent poem blogged here, Sinn Fein, is not my most recent poem, I normally put them up chronologically, in order of writing.  I suppose I’ll get around to putting that earlier one up.   I need to read up about Patreon.

Its snowing here now, first snow I’ve seen for a long time.  Predicted, but predictions are often unreliable.  You can’t be wrong all the time.

About Patreon, when I know what, how, and why I may write further on that topic.  If it works, it works.  It appears to work for some, as far as I can see from a brief study.

I feel my stuff is uncategorisable, does not fit any niche or genre, I know some like it.  The real world and the virtual, the real world is more expensive.  Matter matters, matter costs.  Paper, ink, printing, plastic discs, but I like that world too.  It is my first love.

So I climb a learning curve.  Slow learner though I be.  I desire a comprehensive overview.  I feel it may take me three days to get there, the summit, apex, pinnacle, look up your thesaurus.  Top.  From where I will survey the scene.

Where to have the picnic?  Or whether, weather permitting.  The top will do, enjoy the view.  Birds may eat the crumbs.  The joy of alfresco, no floor to sweep up.  And if you spill your drink don’t panic.  Far from the kitchen sink.

Patreon here I come but will you notice?  New worlds to conquer, said the unwanted immigrant.  Napoleon was not French, I console myself with that thought.  An outsider.  With an objective view.

Does anyone want my tourist postcards?

Tich Ennis

16th January, 2018

 

Apple

An apple fell from off a tree right into my lap, lucky me.

You can’t expect everything to fall into your lap, you sap.

At least sit under the tree, like me, why not pick one, one that’s ripe?

Don’t believe tripe.

Its not all luck, you make your own.

Call the right person on the phone.

Hermit, alone.

An apple waits for you, you’ve got to do.

I was like you, look at me now.

Under the bough.

Tich Ennis

12th January, 2018

Every Son

Every son is a heartbreaker, every mother is a peacemaker.

How was I, how will I be, my mother is ancient history.

If I said I would do something when I’m good and ready when would that be says I to she a very long time says she to me.

So I had my feet on the table and she said she would rather I had not, I thought of girls and rock’n’roll that was all I got.

Now I am the oldest, my older brother died, there was a break in my voice, I almost cried.

I was there when my mother died.

My brother, I have more than one, said to my mother how good she was to look after us when she was left alone.

She said she thought others had done it so she could do it too, from a choking dog’s throat she removed a bone.

Everyone’s life is their own.

Need I say more, must I gild the lily?

In my life I have been silly.

My favourite singer is a hillbilly.

My likes vary from time to time, that is no crime.

My favourite music is what I’m listening to right now.

Well chosen, yes, I love it anyhow.

That’s all for now.

So how on Earth is this poem about every son?

I don’t know, I am only one.

Many are called but few are chosen may be said as many are cold but few are frozen, so my father said.

He is also dead.

Well I’m not quite.

Alright.

Goodnight.

I never quite know when to stop.

Am I the good or bad cop?

Have a lollipop.

Full stop.

Tich Ennis

19th 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