Tag Archives: Fun

Talking Cure

We give each other therapy, you and I, who has the cure, must we die?

Thanks for the talk therapy, I am not a dog.

I am allowed on the couch, neither am I a frog.

If I said I think I’m a spoon would you say don’t stir?

If I said I am transgender would you say him or her?

Was Freud a fraud, did he fiddle his results or what?

In which belief should I put faith, gobbledegook or not?

You are a friend who does not charge, at least you do not cost.

Just another member of the legion of the lost.

Tich Ennis

2nd August, 2018

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Poet

I write to prove I am a poet.

Not many know it.

Many want to write a book before they die.

Why?

To prove they exist or list the girls they kissed?

And sometimes missed.

Does it matter if I am or if you are?

What price a star?

We cheer each other up sometimes.

Some of us commit crimes.

Happy times.

Does time go on forever, is it better to have been once than never?

Oh yes, I say so.

I am a poet, what do I know?

Only this, I told you so.

Tich Ennis

2nd August, 2018

The Poor And Injustice

The poor should not be crucified, why are they poor?

How long must injustice endure?

Don’t say its all their fault, life is a trial.

Would you help an old lady across a style?

I helped an old lady across a street and she prayed for me all the way over.

That was long ago, Very Lynn might have been singing the White Cliffs of Dover.

Some are beggars because of drugs, thrown out of house and home.

Others fell on hard times, some have a mobile phone.

The poor are the same as you and me but they have less money.

Being poor is not funny.

How would you like to die in a ditch?

It doesn’t often happen to the rich.

Tuppence hapenny looking down on twopence, gimme a break.

For God’s sake.

I certainly don’t want change at the point of a gun.

Guns are not fun.

Good luck everyone.

Tich Ennis

28th July, 2018

Stay

I wrote a poem, it was no good, I did not put it up.

Someone might say shut up.

I mean up on my blog for falling off a log.

I sometimes include things people say like nothing would surprise you today.

I have not gone away.

I’m here to stay.

Its always a fight to get things right.

Goodnight.

Tich Ennis

23rd July, 2018

You And I

We are born and then we die.

The stuff of life comes in between.

Maybe an ice cream.

Coffee in a café now and then.

Some are boys and some are men.

Some complain when they’re left out.

What have they to shout about?

Sometimes some come together in bliss.

A kiss.

Then friendship, company and talk.

Some enjoy a hike or walk.

Our stories are all different but start and end the same.

Are you glad you came?

Life may not be without trial.

To say otherwise would be denial.

Are you born to cry or smile?

To get to school I walked a mile.

What price happiness and when?

Now and then.

I lay down my pen.

That’s life, make of it what you may.

Between sunrise and sunset is the day.

Is this okay?

Tich Ennis

18th July, 2018

Girl From My Past

You can knock at the door but I can’t open, girl from my past.

I remember you at last.

Yes, we had good times then you married some other guy.

Not I.

You were like a broody hen.

I made a mistake then.

Maybe I was over eager, an eager beaver.

A true believer.

My inner caveman came to the fore.

I can’t always be polite, what a bore.

It was not meant to be for you and me.

The rest is history.

Looking back parts were very good but not the whole.

Stain on my immortal soul.

It is best that the past be laid to rest.

I did not pass the test.

I hope you had a happy life.

Someone else’s wife.

That’s life.

I represent to you a false start.

You have a piece of my heart.

You are part of my life and I of yours.

Your memory endures.

It would be very strange if we met again.

Would I get it right then?

Hello anyway and goodbye.

Here’s to the sweet by and by.

You and I.

Tich Ennis

30th June, 2018

Can

Can a perfect poem save the world? If so, let it be.

The world should be poetry.

To read means to understand.

People of whatever land.

Don’t have anything worth robbing and you won’t be robbed.

This poet is not double jobbed.

But enough of me, too much talk of me.

Who will make the blind to see?

Some other me.

Could it be I?

If not, why?

Something to do before you die.

How wonderful if everything would rhyme.

For all time.

Sublime.

Tich Ennis

30th June, 2018