Tag Archives: God

My Dead Brother

Me: What did you think when you died and found there is an afterlife after all?

He: I was pleasantly surprised.

Me: I’m glad you’re there, I thought you might be a figment of my imagination.

He: I am.

Me: Have you met Plato and Aristotle and people like that? Have they a lot to say for themselves?

He: They said it already.

Me: You said meaning is a construct people try to put on things. What does that mean?

He: You’re too clever by half.

Me: Compare me with Einstein.

He: He’s only trotting after you.

Me: You said you always knew you would have to die sometime.

He: I was right.

Me: You said I am a machine. Am I artificially intelligent?

He: Not very.

Me: Helena said the good thing about dying is you don’t have to learn any new gadgets. The world is afflicted with gadgetomania.

He: You can have too much of a good thing.

Me: A poet said these words, half in love with easeful death. Also, intimations of mortality. You had those. How are your faculties?

He: Alive and kicking.

Me: Who said, all I know is I know nothing? The one who drank hemlock.

He: Ask God or Google. Google is quicker.

Me: You’re dead right. Rest in pieces.

He: The only letters I have after my name are R.I.P.

Me: Rip van Winkle. Is this enough to be going on with?

He: More than enough. See you shortly.

Me: I’m in no hurry.

He: You never were. What’s new?


Tich Ennis

21st June, 2018



Life keeps kicking me in the you-know-where I could say which part but that would break my mother’s heart.

My brother says that’s because I never did anything before in days of yore.

I floated through life, I never took a wife.

I more or less let things happen but managed to keep my head above water.

A girl might turn out like her mother however attractive she is as a daughter.

I did have some small successes, God bless us.

In some ways I did more than most, Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

However, why now when I try am I a sucide afraid to die?

Other people are Hell said Sartre, oh well.

They make me wait and wait and wait.

Is this fate?

There is the occasional rare exception.

Who’s parents did not practice contraception.

Not then, at least.

In life the yeast.

Am I the only one on whom I can depend?

Not quite but almost otherwise I would give up and say, the end.

As you may surmise I more or less never practice what I preach.

Pretty girl on a beach.

Not quite out of reach.

How may I blame others who do nothing when I do it all the time?

Not quite, I wrote this rhyme.

Someone said kick against the pricks.

This old dog needs to learn new tricks.

Wait no longer for a cowboy called Tom Mix.

Other people almost always let me down.

You too?

Who’s blue?

Can I rely on no one except me?

I’ll get around to it sometime, wait and see.

That’s me.

Tich Ennis

18th November, 2017

Is God An Atheist?

Am I the good guy in my life story, am I the chap?

Do I wear a white hat?

Do I believe in happy endings or slushy, mushy shite like that?

Is it a case of wait and see, who would be me?

Any chance of a cup of tea?

I drink therefore I am, do I give a damn?

Yes and no or more or less.

Anybody’s guess.

Life does not meet with my unqualified approval.

A bad tooth scheduled for removal.

Let us not be judgemental.

Much less sentimental.

Tich Ennis

10th January, 2017

Cotton Wool

When I was ten a teacher we had used to say to boys who made a mistake in a sum have you cotton wool between your ears? Years later, I said to a college lecturer friend of mine, you can’t say that to eighteen year olds. But you would feel like saying it, he said.

That teacher never said that to me, except once. He wanted me to play the pretend-to-be-stupid game, and I wasn’t playing. You’re stupid if you’re not stupid. He was standing behind my desk. He said those words, have you cotton wool between your ears, possibly to himself and moved away, I was a lost cause.

There was no looney bin attached to our school, but there could have been. They were teaching us to pretend to be stupid so we could get jobs in the civil service, where they pretend to be stupid all the time.

I asked a friend at school at the same time, did he remember teachers saying do well at Irish and you can get a job in the civil service. He did. He laughed. I told my mother what the teacher said when I went home. She thought a job in the civil service would be quite good. I was twelve or eleven years old at the time, I thought a job in the civil service would be the most boring job imaginable. You were right, my friend said.

I may be running out of steam in this article, what else is there to say about cotton wool, which, as you know is the theme of this article. In Britain when the national health service started all sorts of things were free. People used free cotton wool to stuff pillows. I didn’t know people would be so greedy, someone said. If you give people things for nothing they waste them. That’s the nature of the beast, said a Protestant. How do I know he was a Protestant? Because he told me, why I don’t know.

Is that enough about cotton wool? There is a type of limpet in the South Seas which, when it is born, swims around to find a suitable rock to lock on to for life, then eats its brain because it doesn’t need it anymore. Some people stop thinking when they leave school. Before then said my lecturer friend.

Do a person’s thinking for them and they love you, make them think and they hate you. Its not cool to study. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I quoted that quotation to a hotelier, a cliché he said. Are the ten commandments cliches, I asked? Probably, he said. I asked his son, who had a mangerial position in the hotel, do you agree with nepotism? He thought for a moment. When its deserved, he said.

There is an oversupply of cotton wool in this country, but lets not be discriminatory, everywhere. Truth is an illusion someone said.   If it is the truth that truth is an illusion then there is truth, truth is not an illusion. So there. T.S. Eliot said the truth is what is most hated. Ask whistleblowers. You get shot for speaking the truth, many are. Or locked up, ignored, passed over for promotion, you name it. That’s why people don’t do it. Its not the done thing.

T.S. Eliot is or was only a poet, so what would he know? So am I a poet, but I prefer to say I write rhymes because so much rubbish is passed off as and considered poetry today. I write rhymes, rhymes for all time. But no one notices. Why should they? A poem has been said to encapsulate a truth, see above, the truth is what is most hated. Not popular today, at all, at all.

That there is no such thing as truth is not my position. If there was no such thing as truth then there would be nothing. Quite obviously that is not the case. Open your eyes. And ears. What do you see and hear? Mostly rubbish, yes, but not nothing. The truth is, but is everywhere denied. But not by absolutely all. Not by me, yours truly. Nor am I absolutely alone in my belief. Thank God.   If there is one. God is truth, truth is God. Is truth, God, a being, an entity, a person or a quality? Think for yourself. God, your God, is what you put first, money, sex, truth, whatever. Stamp collecting. Yes. Or trivial pursuit.

Get the wool out of your ears. Have you cotton wool between your ears? Thus spake Zarathustra. Whoever he was. Or is. God is dead, Nietzsche. Nietzsche is dead, God.

I’m a rambler, I’m a gambler, I’m a long way from home.

Tich Ennis

14th December, 2016

Various Things

9th December, 2016


A plethora of playthings, a veritable cornucopia for you here.

First, a letter to John White, as well as this letter.   Then, a book and many, many CD’s.

The book is George’s (and my) selection from the poetry of William Blake, including the one beginning Heaven in a grain of sand, a favourite line of mine.

The CD’s are many and varied, including two of those sent to John, Penrose and 1955 Rock ‘n’ Roll. One I call Doo Wop Radio, two hours in mp3 form, recorded by me in 2011.

The other recordings are mostly, if not all, from BBC Radio 4, of recent date. Rumi, that’s one, Copernicus and the Burren, that’s two, (two separate programs on one disc), What Is Truth, What Is God Like and Islamic Philosophy, three items on one disc. Gloomsbury, two discs of this very funny show, four half hour programs on two CD’s. Then, the absolutely mind blowing series of talks I call Beyond Space and Time by Carlo Rovelli, read by another. Reality is not what it seems.

You may wonder why the talk What Is God Like begins with Good Golly, Miss Molly by Little Richard and ends with Rock Around The Clock by Bill Haley and His Comets? Because they were played in the same early morning show in which the Rabbi speaks. And because they are great and I love them.

The song, the name and singer of which I forget, after the Rabbi’s words, says God is one of us, just a slob in a bus trying to find his way home. A song I like, from the seventies.

If there is a God and he is a slob then there is hope for me when I meet him, his fellow slob.

Those talks, a few minutes long, were on the radio each day for a week, a different speaker each day of varying denominations, Christian and otherwise. I heard only the one here and one other, not memorable. From an early morning show on BBC Radio Two, Vanessa Feltz. She plays good music.

My wrestles with technology continue, the fruits of which you see before you. Now hear this! Get the cotton wool out of your ears. If you have eyes to see, read William Blake.

I may include a poem or two written by me yesterday and read to you on the phone. That is for me to know and you to find out.

If you got up earlier you would know all this already. Pay attention in class!

Tich Ennis