Tag Archives: Insanity

Explosion

God exploded and broke apart, we broke his heart.

God is past, present and future all in one and, oh yes, the Sun.

We carry a little piece of him in our heart and his mortal enemy, the Devil is also there.

Be careful which you choose, above all, care.

Someday in the future God will join together again when there is peace among men.

I am a heretic, burned at the stake, my question is, how long will it take?

When end heartbreak?

What difference can a poet make?

Walter Scott wrote The Lady of the Lake.

Be not fake.

This is my Sunday poem.

By their works ye know ‘em.

Tich Ennis

25th June, 2017

When

When quantum computing comes all codes will be crackable, that includes Russian, American and Chinese and what have you.

And terrorists and drug dealers too.

It will be an open book if you want to take a look.

That will give the security services something to do, pornographers look out.

There’s a spy about.

The truth will find you out.

At leat I hope so, God willing.

Are you the full shilling?

I look forward to the truth.

I have since youth.

Okay, so your missile codes are known.

Will you be blown up alone?

Call a help line on the phone.

When secrecy and double dealing ends will we be friends?

When hatred ends.

I pen a line or two to you now and then.

I’m heartsick, sore and sorry until when?

Tich Ennis

22nd June, 2017

The Queen

Padraic Colum wrote a poem The Old Woman Of The Roads, “Oh to have a little house, to own the hearth and stool and all” and so on, its lovely. Simple. The best he ever wrote.

It was read out to us in school and I a boy of nine or ten, the teacher was very pleased with himself. I put up my hand.   “Brother, can I say something? When I walk to school along Eden road just past the railway bridge is a small house with a plaque on it saying Padraic Colum lived here”. The teacher looked at me with tolerant amusement.

“Why did you tell us that?” he asked. “I thought you might be interested because he wrote that poem. He lived near this school.”

I did not say so Padraic Colum existed and maybe one or some of the other boys might be interested. It appeared to be a rule that teachers were never spoken to on a basis of equality. The temerity of it!

The teacher apparently thought I was some sort of blithering idiot. Not to be spoken to as if we shared a common interest in the poem and its maker. That would never do.

He may have said “Is that all you have to say to us?” Condescension is perhaps not the best word to describe his attitude.

Now, royalty. Years later I spoke with a couple in a hotel telling them I write poetry, not the sort of stuff you see in books now that no one reads. “Big words!” said the woman.

I said I like poems we heard at school like that one by Padraic Colum, Oh To Have A Little House. I said the first two lines and the woman recited it complete.

The barman was standing by. I said that’s about an old woman who has no house and wishes she had one. It’s the queen’s favourite poem, she often recites it.

“Nice one David” said the barman.

Tich Ennis

20th June, 2017

Brain

Where is a man with a better brain than me?

I need some help you see.

I mean what the Hell, oh well.

I know what I want but not how to do it, I’m not a bloody expert in everything.

I know almost nothing about some things, how can I know everything?

I could pay someone to do it if I had money, that’s funny.

Experts can be a pain in the arse, someone told me to go somewhere and ask for Mr. Jarse, Hugh Jarse.

I can’t make my website, that’s what I’m saying.

Should I try praying?

Swearing at technology doesn’t make it work but it makes you feel better.

End of letter.

(I apologise for cursing and swearing.

It’s a substitute for caring.

Some man in India and many others have offered help, at a price.

If you want a thing done right do it yourself, that’s my advice.

Einstein’s brain has been preserved.

I am unnerved.)

Tich Ennis

18th June, 2017

Spring

Must I write every blooming thing?

Should I recite the seasons, including Spring?

Porn is not my thing.

Porn treats people as things, are you a thing?

Porn of every type is everywhere, to children, of children, with children, its in the air.

Do you care?

People like heroin, would you put in your children’s stew?

Is giving people what they want the thing to do?

I ask you.

My meandery mind is not made up.

Often I am told, shut up.

I say nothing everyone doesn’t know.

I told you so.

The truth is everywhere ignored.

Why heroin, are you bored?

There are many drugs and addictions, of course.

Computer games, don’t get me started, back a horse.

The inventor of the iPad would not let his children have one, ask why?

Does a drug dealer feed his children fantasy, truth or lie?

Very clever people sell their soul.

To part you from your money, make you pay a toll.

For what? For rubbish, waste your time.

A little goes a long way, like wine.

Nothing is inherently good or bad, too much of a good thing makes you mad.

I am sad.

Doing things because others do them makes no sense.

Who says you have to? Get up off the fence.

Alright, someday I will be dead.

These things should not go unsaid.

It’s as clear as day to me, look at our horrible history.

Now is now and one day will be past.

In living memory Jews were gassed.

I do not care about the colour of your skin or creed, I take no side.

Has truth nowhere to hide?

Look inside.

Pretend you don’t understand, what do you want to happen in your land?

How about old fashioned love and peace?

They had more sense in ancient Greece.

This is not my last poem, I guarantee.

You will hear more from me.

When do people die, when they are fed up?

I’m not dead yet, I will not shut up.

Drink the loving cup.

Its all so bloody obvious, I don’t want to curse.

Are you afraid of something worse?

Things are bad enough, too bad, the way they are.

Truth is my guiding star.

If I do not shut up why do you?

If you prefer it, do it, be true.

I am like you.

I’m just another you.

Trying to be true.

That will do.

For me and you.

Now I have a coffee to drink and a cigarette to smoke.

Perhaps I’ll ring a friend and tell a joke.

I’m not sorry I spoke.

I’ll leave it at that, I can’t go on forever.

When will the truth be, never?

I won’t say hardly ever.

That’s it, I’m tired.

I have not expired.

Old, but not retired.

End, begin. Win.

I really can’t go on.

Sometimes I go on too long.

So long.

Au revoir, before you say get out.

I prefer a whisper to a shout.

Leave me out.

I am driven nearly mad by life but not quite.

Before I die I hope to see things right.

Goodnight.

Yes, I do mean what I say.

Good day.

No one thinks anyone means what they say.

How on Earth can you talk to people then?

Am I alone among men?

I know I do have followers, some few.

Thank you.

Followers on my blog I mean.

As a boy I ate ice cream.

I still do on rare occasions when Summer shows its head.

I’m not dead.

As I seem to go on and never stop I now, for now, shut up shop.

I look forward to Spring.

Do your thing.

Tich Ennis

15th June, 2017

Unwritten Books

Bubbles in the Bath by Wynne D. Bottom

Stains on the Wall by Hoo Flung Dung. He’s a Chinaman.

Heard in the playground at age ten. Need I be more specific? There were others, some of which I heard and others they would not tell me because they said I was too innocent. I would like a complete list of them for posterity’s sake, and to make me laugh.

They say everyone has a book in them, with some maybe it should stay there. At least in written form. We write the story of our own lives, for better or worse.

The nub of the issue. I die, I face God.

God: What did you do with your life?

Me: Nothing much. This and that. Kissed girls, drank beer, gave good parties. Danced. Listened to music. Went out. Talked with people, known and unknown. Had friends. A lot of nothing.

God: So I see.

Me: If you know everything why ask me? Is this a case of out of their own mouths they are condemned?

God: Something like that. And to pass the time of day.

Me: Am I going to Heaven or Hell?

God: It’s a matter of choice. Which do you prefer?

Me: I don’t know. Irish people say they want to go to Hell, all their friends will be there. People say Heaven would be boring.

God: What do you think?

Me: Perfection can’t be boring.

God: Have you met perfection?

Me: I’m talking to you amn’t I?

God: In real life?

Me: What we laughingly call real life. If I haven’t then something very close to it. From time to time.

God: Often?

Me: No.

God: What do you want?

Me: The same only different. A little of what you fancy does you good. Me too.

God: What were you told at school?

Me: We are vehicles for the truth.

God: What did you think?

Me: I don’t know the truth. Maybe I will when I’m older.

God: What age were you?

Me.: Ten.

God: Years?

Me: Not days. If you weren’t God I’d say don’t be stupid.

God: That wouldn’t be nice.

Me: Nice is fake good.

God: Now you’re talking.

Me: I thought the truth was something said in words.

God: What do you say now?

Me: It is done, not spoken. Words may be lies.

God: They often are. Too often. Words can be true.

Me: Words mean nothing if not put into action.

God: Did you follow that in your life?

Me: I wrote and spoke words. Often for fun. Shaw said if you want to write a comedy tell the truth. Nothing is funnier than the truth.

God: Do you love the truth?

Me: It’s the only thing.

God: If I send you to Hell will you convert others to your way of thinking?

Me: That’s the divil of a job.

God: I asked him but he was busy.

Me: I don’t know what to say.

God: I will put words in your mouth.

Me: Is this like being a Hindu, getting another go?

God: Keep going until you get it right.

Me: Is Hell eternal?

God: It could be. Maybe yes, maybe no. Not unless you want it to be.

Me: Why me?

God: That’s what they all say.

Me: I’ll have a go. I might as well be doing something as nothing.

God: That’s the spirit.

Me: Will I forget this?

God: Yes. You always do.

Me: Sorry to keep you waiting.

God: The man who made time made plenty of it. On the count of three, go. One, two, three.

Me: I’m gone.

After that brief digression back to unwritten books. Who will write a book to change the world? A friend asked that and said he knows it could not happen. Who believes in miracles? Some. Sorry to keep you waiting.

Tich Ennis

13th June, 2017

Quantum Computing

When it comes it comes, if it does.

Who will own it, the big boys because?

Will it serve a good use or let Hell loose?

Well both, I suppose.

Heaven only knows.

All that power, holy hour!

For good or bad or sane or mad.

The uranium atom is more or less the same.

To kill or cure, which is your game?

They are absolutely not the same.

Who to shame or blame?

In whose name?

Yours or mine?

May hearts entwine.

Life is a glass of wine.

Tich Ennis

26th May, 2017