Tag Archives: Ireland

Bad Weather Blues

Or greens as the case may be.

Set me free!

Oh Ireland, wash your face!

But not with cold and rain and wind, your disgrace.

I sit outside, smoking.

I’m not joking.

Outside a café, by the way.

I smoke indoors at home.

Nero lived in ancient Rome.

He liked executing innocent people, like me.

This weather is my destiny.

I was born here, I can’t complain, oh yes I can.

I am an Irishman.

Tich Ennis

13th December, 2018

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Change

Will this poem change the world for the better?

This letter.

I urgently await an answer.

Can I cure cancer?

Not without trying.

Is living dying?

I wish to wake from a bad dream.

That things are as they seem.

Don’t wake me until then, don’t wake me up.

I shut up.

That appears abrupt.

Must the world be corrupt?

I look forward to a change of course, of course.

Back to source.

Tich Ennis

26th November, 2018

Modern Song

I want to commit suicide but I haven’t got the guts.

Don’t you know I’m nuts?

I want to share my misery and pain with you.

I think that’s the right thing to do.

You’re nuts too.

You enjoy my stuff because you are a misery boots.

I don’t give two hoots.

I am a comedian on stage, I give vent to rage.

A funny thing happened on the way to the loony bin.

Or alcoholic treatment place or drugs clinic, where do I begin?

I am depressed and I want the world to know.

Its my ego, its not small, I am a bomb about to blow.

Yeah, well, so people get killed at pop shows, so what?

I have the ticket money, thanks a lot.

I made sense once but I forgot.

Cheer up some other voice said.

It could be worse, you could be dead.

Who says everything is futile?

Some guy who forgot how to smile.

Life is awful, you’ll get over it in a while.

Is there no place for laughter, none for joy.

Not from this boy.

I say life is a one way suicide trip.

And people say I’m hip.

There is a word, masochist, look it up.

When you understand its meaning I might shut up.

And drink the loving cup.

In the meantime, okay, eat my turds.

You don’t understand words.

Because you don’t want to, it doesn’t suit you.

People like you shoot you.

Wallow like a pig.

Call me mister big.

Since when has it been best to be insane?

As that stupid saying has it, feel my pain.

Your pain is self inflicted.

You are addicted.

Grow up, get out more, life your life you fool.

Did you learn insanity at school?

Okay, I’ve had my say, I don’t eat vomit.

I prefer Wallace and Gromit.

I smoke and smoking is mad so I’m mad too.

Just like you.

I am the meaning of this song.

If I gave you a rope would you say so long?

Who has the cure, you or me?

Wait and see.

I do not choose misery and woe.

I go.

And so do you, what are you, Asian flu?

Solve the Arab Israeli conflict and I’ll believe you.

You are not the answer.

Chancer.

As for me, I am a dancer.

You are a romancer and romance is false.

I prefer rock‘n’roll to the waltz.

I too have faults.

If you see yourself in this song well, hello.

I don’t want to say I told you so.

Music should be fun or transcendental.

Not, as we say in Ireland, mental.

Is there a place for gentle?

Tich Ennis

1st August, 2018

Must I?

Must I write poems all the time, must I say everything in rhyme?

My best friend said yes, keep writing, at least when you’re writing you’re not fighting.

Long ago, so we were told, Ireland was nothing but saints and scholars.

Now we sell ourselves for dollars.

Priests don’t wear collars.

Maybe this will never see the light of day, so what, its what I have to say.

I have not gone away.

Neither I nor the IRA.

I do as needs must.

Before I turn into dust.

Gold does not rust.

Tich Ennis

23rd November, 2017

Nude Girl

Some man said I should have a nude girl on the cover of my book. Sexist pig!   I think it was the same man who said I should have rape, violence and bloodthirsty murder in my book.   For that sort of thing read the papers. Sex sells, it has been said, ask a brothel keeper.

My mother said nudity symbolises truth, the truth stands naked. Did I ever swim naked? Yes. In the presence of women? No. Would that this were for Ireland, said a man dipping his toe in the water.

In London when young I visited a sex shop, done up like a Boots chemists. The female assistant asked me could she help me, I said I was only looking. She was disgusted. No money in that. I bought nothing. I treated it like a museum, they are free.

In Moore street in Dublin the vegetable sellers at stalls ask are you buying? Think twice before you do. Nice white mushrooms on the stall, but brown ones from under the counter if you buy.   They sell throw outs from the fruit and vegetable market, a little known fact. I’ll scrawb the fatures off you said one to another, so my father told me.   The song Biddy Mulligan celebrates them and their ilk.

This is a long way from nude girls, my mind wanders. The female form has been celebrated by artists throughout the ages, not to speak of the male. See the Sistine Chapel, was that Leonardo or Michelangelo? Don’t tell me, don’t show off. I don’t care if the Pope has dirty pictures in his chapel, we’re not having them, said a politician in our parliament discussing censorship of books with W.B. Yeats, poet and senator. We’ve got over that now, we have sex shops.   There was no sex in Ireland before television said another politician of ours. We are all the result of miracle births.

I speak of course of the old days. We have grown up and got sense since. Or what passes for it.   You learned about sex by osmosis in the old days, but you did learn. What is the difference between education and training? There’s sex education in schools, not sex training. Now you know.

A pretty girl on the cover sells a book, said Laurence O’Bryan, novelist and editor, to me, so I had one there. Hence the remark of that man, the nude girl fancier. So far, no nude girls in or on any book of mine. You have to draw the line somewhere, as Picasso might have said.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. Use your imagination. Did you have any bad thoughts, a priest might ask a confessor. In totalitarian states there’s such a thing as thought crime. I have thoughts but I don’t agree with them, said a man when asked in those circumstances.

A pretty girl is like a melody said someone, maybe Shakespeare. They’re all the same in the dark, said someone else. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Beauty is only skin deep. Beauty comes from within. Make up your own mind, if you have one.

I leave you to your fantasies.

How about a nudist colony in the Arctic Circle?

Tich Ennis

3rd December, 2017

Answer

Is God the answer to my problems or is he the cause?

Do I defy all known laws?

How come everything is problematic, is the answer in my attic?

It appears doing things is easy, why is finding out how such a slog?

Ireland is one seventh bog.

This pilgrim’s progress is a mess.

If I keep going I will find out how.

I am my own God anyhow.

Back to the grindstone now.

One thing, go to source.

You’ll find the answer there of course.

Tich Ennis

27th September, 2017

Remember

We knew everything before and discover it anew.

Some ancient philosopher said that, I don’t know who.

Alright, he said it is as if that is the case.

I don’t want egg on my face.

In a flash of illumination and recognition we know, at last.

As if we knew it in the past.

What can this mean, is all time one?

There’s nothing new under the Sun.

Is my life nearly run?

Not quite I hope when I have not begun.

Tich Ennis

29th August, 2017