Tag Archives: Jail

Dirty Old Man

I will have to wash my hands sometime or even I will be disgusted.

Does the sideboard need to be dusted?

I grew a beard to save shaving and washing my face.

I am a disgrace but still a member of the human race.

Too much hygiene is bad for you and damages your immune system.

A scientist said that, you might have missed him.

Somethings are repulsive merely about being alive.

Put your head in a toilet and survive.

I am occasionally crude and rude.

At other times good manners may intrude.

To what do I attribute my longevity?

My answer might lack brevity.

I wear old clothes.

When you meet me hold your nose.

Have I saving graces in all honesty?

I write poetry.

When you read my words by thankful you’re not here.

When I’m on the beer.

I see no point in convention, I never attended one.

A complicated pun.

My brother suggested that line.

It is not mine.

Have you served time?

My brother says no one would know what that means, like jail.

I make things clear without fail.

Have I made myself clear?

I disappear.

Tich Ennis

Monday, 18th November, 2019


I want to assemble a group of chucklebutts and stumblebums to make Arklow great again.

Some of them know more than me, although that seems impossible, and aren’t even men.

One, a boy of fourteen if he’s a day does not love school but has things to say.

His father seems alright, not uptight, dislikes his son truanting from school, he is ok anyway.

One or two women would be alright, we could talk all night.

When will we get things right?

Uptight and outa sight.

Will saner heads prevail?

Have they seen the inside of a jail?

We cannot fail.

Ask one who knows how to grow a rose.

Scent comes and goes.

It stays on your clothes.

Value your nose.

Do I invalidate myself by being funny?

One thing’s for sure, I’m not in it for the money.

If I was, I amn’t making any.

Have you got a penny?

Tich Ennis

30th May, 2019


The triumph and the tragedy, the mediocrity and hope.

Does a tramp need soap?

A Protestant Pope.

Or perhaps Dalai Lama, in pink pyjamas.

Life is a mixed bag, she’s beautiful then and old hag.

It has been remarked before that life goes quicker when you’re old.

Slow as a snail when you’re in jail, was truth told?

I am guilty as sin.

When will I begin?

I agree I left it late.

I procrastinate.

Am I fate?

It’s a date.

Blind or otherwise.

Why tell lies?

Tich Ennis

29th May, 2019

My Fellow Citizens

My Fellow Citizens

(To Sylvester Bourke, Pat Hoey, Pier Leonard and Chantel Kangowa, my preferred candidates in Arklow local elections. As of now. Please circulate widely.)

         I fully intend to vote for one or more of you in the forthcoming election or elections. Why? I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Whose doubt? Mine. You have yet to prove yourselves in this great façade we call life, or something like that.

As far as I know, but who am I to say, you are reasonable facsimiles of human beings. Robots can be very realistic and getting more so all the time. Once I vote for you, if I vote for you, that’s it. I’ve burned my boats. I’m stuck with you until the next election, if you get elected.

Speaking as a semi-lunatic, driven mad or half mad by circumstances beyond my control, but that’s life, isn’t it, yes, as I said before, I strongly intend to vote, if I get around to it, which I expect I will. But don’t count on my vote, let the counting officer do that.

My point is I will have to put up with you for 4 years if you get elected but you will ignore me completely. That may be mutual. I have better things to be doing than thinking about politics all the time.

People like me are the electorate, for better or worse, and require representation. How can you be one of us and not one of us at the same time? Can you square that circle?

This may be a joke but someone said all politicians should be taken out periodically and shot. That’s fairly funny if you’re not a politician. There is still hope. You may not be elected.

To quote Samuel Beckett, everything is futile, it would be better never to have been born. He also said try again, fail again, try again, fail better.

He was more or less a comedian, not to be taken too seriously.

I too am Irish. So what? If I was born somewhere else I would be something else. And equally ashamed or proud, or probably both at once.

All good things come to an end, including life itself, good or otherwise. So you are going to make my life better. Says who? I didn’t make much of a job of it myself. I can’t really blame you. Not yet, anyway.

The torch was passed to another generation and they lit a marijuana cigarette with it. Fine words butter no parsnips. But they’re better than nothing.

To quote Dean Swift, and why not, in his self-written obituary:

He left the little wealth he had

to build a house for fools and mad,

and showed by this satiric touch,

no nation needed it so much.


End of quote.

What is your price? Will you fulfil my requirements? Do you endeavour to give satisfaction? Or do you just want to get elected?

I will sign my vote in blood. That sounds good, doesn’t it? Not mine, I hope.

A cynic is a person who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing – Oscar Wilde.

I know the price of a pint of Guinness, four sixty in my favourite hostelry, less in some places, more in others.

Have you read Less is More? Or Small is Beautiful? Neither have I. I recommend them to other people. Not written by Irish people, but we can’t all be Irish.

What’s wrong with Ireland that you want to make it better? A patriot is a person who says a country is the best in the world because he was born in it – G. B. Shaw (also Irish).

Karl Marx said something else but he wasn’t Irish. He once said smokers of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but your chain smoking. Or something very like it.

So, okay, if you get elected we won’t have to put up with each other for four years. I look forward to that. An amicable divorce. We all make mistakes.

Any of you could turn out to be another Hitler, Pol Pot or Shane Ross. God help us all. At least you’re not Nigel Farrage, not so far, anyway.

Are you good at soundbites? Do you tweet often? What have you learned from Donald Trump?

Okay, that’s it, fateful Friday approaches, the day of reckoning, when the sheep are sorted from the goats, the men from the boys, the girls from the women, the good things from the bad things. I’ll see you in Heaven, Hell, Purgatory or Nirvana, whatever you’re having yourself. Destiny awaits. Many stirring words have been spoken, I am stir crazy hearing them.

Ok, I’ll vote for you, something is better than nothing. Or so they say. That’s for me to know and you to find out. Take it on the chin. Roll with the punches. Let Katy Taylor be your role model.

Arklow forever! Or the time being, anyway. Sorry for taking up so much of your time and mine.

Still, you could be in jail. Cheer up!


I asked a woman was she a politician, she said she hasn’t sold her soul. A man I repeated that to said politicians have no soul. He used the eff word.

Anglo Saxon is a gift bestowed on us by the English on their departure. We are fluent speakers.


Tich Ennis

22nd May, 2019



Where is God, in a pack of cigarettes?

You bet.

I smoke but don’t inhale.

I’ve never been in jail.

Well, except one night in a cell.

Oh well.

I was quite incapable, I admit.

They removed my shoelaces, that’s it.

Ok, they put me up, no breakfast, not even a cup.

It is human to err, to forgive divine.

Metaphorically I drank too much wine.

Ok God, for God’s sake come.

I beat your drum.

Tich Ennis

16th May, 2019

Disgusting Poem 2

You’ll hate this poem if you’re a prude.

All the words in it are rude.

The good bit is coming later on.

Obscene and heard and so on.

If you’re not shocked you should be.

When I was young I would be.

Body parts and actions will be covered well.

Should I go to Hell?

Later on, maybe.

Don’t read this to a baby.

This is a foreword or preamble.

I ramble.

What is more rude than a nude?

Crude and lewd.

You’ll shoot me when I say this but here I stop.

I see a cop.

The morality police are on my trail.

See you in jail.

Will you go bail?

Without fail.

Holy grail.

Tich Ennis

4th March, 2019

Unknown Stranger

An unknown stranger asked for a cigarette.

I said no, you bet.

They never give them back, as I’ve learned to my cost.

I gave and lost.

What price karma when you’re broke?

Who gives me a smoke?

Some do, few and far between.

No, really, I am not mean.

The odd person, very odd, buys me a drink or two.

I don’t even know them, do you?

I told a young guy to ask the Vincent de Paul, he might as well be talking to the wall.

Twice in five minutes someone asked to no avail.

If I was a prisoner would you pay my bail?

Anyway cigarettes are bad for me and you.

Do as I say, not as I do.

Tich Ennis

20th January, 2019