Tag Archives: Money

Smoking In Hell

Don’t believe me when I’m joking.

I’m not giving up smoking.

I will when I die.

Is that a lie?

Do you think they allow smoking in Heaven I asked a man, you don’t know what he said, you bet.

I haven’t told you yet.

You’d have no trouble getting a light in the other place he said with a straight face.

Another man said he tried being a comedian but no one laughed at his jokes, that itself is funny.

Worth the money.

Is that enough?

Puff puff.

The world is not coming to an end yet.

I have another cigarette.

Tich Ennis

Monday, 1st June, 2020

Should I Write For Money?

Christ did not try to make money from his words, should I?

If I write a book who will buy?

I have written three, that’s me.

Self published, on that we can agree.

The past is history.

I would like my words spread out, round and about.

As far as money is concerned, more would be satisfactory.

Its not the main thing, truth is king.

Maybe I should try some more modern platform than merely my blog.

A hollow log.

Any and more or less all platforms, social media as they are called, I’ll make a list.

I have Facebook, what have I missed?

I suppose I’m quite unusual giving my stuff away free.

That’s me.

Junk is popular, I don’t write junk.

He is an attractive animal, a skunk.

If I put my stuff out there more or less everywhere, free as air, would anybody care, is anybody there?

Comparisons between myself and Christ are few and far between, he was God and man, I am a human being.

Sloth may be my deadly sin.

As far as starting, when and where will I begin?

Right here, someday.

Come what may.

I will investigate.

But when, that’s fate.

Meaningless rubbish is popular nowadays, how can I compete?

The jigsaw puzzle is incomplete.

Tich Ennis

Wednesday, 29th April, 2020


As a businessman I need to keep you alive.

I need your money from nine to five.

The wheels of commerce must be kept turning.

Is Rome burning?

I could supply extinguishers or petrol to fan the flames.

Or more or less food or war games.

To Hell with it, I’ll be a priest.

Tell other people what to do, at least.

Make bread without yeast.

Expect no miracle from me.

Or maybe, wait and see.

Tich Ennis

Tuesday, 17th March, 2020

The Plot

Was I born perfect? If so I lost the plot.

I forgot.

I have been not so bad or ok sometimes.

I committed minor crimes.

My standards are extremely high, I may arrive at them before I die.

I will not and do not overstate my case.

I am no unmitigated disgrace.

I strayed from perfection in thought and deed and attitude.

I told stories that were rude.

Possibly my idea of a saint is an impossible ideal, I am not and never was one then, but the impossible can’t be true.

Maybe no for me, maybe yes for you.

This is rather mixed up, so am I.

I aspire very high.

The point is about leaving my past behind me, a lot of it is very funny.

Would God agree, say that’s life, your life, don’t forget it, some of it regret it, you did not dedicate yourself to money.

May I, an imperfect man, give expression to the truth in perfect form?

Considering in more than one way in my past I deviated from the norm?

You have no clue what I mean when I don’t say and won’t, my crimes were trivial but as I say my standards are high.

Higher than the sky.

As to question one above all is possible with love.

Therefore yes, a bad man can be good.

When I think an answer comes and so it should.

Can I be both bad and good?

A stupid question, not at the same time.

To concentrate on goodness is no crime.

I can do that, I know, I’ve done it too.

And will for you.

Tich Ennis

Tuesday, 3rd March, 2020

Porn Book

If you’re expecting something juicy you will be disappointed.

I am annointed.

My title here is to grab your attention.

Implying things I shall not mention.

Have you or have you not a dirty mind?

Is it the only kind?

Do you want your money back?

You expect me to write about a couple in the sack.

Sharing experience you may lack.

Love is the big secret.

You’ll know it when you meet it.

Tich Ennis

Monday, 2nd March, 2020

Nothing 2

You’re nothing today if you’re not a billionaire.

Don’t ask me why, I don’t care.

Money means nothing to me as long as I’m not down to my last ha’penny.

I have enough of that stuff, more or less nothing in fact.

Its what you do and how you act.

If this means nothing to you, well alright, enjoy the view.

I am not like you.

Tich Ennis

Thursday, 20th February, 2020


If its complicated its like that because they want to confuse you.

That’s what I think, do you?

They make money by explaining things.

Little kings.

They wouldn’t need to be explained if they said it simply and clearly in the first place.

They are not more intelligent than you, they are crooks, a disgrace.

They’re in the wrong place.

Tich Ennis

Thursday, 20th February, 2020


When people have lots of money they have no children and when they have none they do.

I will now explain that to you.

Unless I have other things to do.

A baby in the cradle or a car in the garage?

Does that make you think hard?

Your child could be a Hitler or a Mozart or a useless layabout.

Have one and find out.

Babies are being phased out, that’s my impression.

This may cause statisticians to have depression.

Teachers will have no one to teach.

Who will lie on a beach?

The human species made a mess of things.

What, no wedding rings?

If this happened earlier even I would not be here.

Who would drink beer?

I was a baby once, I went from there to here.

Are we about to disappear?

Leave the Earth to elephants and kangaroos.

Give them the right to choose.

Who will read my poems if everyone is dead?

I’ll do something else instead.

Tich Ennis

Sunday, 19th January, 2020


Having lived in part through two millennia, what have I learned?

Money is hard earned.

Also respect, of whatever variety.

Don’t drink to satiety.

Now although I hadn’t noticed we arrive at the end of a decade.

Ice cream and lemonade.

I am no longer young, those days are past.

Its déjà vu at last.

I don’t know when to stop growing old.

Never, if truth were told.

This poem is makey uppy.

There is a fish called guppy.

Tich Ennis

Sunday, 29th December, 2019