Tag Archives: music

Statement

The truth when perfectly stated is irrefutable.

Is that disputable?

Who says, you?

What am I to do?

Is one and one two?

Does the truth lie only in facts?

What about people’s acts?

Do you say motive matters, so do I.

May the truth lie in a lie?

A lie is the mirror opposite of the truth, as Shakespeare might say, forsooth.

So therefore yes.

When the truth is spoken is anybody’s guess.

I know I am not Plato, Plato is dead.

I speak instead.

Tich Ennis

12th October, 2018

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Criticism

Criticism has a bad name.

For shame.

It can be constructive or destructive.

If you want praise ask your mother.

Failing that, your pet brother.

Some don’t want to hurt your feelings so they don’t say what they think.

They drive an honest man to drink.

If you want the truth ask a stranger.

You may expose yourself to danger.

Don’t ask someone in the same field, like a farmer.

Can you cure a self harmer?

Be your own critic, charity begins at home.

If you are your greatest fan leave me alone.

The truth is funny, among other things.

Not greatly favoured by kings.

Should I issue a clarifying statement?

Some music should be subject to noise abatement.

Why should I explain to those who don’t want to know?

I hesitate to say I told you so.

Tich Ennis

4th October, 2018

Spirit

Trapped in a material world my spirit yearns to be free.

How do I play this violin that is me?

Or sometimes maybe I’m a saxophone, I loved rock’n’roll, leave me alone.

The meaning of music, what can words say?

To explain would take more than a day.

Or maybe more than life.

I raise my bow, end eternal strife.

Music flows.

God knows.

Naked without clothes.

The truth stands naked without cover up.

The world replies, shut up.

Must all be explained to those with eyes wide shut?

Can Tiger Woods do a putt?

Yes, it appears, but why, why, why?

Shall mind and heart be one before I die?

Call me fed up, call me naïve.

I believe.

Tich Ennis

21st September, 2018

The Cure

To cure the madness of the world is why art is here.

Some go mad, some say God is here.

In a pint of beer.

Look and listen, open your eyes and ears.

What do you see around you, is life full of fears?

A work of art can play its part, with dedication it is made.

Bring art into the light, out of the shade.

Art is seeing, being, doing.

To a lover it is wooing.

What is life without those things?

In my heart music sings.

See what is, see what’s real.

Above all, feel.

This artist delivers to you this pill.

Should I speak from a hill?

A perfect world had we the will.

So why say art is mad?

The world is, the world is sad.

Art exists to make you glad.

Drink in, drink up and take the cure.

A perfect world for rich and poor.

Tich Ennis

10th September, 2018

Help Me

I wish I had someone to do for me the things I need to do.

How about you?

Do you feel the same way too?

Look in the mirror, enjoy the view.

Here’s talking to you, prodigal son.

Who else will do it, you are the only one.

Tough luck, that’s how the mop flops, be your slave.

Fortune favours the brave.

A little help, a word or two from someone who has been there before means a lot to me.

I will get it done when you and I agree.

Someone asked do I want to be famous well not really, no.

I appreciate appreciation, I should start before I go.

Tell me something I don’t know.

I wait to hear from a man called Joe.

Finding how is hard I said before.

Repeating yourself is a bore.

I won’t say more.

Tich Ennis

31st August, 2018

The Poor And Injustice

The poor should not be crucified, why are they poor?

How long must injustice endure?

Don’t say its all their fault, life is a trial.

Would you help an old lady across a style?

I helped an old lady across a street and she prayed for me all the way over.

That was long ago, Very Lynn might have been singing the White Cliffs of Dover.

Some are beggars because of drugs, thrown out of house and home.

Others fell on hard times, some have a mobile phone.

The poor are the same as you and me but they have less money.

Being poor is not funny.

How would you like to die in a ditch?

It doesn’t often happen to the rich.

Tuppence hapenny looking down on twopence, gimme a break.

For God’s sake.

I certainly don’t want change at the point of a gun.

Guns are not fun.

Good luck everyone.

Tich Ennis

28th July, 2018

Rhyme

A poem to last for all time, is it a poem or a rhyme?

A rhyme is down to earth and dum-de-dum, a poem transcends and then some.

When the two of them combine I may turn water into wine.

Perhaps I’ll walk on water first then drink the wine to slake my thirst.

The blind may see, the deaf may hear, the dumb shall speak sometime, some year.

In the meantime here I am, a poet, one who gives a damn.

Tich Ennis

10th July, 2018