Tag Archives: Rubbish

Thingism

Feminism, blackism, whitism, youngism, oldism, humanism, fascism, communism, is there no end?

Who is round the bend?

What about maleism, masculinism, I would not want them to feel left out.

Like the others they might shout.

I cannot call myself any of those.

Those kings and queens wear no clothes.

Rubbishism everywhere.

Its in the air.

Tich Ennis

Thursday, 16th July, 2020

Dead Friend

You’re well off out of it, its all rubbish here.

Nothing tastes the way it should, even beer.

Politicians talking rubbish all the time, quite a lot of horrible crime.

It looks like things are getting worse and worse, nothing would surprise you now, babies curse.

Someday I will join you or some night.

Everything is wrong here, nothing’s right.

With very few exceptions everyone is mad.

More or less nothing makes me glad.

There are some happy people, such as Joe.

And Bridget who I love, I go.

Tich Ennis

Saturday, 7th March, 2020

Ideal World

I would like an ideal perfect world in which no one said fuck.

Is this it? No such luck.

Drink can get the better of a man, is that a good excuse?

I can think of better, what’s the use?

I could have been a barrister or even a solicitor, God knows.

I can count my toes.

I don’t want to defend murderers and crooks and read law books.

I could have been a priest, at least.

But that would not suit me, I like to play around.

My theology is unsound.

Instead I did this that and the other, when unemployed I went home to mother.

I did not do absolutely nothing at all, I did something, however small.

I mean by the way exactly what I say.

I may underestimate myself, I’m not a person selling a house or a car.

I sing no praises of myself, I like a bar.

God only is my judge, not even me.

I believe in wait and see.

That’s me.

I wish also I wrote poetry not childish but suitable for a child.

Unfortunately I am not Oscar Wilde.

I mixed with rough guys at school and after.

I love laughter.

If there is even one word in this poem with which you find fault, console yourself with a film made by Disney, uncle Walt.

The perfect world I want would have no slush, sentimentality, politics or crap.

I don’t fall for rubbish, I’m no sap.

The ideal world is not defined in negatives, positive is all.

That’s what I’m trying to convey, I might as well talk to a wall.

I do not solemnly promise never again to use the word I rhymed with luck.

An ideal world is an ideal poem, without muck.

I can’t think of any more to say.

For now, good day.

Words like that should not exist.

They do, in Irish mist.

Tich Ennis

Friday, 24th January, 2020

Seeking Perfection

I seek perfection. Have I come to the wrong shop?

Will imperfection never stop?

I am neither blind nor deaf nor dumb.

I have four fingers on each hand and one thumb.

I said that because it rhymes.

I’ll explain that to you sometime.

It has not escaped my notice that the world is not without flaw.

In other words its banjaxed, should there be a law?

As far as life goes I appear to have no choice.

Will you hear these words from me, rejoice, rejoice?

Rubbish to me is anything I don’t like, want or love.

The garbage man will do his job when push comes to shove.

Sense may I say is in the brain or eye of the beholder.

You may understand when you are older.

Tich Ennis

22nd April, 2019

Bitter Loser

I thought I would write a poem about poetry competitions saying they’re all a fraud.

Should they be outlawed?

The ones on the internet where people get all their Facebook friends to vote for them are a dead loss.

Not to speak of the cost.

The ones with an independent judge or two are a different Irish stew.

Do they care about the true?

Past winners’ stuff means nothing to me.

I would say the general public would agree.

Ok, I am not bitter, I refuse to enter.

Where rubbish is concerned I am a dissenter.

I know this poem isn’t very good, but so what?

That’s your lot.

Tich Ennis

5th March, 2019

Lies

Was Gerry Adams in the IRA? Do you believe lies?

Is that wise?

This may come as a surprise.

Politicians tell lies.

Some kill, there are murderers in the Dail.

God help us all.

Were you raped by the IRA?

What does Mairia Cahill say?

Is that politically correct, feminists tell me is rape wrong and if so why, does it matter who does it, don’t tell a lie.

We’re supposed to swallow rubbish, do you?

There are protestant murderers too.

All are equal, capable of right and wrong.

Equality is my song.

When I say all I mean all, English too as well as me and you.

The Irish generally speaking talk too much.

Some talk double Dutch.

Again I say not all.

In the Dail.

Would the English taoiseach hear what I say?

Borders go away.

Gerry Adams I apologise for using your name in vain.

You give me a pain.

Still, you got this poem off to a good start.

Have a heart.

Tich Ennis

31st March, 2019

Taboo

There are things you’re not supposed to say and do, they are taboo.

Those things change over time, like a poem doesn’t have to rhyme.

They change according to the powers that be and the prevailing orthodoxy.

It is of course all rubbish as you know.

Criticising the wrong people may be fatal here below.

Ideology is codology, let me say it loud and clear.

If you talk rubbish don’t come here.

Tich Ennis

21st January, 2019