Tag Archives: School

The Queen

Padraic Colum wrote a poem The Old Woman Of The Roads, “Oh to have a little house, to own the hearth and stool and all” and so on, its lovely. Simple. The best he ever wrote.

It was read out to us in school and I a boy of nine or ten, the teacher was very pleased with himself. I put up my hand.   “Brother, can I say something? When I walk to school along Eden road just past the railway bridge is a small house with a plaque on it saying Padraic Colum lived here”. The teacher looked at me with tolerant amusement.

“Why did you tell us that?” he asked. “I thought you might be interested because he wrote that poem. He lived near this school.”

I did not say so Padraic Colum existed and maybe one or some of the other boys might be interested. It appeared to be a rule that teachers were never spoken to on a basis of equality. The temerity of it!

The teacher apparently thought I was some sort of blithering idiot. Not to be spoken to as if we shared a common interest in the poem and its maker. That would never do.

He may have said “Is that all you have to say to us?” Condescension is perhaps not the best word to describe his attitude.

Now, royalty. Years later I spoke with a couple in a hotel telling them I write poetry, not the sort of stuff you see in books now that no one reads. “Big words!” said the woman.

I said I like poems we heard at school like that one by Padraic Colum, Oh To Have A Little House. I said the first two lines and the woman recited it complete.

The barman was standing by. I said that’s about an old woman who has no house and wishes she had one. It’s the queen’s favourite poem, she often recites it.

“Nice one David” said the barman.

Tich Ennis

20th June, 2017

Education

Is education any good?

Some people believe in superstition, touch wood.

To educate means to draw out not to force in.

Look it up, begin.

Half the subjects in university are there to make money for the university, they are not real, you see.

Can art appreciation be taught, can knowledge be bought?

What’s wrong with working with your hands, with tools?

The working class are taken for fools.

Maths and science, reading and writing, they are good. And some few others, use your common sense, you should.

Don’t let them turn you into a fool at school.

Tich Ennis

20th June, 2017

Brain

Where is a man with a better brain than me?

I need some help you see.

I mean what the Hell, oh well.

I know what I want but not how to do it, I’m not a bloody expert in everything.

I know almost nothing about some things, how can I know everything?

I could pay someone to do it if I had money, that’s funny.

Experts can be a pain in the arse, someone told me to go somewhere and ask for Mr. Jarse, Hugh Jarse.

I can’t make my website, that’s what I’m saying.

Should I try praying?

Swearing at technology doesn’t make it work but it makes you feel better.

End of letter.

(I apologise for cursing and swearing.

It’s a substitute for caring.

Some man in India and many others have offered help, at a price.

If you want a thing done right do it yourself, that’s my advice.

Einstein’s brain has been preserved.

I am unnerved.)

Tich Ennis

18th June, 2017

Theresa May

Theresa May is up a gumtree, she made a mess.

As she is first to confess.

Do you like her dress?

She is a power walker, power strutter, is she a nutter?

She appears to lack empathy, if you know that word.

Are grammar schools absurd?

So I’ve heard.

So said Jones minor of the lower third.

Well I suppose she learned a lesson.

We’ve heard her confession.

Margaret Thatcher did not have advisors, she made up her own mind.

Theresa is not that kind.

Tich Ennis

17th June, 2017

Unwritten Books

Bubbles in the Bath by Wynne D. Bottom

Stains on the Wall by Hoo Flung Dung. He’s a Chinaman.

Heard in the playground at age ten. Need I be more specific? There were others, some of which I heard and others they would not tell me because they said I was too innocent. I would like a complete list of them for posterity’s sake, and to make me laugh.

They say everyone has a book in them, with some maybe it should stay there. At least in written form. We write the story of our own lives, for better or worse.

The nub of the issue. I die, I face God.

God: What did you do with your life?

Me: Nothing much. This and that. Kissed girls, drank beer, gave good parties. Danced. Listened to music. Went out. Talked with people, known and unknown. Had friends. A lot of nothing.

God: So I see.

Me: If you know everything why ask me? Is this a case of out of their own mouths they are condemned?

God: Something like that. And to pass the time of day.

Me: Am I going to Heaven or Hell?

God: It’s a matter of choice. Which do you prefer?

Me: I don’t know. Irish people say they want to go to Hell, all their friends will be there. People say Heaven would be boring.

God: What do you think?

Me: Perfection can’t be boring.

God: Have you met perfection?

Me: I’m talking to you amn’t I?

God: In real life?

Me: What we laughingly call real life. If I haven’t then something very close to it. From time to time.

God: Often?

Me: No.

God: What do you want?

Me: The same only different. A little of what you fancy does you good. Me too.

God: What were you told at school?

Me: We are vehicles for the truth.

God: What did you think?

Me: I don’t know the truth. Maybe I will when I’m older.

God: What age were you?

Me.: Ten.

God: Years?

Me: Not days. If you weren’t God I’d say don’t be stupid.

God: That wouldn’t be nice.

Me: Nice is fake good.

God: Now you’re talking.

Me: I thought the truth was something said in words.

God: What do you say now?

Me: It is done, not spoken. Words may be lies.

God: They often are. Too often. Words can be true.

Me: Words mean nothing if not put into action.

God: Did you follow that in your life?

Me: I wrote and spoke words. Often for fun. Shaw said if you want to write a comedy tell the truth. Nothing is funnier than the truth.

God: Do you love the truth?

Me: It’s the only thing.

God: If I send you to Hell will you convert others to your way of thinking?

Me: That’s the divil of a job.

God: I asked him but he was busy.

Me: I don’t know what to say.

God: I will put words in your mouth.

Me: Is this like being a Hindu, getting another go?

God: Keep going until you get it right.

Me: Is Hell eternal?

God: It could be. Maybe yes, maybe no. Not unless you want it to be.

Me: Why me?

God: That’s what they all say.

Me: I’ll have a go. I might as well be doing something as nothing.

God: That’s the spirit.

Me: Will I forget this?

God: Yes. You always do.

Me: Sorry to keep you waiting.

God: The man who made time made plenty of it. On the count of three, go. One, two, three.

Me: I’m gone.

After that brief digression back to unwritten books. Who will write a book to change the world? A friend asked that and said he knows it could not happen. Who believes in miracles? Some. Sorry to keep you waiting.

Tich Ennis

13th June, 2017

Making Mistakes

Do you think I never make a mistake?

Heartbreak.

Why then do I find a mistake in my blog from time to time?

To make a mistake is no crime.

I read over even later and correct.

I find the odd mistake, what do you expect?

I fix it, make it right.

By day or night.

I am not mister perfect, he does not exist.

Ask girls I kissed.

Or sometimes missed.

To achieve perfection make correction.

Its best not to make a mistake in the first place.

Perfection has a lovely face.

When I speak of myself I speak of you.

How do you do?

Also me.

Do you see?

Must I drive that point home?

In this poem.

Our object must be to attain perfection.

Perfection requires no correction.

Tich Ennis

7th June, 2017

From Outer Space

I look you in the face.

And myself, what a disgrace!

Is there any point in continuing to complain?

Are things as right as rain?

How may the old advise the young?

My song and yours are not yet sung.

Do you want to hear my last gasp?

Cleopatra did it with an asp.

Suicide is pointless, fate does it for you anyway.

All things come to he who waits, tomorrow is another day.

Cliché.

Someday I may devise a pill.

To cure our ill.

Please God I will.

I have not given up hope.

I am taken for a dope.

Have I been given enough rope?

A child may skip, a child may swing.

Children know best, they do their thing.

To whom is given let him give.

Live and let live.

Tich Ennis

6th June, 2017