Tag Archives: Truth

CD and Book

Singing and writing, who’s fighting?

I fight myself and sometimes win.

Is it too late to begin?

I nearly built a shop down a street where no one goes.

I still may do it, who knows?

Maybe someone lost their way.

Why not walk down and stay?

Bring something home with you, you may share it too.

If you wish to hear and see then come along with me.

I don’t cost much, not much, a widow’s mite.

Why fight?

Tich Ennis

17th October, 2017

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Beard

I don’t need to shave because I grew a beard.

The truth is most feared.

I do need to wash my face to be in a state of grace.

Sometimes I wash my hands.

I listen to rock’n’roll bands.

Or did in times gone past, the future is catching up with me fast.

Its pointless complaining that I have to cut my nails, my patience fails.

I do get out of bed, well said.

I am alive until I’m dead.

I enjoy life more or less.

God bless.

Tich Ennis

16th October, 2017

Banjaxed Anthem

Banjaxed is Irish slang, meaning broken or not working. Everything in Ireland is banjaxed, probably including me.

See our history.

The Irish national anthem, not this one, was written in English first.

Which version is worst?

Nationalism mean killing people as far as I can see.

That’s what it means to me.

De Valera, our leader, sent condolences to the German embassy when Hitler died.

Jews cried.

De Valera was half Irish, his first name wasn’t Paddy.

Not as Irish as my daddy.

Patrick Pearse was half English and probably by a full blooded Englishman was shot.

Patrick Pearse, that’s your lot.

The county boundaries in Ireland to which people are loyal were laid down by the English in times past.

Unknown to some, the truth at last.

During the famine Irish people exported food, strange to say.

They looked the other way.

In North Korea now people die with green stains around their mouth from eating grass.

As happened in Ireland, alas.

The Irish are generous to others in times of woe.

They contribute generously, I should know.

We certainly know how to criticise each other, we do it all the time.

As me, in rhyme.

Maybe you think its different where you are.

Where do you live, a distant star?

We have murderers in our parliament, known as the Dail.

That’s not all.

They lie, they know they lie, they know you know too.

What’s a guy to do?

Can a reformed serial killer or paedophile bring about justice and peace?

Yes, if they have reformed, not if they lie, give my heart ease.

If I was born somewhere else what would I think of Ireland?

Great to visit, a great little land.

Great talk, music, horses and for passing time of day.

But would you stay?

Why do I, why don’t I go away?

Laziness has something to do with it and lack of ambition.

Gone fishin’.

Other places may be too busy for my taste.

Ireland is as good as any place your life to waste.

The same only different as we like to say.

If you expect logic look the other way.

The sins and crimes of others we love to talk about.

My point is the human race is all the same, the truth will find you out.

Wherever you are, that’s your home. There are a lot of knowalls in Ireland, that’s true.

They say they know what’s best for you.

Empty vessels make a lot of noise.

Posh boys.

We have ourselves to blame for how we are.

Gaze at a star.

If I was born somewhere else would I criticise them you bet your life.

Cancer requires a surgeon’s knife.

Good enough to be going on with is not good enough.

That’s the message of my stuff.

I’m Irish, tough.

I lament the human condition what can I do?

I write to you.

Hell is other people Sartre said. He’s dead.

Maybe Hell is you?

Me too.

Must I say it over and over again?

Heaven is here now and then.

A glimpse, reflection, hint, a child’s smile.

Walk an Irish mile.

So at last I end my banjaxed anthem, Irish song.

I may be criticised, what is wrong?

Maybe someday I’ll get around to doing more, maybe you too.

In the meantime enjoy the view.

Tich Ennis

14th October, 2017

Celebrity

If you disagree with this poem write your own.

Or call me on the phone.

I may not be home.

I look forward to your future endeavour.

When will I hear from you, never?

You may become rich and famous before me.

Whether you become obnoxious then remains for me to see.

Mostly such people are more or less mad.

If fame went to your head would it be sad?

Regard me as a test case in my pre-fame days.

I do not wallow in your praise.

Jesus loves you, everyone else thinks you’re an asshole, as you know.

Maybe one day you’ll have your own TV show.

I wouldn’t know.

Tich Ennis

12th October, 2017

Santa Claus

Not believing in Santa Claus doesn’t mean there isn’t one, you are responsible for your own belief.

Don’t give me grief.

At one time people believed the Earth is flat.

Fancy that.

So therefore you could be wrong.

Can you sing a song?

You may think so but what do others say?

Go away?

Are you looking forward to a Christmas present, be youPagan, Christian or Jew?

Or Muslim, to name but a few.

Possibly one will come.

Son of a gun.

The circulation of the blood and many other things were not believed.

Are you easily deceived?

Who gets your vote, who has you by the throat?

Speak up, spit it out.

Have you found out?

What makes you so sure?

Do roses grow well in manure?

Wherein lies your expertise?

Birds and bees?

Almost no one knows anything, that’s a fact.

Some actors don’t know how to act.

Consult yourself, what do you know?

One thing is sure, a snail moves slow.

Therefore, hang up your sock on Christmas Eve.

Santa Claus will tell you what to believe.

Or maybe he did long ago.

What do I know?

The Earth is round.

Sound.

I may speak the truth incidentally.

Do you know many like me?

Tich Ennis

11th October, 2017

 

Lost

I left my belongings at the gate and hurried inward to my fate.

I rang my sister about my brother and did one or two or more things other.

Then I said, where are my things, who knows what misfortune brings.

I looked high and low and on the floor, then gave up, no more, no more.

I settled for a substitute, bitter fruit.

Later I went out again and discovered my belongings then.

Cigarettes, a lighter and a pen.

A lapse of memory occurred.

This is not my final word.

I found what’s lost, oh welcome home!

Turn of the tide, bedecked with foam.

Tich Ennis

10th October, 2017

Perfection

Perfection knows no flaw, maybe I never saw.

If scenery is any indication we have some good stuff in this nation.

Perfection, to which I aspire, is it always higher?

Before I expire in the mire.

How good is my best, I suppose I know.

Its good, alright, I’ll let it go.

Only best is good enough for me.

Whether it be gold or a cup of tea.

Or a meal at a hotel.

I dislike saying oh well.

Hell and Heaven are opposite extremes.

Must we be in between?

You know what I mean.

The middle way is not good enough.

If you don’t like this poem, tough.

This is my kind of stuff.

You probably know words like mediocre, mediocrity.

How about a plastic covered sea?

I say what I see.

Perfection, no, I have not found.

Music?

I like the sound.

Tich Ennis

9th October, 2017