Tag Archives: Writing

Explosion

God exploded and broke apart, we broke his heart.

God is past, present and future all in one and, oh yes, the Sun.

We carry a little piece of him in our heart and his mortal enemy, the Devil is also there.

Be careful which you choose, above all, care.

Someday in the future God will join together again when there is peace among men.

I am a heretic, burned at the stake, my question is, how long will it take?

When end heartbreak?

What difference can a poet make?

Walter Scott wrote The Lady of the Lake.

Be not fake.

This is my Sunday poem.

By their works ye know ‘em.

Tich Ennis

25th June, 2017

After All

I don’t know what to say or who to say it to.

You?

Do I make myself clear?

Have I your ear?

Before I disappear.

What is more or less a thing, am I right?

Subject, for want of a better word, goodnight.

I write.

I am not a nihilist, so there.

I care.

So I said something after all.

If you want me, call.

Tich Ennis

24th June, 2017

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

Serious Matters

It would be funny if it wasn’t so serious.

Am I delirious?

Fake news and all that, is a dog a cat?

Fancy that.

The real thing is Spring, after Winter, you know the thing.

Can you trust anyone or anything at all?

Graffiti on a wall.

That’s not all.

I suppose you’ll have to trust yourself or me.

The truth will set you free.

Tich Ennis

17th June, 2017

My Work

People who are too intelligent won’t like my stuff, its not difficult enough.

You don’t have to strain to know what I mean, I come clean.

I prefer a simple explanation, do you?

Simplicity is true.

The truth is simple and profound and sound.

See you around.

Tich Ennis

16th June, 2017

Words Are Not Enough

How can I say it in words that contradict themselves?

There are books on the shelves.

Might they as well not have been written?

I am smitten.

Say, Why Our Children Can’t Read, to name but one.

Who is swayed by that under the Sun?

Even one?

If words could do it we are doing well.

In truth, though I hate to say it, we are in Hell.

Talk the talk or walk the walk or both?

We have truth by the throat.

Liars, liars everywhere.

Poisoning the air.

Lies kill, if we let them do it they will.

In the name of God do you want to live?

To love means to give.

Give yourself, give what you do your all.

When you hear music go with it, your ears are not a wall.

Must we sink in a sea of corruption, death and lies?

You know you don’t believe them, be wise.

All I ask, all you have to do, in everything be true.

Why oh why do you think that’s a tall order?

Who wants a wall on the Mexican border?

All it means is doing what you do.

Really doing it, for your sake and God’s be true.

Let yourself go, sink into a book.

Or film or whatever, if its good its worth a second look.

You know what’s good, its what suits you, and often many others too.

Don’t let others make up your mind, you own your brain, be kind.

Accept guidance from the good, they’re on your side the good ones, be as you should.

When you know if you know tell others, share.

If you care.

It’s a hard oul’ station as people in Ireland say and getting harder all the time.

We suffer from crime.

You can do this, you can’t, you can’t say that, who made the rules?

Crooks and fools.

Don’t be argumentative, don’t be like them, just do it.

Be yourself, there’s nothing to it.

Why do I have to tell you what a baby knows?

The king has no clothes.

The truth stands naked with nothing to hide.

When people cover up you know they lied.

Say what you mean, mean what you say.

You are as good as your word.

I go away.

The truth is here to stay.

It never goes away.

Truth is your friend.

I end.

Tich Ennis

14th 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