Tag Archives: Writing

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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Fancy Free

Money and me are passing acquaintances, money is fancy free.

I borrow from a friend to bring music to you.

You and you and you and me too.

Artists only buy from each other an artist said.

Are we all artists before we’re dead?

I wrote a book, I sang a song, how long, oh Lord, how long?

For a joke God made a money tree.

I sit under the apple tree.

My pockets are empty, can’t you see?

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

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

Computer

A computer means exactly what it says, they’d drive you crazy.

Or am I lazy?

Why are they so complicated?

I awaited enlightenment, I waited and waited.

Sooner or later it came along, I was doing things wrong.

Ask exactly the right question, that is my suggestion.

You too must mean what you say.

Have a nice day.

Hello world, I’ve seen the world, I didn’t like it.

Will I catch a bus or bike it?

Tich Ennis

3rd October, 2017

Dream

Sometimes I dream things, should I say what I dream?

Things are not as they seem.

Its very complicated and simple at the same time.

They really are simple, the crooks stole the wine.

The Devil has been described as the master of confusion, may I also say illusion and delusion?

In truth the truth is true, all else is lies.

An honest fool is wise.

Who is called a fool today, an honest man.

There are some of us left to fulfil God’s plan.

Is it pointless writing words, do words mean a thing?

They do to me and you I hope, after Winter Spring.

Mere words are not enough, actions speak more loud.

Sooner or later you will wear a shroud.

Words mean nothing if not put into action and words of course tell lies.

I was called a wordsmith by someone not so wise.

The word comes first it has been said, I speak, I am not dead.

May we find the truth in words and then for God’s sake do it?

I’d like to say there’s nothing to it.

Who said it would be easy, the easy way is wrong.

The effects are all around you, is it time to end my song?

Don’t keep the truth a secret, you know right from wrong.

A million fake breathalyser tests by the guardians of the law.

That’s the world we live in, I say, I see, I saw.

Use your eyes and use your ears and use your tongue and all.

You are alive, do not act dead, it does not work at all.

You took your first step as a child, take another now.

Never give up, the truth is real, how can I say it anyhow?

People with better brains than me are going the wrong way.

Do not join them, be yourself, that’s all I have to say.

Until another day.

Words themselves do nothing, I said that before.

Do not do nothing, I am Irish so I talk, we need something more.

This is a pretty hopeless poem but I live in hope.

I’ll say it better one fine day, yours faithfully, a dope.

What do I dream? I dream of a world that’s true.

For me and you.

Tich Ennis

20th September, 2017

Strange Prayer

I’d have to be better than God to give up smoking.

Only joking.

I am pretty old but I haven’t given up yet.

Living that is, and the old wine cup, you bet.

Alright, beer, or as I call it, stout.

Am I found out?

Lord make me good but not yet was Saint Augustine’s prayer.

Before he became a saint, I am not there.

To be smoke free would improve my financial position.

Otherwise I am in good condition.

Heal thyself, physician.

To give up would make one or two people glad.

And I would be less mad.

Not bad.

If God is doing the right thing then its up to me.

The rest is history.

Or should I say the past.

I was a trawler fisherman, my years before the mast.

I end in inconsequentiality.

Wait and see.

Tich Ennis

12th September, 2017