Boredom
Boredom is not something that comes easily to me
Infact I have to work at it
Wishing it to slink in like lazy cat on a hot day
I feel the heat
The sting and the sweat of working up to a 'symphony'
Of half baked plans
Frustrated 'goal's
Of dissillusionment
My attempt at boredom has failed
The weather never ceases to amuse me
So I tune in, instead of out
There's something great about [other peoples] the news
Don't ask me why? ,
I haven't got a clue!
yvette m smith july 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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BOREDOM in retrospective shades
It mostly rained mid afternoon
Pressed against the window
Dark dreary
Feeling nothing
Listless sad damp saturdays
Curtained off from the day
And sunless
Full of football league results
And muttered conversations over steaming tea
Football saturdays full of rain and nothing
With winter pressing in like night
Midday and waiting
For the boredom to sink in!
The hot cat slinks in
Lazy in summer pose
Limbs stretched over half read papers
Leaving pawprints across the broad sheet in repose
Forgotten bodies lie abandoned on the lawn
Waiting for post mortem
All thoughts of tomorrow suspended
The ice cream thawing slowly the thermostat is blown
Who wants to know about the weather?
There in the graveyard for the idle
Birds have nested made their home
Boredom
Belongs to the masses
The dissatisfied 'writer'
Of romances
And pulp ficition
The lottery winner who has it all?
[and ponders nothing]
To the factory and office worker
The bodies moving between
Shifts of day and night
To the old and lonely
But never to the child?
The cat is curious
The dog indifferent
The mouse is sly
And boredom comes to us all
Don't ask me why?
So many catch the train
So many rush on buses
Complain in queues
Push for seats
disconnect the senses
To the ipod and the phone
Leave their thoughts
of love and life behind
But take their boredom home!
yvette m smith poet of uk
july 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Lonely:
Lonely,
So, so lonely,
I feel like that flower I seen today,
It was in a yard surrounded by nothing but weeds and grass, none of his flower friends were out with him swaying along with him in the breeze,
So he was swaying all alone in the breeze.
Lonely,
Lonely,
So, so lonely,
Along with the loneliness, comes along boredom,
To make me feel even worse,
Great!
Fabulous!
My boredom is growing old,
So, so old,
I am about to scream,
So as not to be board anymore,
Who is with me?
On this road of pure boredom?
poem by Sherry Painter
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War is Boredom
War is Boredom
War is Boredom
War can be defined as long periods of boredom, short burst of terror, seemingly lasting forever, To those who are there, Waiting for another outburst, which never seems to cease.
You Pray, you count all your blessings, the outgoing not what you fear, its the incoming that can't be trusted.
War can be defined as boredom, for those who's life was spared, as the days in between that matters, on those who life spent there.
2008
poem by Charles Garcia
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On Line
It's fine being 'on line'
But I'd rather see a friend face to face
Than all this wafting about in 'cyber space'
After all most of us with faceless names
Haven't got a clue,
Any chance of some I.D?
To make me certain
That 'you', are, 'YOU? '
This country's a disgrace
There used to be a time
When friends went out to dance or dine,
Or drink a pint or two
Even mumbling half wit platitudes
About their day and the weather
And what they planned to do and not, to do
Is better than this 'on line race'
What do you dear reader, think?
Send me an 'E- mail'
Let me know your point of view!
P.S That is if 'you' are, really YOU!
MARIGOLD GLOVES
poem by Yvette Smith
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Only the most acute and active animals are capable of boredom. - A theme for a great poet would be God's boredom on the seventh day of creation.
quote by Lewis Cass
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Memory Of The Unknown Poet, Robert Boardman Vaughn
But the essential advantage for a poet is not, to have a beautiful world with which to deal: it is to be able to see beneath both beauty and ugliness; to see the boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
T. S. ELIOT
It was his story. It would always be his story.
It followed him; it overtook him finally—
The boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
Probably at the end he was not yet sorry,
Even as the boots were brutalizing him in the alley.
It was his story. It would always be his story,
Blown on a blue horn, full of sound and fury,
But signifying, O signifying magnificently
The boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
I picture the snow as falling without hurry
To cover the cobbles and the toppled ashcans completely.
It was his story. It would always be his story.
Lately he had wandered between St. Mark’s Place and the Bowery,
Already half a spirit, mumbling and muttering sadly.
O the boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
All done now. But I remember the fiery
Hypnotic eye and the raised voice blazing with poetry.
It was his story and would always be his story—
The boredom, and the horror, and the glory.
poem by Donald Justice
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This Poetry
This poetry is not poetry
This poetry is not poetry as poetry goes
But is as silent as a man in a rollo neck jumper
Almost reading yesterdays news
This poetry is not poetry
As far as poetry goes
It is neither verse
Or poesy prose
This is a debunking of 'The poetry'
Everyone knows
And so they are not amused
This poetry is not poetry
So why poetry?
If not
Prose?
It is as idle as a man picking his nose
Pondering a wonderful muse
Yet some, are not amused
Infact if this poetry is Not poetry
What right have I to use, the word poetry?
It is a lovely panacea for expressing and de stressing
The individual's points of view
And yet if not poetry
Who says Not poetry
And who is qualified to choose?
Give me a pocket full of roses
Or a misty morning cloud
Are you amused?
clammy wynette aka Yvette m smith
march 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Boredom Is Death's Luxury
BOREDOM IS DEATH'S LUXURY
Boredom is Death's Luxury,
The idle wasting of an idle life.
What Chance do we have to dream
When inside all is
Empty and Ended
Lost?
Oh we will begin again somehow, somewhere else.
But today now inside
Is only this Nowhereness
This Endless Stillness
This Nothingness.
Boredom is the Horror of Everyday Life
I feel this now so deeply
as I write this.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Sorrow Of Words
The sorrow of words that rarely tell themselves
They sail like brightly coloured balloons
Lost in their own universe
They spin off the edge of a tongue
kissing air and emptiness
Seldom filling loneliness
Leaving their sound like a symphony
A faint noise hanging in the air
Somewhere in the back of my mind
The radio is playing
A song I used to know
yvette smith oct 08
poem by Yvette Smith
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Waiting In Boredom
Waiting in boredom
for something to get done
is the greatest enemy
to a very active mind.
It is the curse that affects us all,
making us lose our patience
over the simplest tasks
we have to perform.
Waiting in boredom
eats away at our soul
making time drag
within everything we try to do.
It is the curse of humankind
of which there is no cure,
just to be patient
and wait to see it through.
2 July 2010
poem by David Harris
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The man who lost his soul
The man who lost his soul had a hole for a heart,
And so, wherever he went, there was a draught
Until one day he met his 'better half'
And feeling complete
He could thaw his sad frozen feet, at last
At the fire of love
And all loss was a thing of the past!
yvette m smith jan 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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The life of the creative man is lead, directed and controlled by boredom. Avoiding boredom is one of our most important purposes.
quote by Susan Sontag
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man called DUD
There was a man called 'DUD'
Who thought himself a 'stud'
Infact he tried so hard
He quiffed his locks with lard
Unclipped a button from his shrt
Bore his hairy chest and tried to flirt
He sought a younger blonde/ brunette
Twenty somethings in a skirt
With his think lens he scanned the lonely hearts
And dyed his hair mexican red
And pencilled in a dark moustache
Above a top lip quiver
He swaggered in low slug 'ELVIS jeans'
In dark saloons
That made him shiver
He drank a pint or two alone
[he Had problems with his liver]
And caught a taxi home, alone
But still dud fought to be
The 'Great stud of the nation'
[Though he had problems with his circulation]
His jeans were unsightly and far too tight
He got a restless leg half way through the night
He tried so hard to join the party
But after one athritic dance
He was reaching for his wooly cardie
Then flattered by a young girl who began,
'Now here's the man, he'd make a perfect a partner for my
GRAN! '
Yvette smith april 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Haven't A Clue
I haven't a clue of what to do.
Even though I know it's true.
Anxiety fills my body through.
The thought of rejection makes me blue.
Although the thought of success pushes me to.
Should I take the chance to find romance?
Or should I just pull back from this uncertain dance?
I want it bad. I'm going mad.
If you reject me I'll feel sad.
I haven't a clue of where to go.
The coming of it seems so slow.
Massive impatience inside me grows.
Despair and hoplessness greatly flow.
If it's time how will I know?
I haven't a clue of what to say.
All the answers come in shades of gray.
I can't continue in this awful play.
It seems I'm bound to lose in every way.
I haven't a clue now what I'll do.
I guess I'll sit here like a fool.
Never moving for what's cool.
I haven't the balls to claim this jewel.
Where to go and what to do?
All I can say is I haven't a clue.
poem by Michael McParland
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Your true traveller finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty - his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.
quote by Aldous Huxley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frustrated
Im frustrated cuz i cant tell if it's real
Frustrated because i don't know how you feel.
Im frustrated cuz you didnt call last night.
Frustrated because there is no trust.
Im frustrated cuz i need you night and day
Frustrated because i can't have things my way.
Im frustrated cuz you never want to hold my hand.
Frustrated because im starting to understand.
Im frustrated cuz we cant be together.
Frustrated because i'll remember you for ever.
poem by Isabel Vicuna
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Am I a Heretic?
Abide with me fast falls the eventide.
My boredom deepens momentarily.
There must be more to life than the T.V
I sometimes watch but I choose carefully
The darkness deepens lord abide with me.
Boredom remains the ancient enemy
I have to choose so therefore I decide
Only to watch what I want to see.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee.
Then and only then do I watch T.V.
Most programmes offered don’t appeal to me
I can go without watching very easily.
Help of the helpless oh abide with me.
Books are my salvation as they ought to be
I have a collection of fine poetry
I can choose what suits my mood easily.
Wednesday,31 March 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I Am A Cliche
I am a cliche I am a cliche
I am a cliche I am a cliche
I am a cliche you've seen before
I am a cliche that lives next door
I am a cliche you know what I mean
I am a cliche pink is obscene
Yama yama yama yama yama yama
Boredom boredom boring boredom
Yama yama yama yama yama yama
Boredom boredom boring boredom
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am A Cliche
I am a cliche I am a cliche
I am a cliche I am a cliche
I am a cliche you've seen before
I am a cliche that lives next door
I am a cliche you know what I mean
I am a cliche pink is obscene
Yama yama yama yama yama yama
Boredom boredom boring boredom
Yama yama yama yama yama yama
Boredom boredom boring boredom
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Radio Girl
Every morning she hung her sad same song
On the hum of the radio words
Mimicking
Her coffee mug
microphone under her chin, lip synch
Always late for work
Humming the same sad song
On the bus
Always arriving
As if she were somewhere else
[Visiting another life]
yvette m smith sept 08
poem by Yvette Smith
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