Poetry Blogs (boredom)
Don Matthews on Sylvain Dornon the Stilt-Walking Baker. Well I'll Be.... (9 minutes ago)
Brian Maryon on Record Number of Migrants Cross The Channel - Aug 6 (9 minutes ago)
Bluesky.girl on Sylvain Dornon the Stilt-Walking Baker. Well I'll Be.... (1 hour ago)
Inertia be damned.
Every time you look at me
It's been too long.
Tuesday 29th November 2016 8:55 am
Boredom slowly creeps upon me,
Like a fog on top a hill.
My eyes start glazing over,
My brain is standing still.
I’m trying to take notice,
Of the message being said,
But it all just sounds like noise to me,
Facts won’t stay in my head.
If only I could listen,
For just a minute more,
Yet concentration eludes me,
I’m thinking of the door.
I can see the mouth is m...
Saturday 15th October 2016 11:48 am
In a similar fashion to ink blots
Various skull shapes gather 'round
The skeletal mini blind panorama
Various forms of madness play out
Like stale jazz
All under the lamp with the dunce cap
And electric yellow snot
The insects pay homage to this diety of the night
With bizarre kamikaze rituals...
And here I was
Just turning it on and off...
Oh what horrors and discoveries
Wednesday 6th January 2016 5:00 am
Sun through window,
I stare into space,
Blank mind like empty canvas.
Failed slaughterer of time.
Cold coffee untasted,
I look at unread my emails,
and ignore them.
Friday 16th January 2015 9:50 am
As the storm continues
So does the rust
On the BBQs
Of the just and unjust
Monday 11th August 2014 5:16 pm
Spin the washing and hang it up
Mow the lawn and rake up the grass
Put out the bin and sort out your life
Oh and get a carton of milk before you go home to the wife
You’ve got your shirt to iron before you go to work
And your shoes need buffing and the car needs filling
So you’ve got no choice but to put your life on hold
But there’s time for a pint...
Wednesday 7th March 2012 12:33 pm
Tired of Sunday’s parades,
the rebel child slept;
He hated Monday,
Slept right through,
Slept through that too.
The rebel child would not wake,
On Wednesday nor on Saturday.
But he awoke on Sunday morn,
Wishing he had not been born.
He muted himself, for he would n...
Thursday 5th January 2012 11:13 am
“Cashier to checkout seven please.”
She barely hears; behind her mask of Monday smile.
She steers each item past the barcode beep, and sleepworks
- finds that it’s the only way to make it through the disappointment, rude necessity
and shame of this small life, of “every day is like the last”
and tomorrow will be, predictably,
just the same.
Trapped on the conveyor ...
Monday 23rd February 2009 6:07 pm
Last stop before paradise.
An April rain has streaked the windows, smudging the view of suburban streets.
The chill breeze bends the spring’s first flowers and the TV’s showing old repeats.
In the lounge of The Willows nursing home the care assistants are serving teas.
After the adverts comes the snooker and ever...
Saturday 14th February 2009 1:34 pm