It’s a good thing, I am convinced …
To smile when everyone else is frowning
To hold your head up even when you don’t feel well
To say Hello or “Hi” if no one answers back
To say “I’m sorry” to the person you wronged
To stand on principles you’ve found tried and true.
It’s a good thing, I am convinced …
To avoid your vexatious neighbor
To drive like you do when a policeman is behind you
To call a friend before just dropping in
To look like you’re having fun, even if you’re bored to tears
To remember your parent’s “stupid” advice.
It’s a good thing, I am convinced …
To have a good, hearty laugh every single day
To remember to say “I love you” to family and friends
To be always courteous and polite
To say what’s on your mind instead of stewing about it
To do it now, rather than later.
Written March 29, 2022
Is commerce really society’s glue?
Or is that the job of the artists true?
Were we to lose all creators of art,
Might our civilization fall apart?
Or might the Ult-right, cohesion provide,
And off we'd go on a bored-to-tears ride?
She never wanted to conform,
Bored to tears with the norm.
What does "don't say that" mean?
When so self-willed, she was, in
her universe, a queen.
She lived her life exactly as she
saw fit.
Ah, how ecstatic, not one second
of her life is counterfeit.
But rushes like wild waters wherever
it chooses,
Blessing all rocks, with love and
wild, loving, flourishes!
July 20, 2019
3:15pm PST
He worked alone in cold, intensely black
peat water. Had to feel his way. Laid down
one hundred thousand concrete blocks, around
a million bricks, and carried on his back
uncounted thousands of the concrete bags
which shored the Minster up. Six endless years
he toiled in tedium. If bored to tears,
he never said so. And if he hit snags,
he overcame them on his own. Such men –
not loud, not proud, not looking for reward –
are just the type we really should applaud.
Perhaps there were more William Walkers then:
clear-eyed, unfussy, knowing what to do,
and quietly disposed to see it through.
Grouchy is a grubby feeling,
with the nasty taste of blah;
makes you out of sorts with living,
the opposite of hurrah.
You don’t like anything
you used to really love;
instead of giving kisses
you would rather pinch or shove.
You are bored to tears;
your toys - worn out and old;
you sit before your breakfast
until the eggs are cold.
No one can please you,
not even mom or dad;
and if you are not careful,
you’re in your room for being bad!
Some people say, “You got up
on the wrong side of the bed;”
maybe you should get back in,
crawl out the other side instead.
What makes you feel so out of sorts?
You think you just might cry
and mommy says she’s sure you ate
a slice of gritty grumble pie.
We all have days that go kerplunk;
we do some things we shouldn’t do,
but it will soon get better;
pull your feet out of grouch goo.
Just put a smile on that sweet face
and tell the grump to go away;
the sun is up and life is good,
get busy, go outside and play!
© September 18, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Some rich men are bored to tears
with visiting racketeers.
Volodymyr Knyr
2014
Syria
In the ugly streets of Homs I lied on my back snipers´ fire hit
walls and filled my nose with cement dust and the horrid
smell of early death, the aftermath of abused young men
who have only murder and agony as a leading light to their
short future that holds no promise of peace.
Beside me a box shaped as a heart I knew it was a hand
grenade about to explode, soldiers came the grenade was
defused. They carried me in chair to the ocean´s strand.
High tide came I was free to join the dolphins, I had tried
life ashore it was fun for some time, but I always longed to
join my tribe, where I need no speak and just be.
We swim between the Azores and the coast of Portugal and
I`m bored to tears, which happens those who have grown out
of their old culture, but nevertheless I falsely warn dolphins
not to leave the sea, be tempted by the dry land´s pearls made
of tears spilt by us who will never get home, kitschy neon light
and New Orleans´ jazz like it sounded in 1964.
A moment in the island of activity and solitude
Where you have no choice but to stay a time
And then go back home and back again
Now worsened by the labourers strife
That bred the supervisors inactivity
And souls bored to tears
Suddenly a moment beside the gentle presence of loveliness
Probably feeling the same as me
A presence that has lasted for just only awhile
With delight and joy in its trail
A moment of respite that leaves us in grief
In the spring, the crows sit in the tall pines
Capitalizing on the field of newly planted corn.
Farmer dreams of corn on the cob which he will dine
Caw, caw the lookout calls to his mates to forewarn
As crows go down rows, gleaning the kernels
Dreaming their only competition is from the farmer
But up high is a nest of pesky, frisky squirrels
On the ground also those armadillos with armour
As the farmer sees his profits go into the crows,
His temper flairs to beyond recovery.
Farmer sits in garden reading aloud prose
Bored to tears, the crows a great book discovery
"Selected Poems" by Edna St. Vincent Millay
With it drove farmer away in chorus sang, "Yea"..
Sonnet:Sort of
Head hanging off couch waiting to be fed
Things take on new perspective looking up
'Twas noon bored to tears just lying in bed
Had to have some coke and ice in my big cup
Coke and chips are good to give me the strength
They are always here even though wish were
Not, they will be gone away at some length
Character traits say we can depend on her
Recycled teen can now visit friend
Get to station_for heard in distance train
Recycled teen now has fun is that plain
First of life was hard_life is better at the end
Enjoying golden years_no more inbetween
Mother and daddy can't now my friends screen
Why is it that when, you want to write a verse
that your mind is really blank, you're thinking with a curse
I'm really bored, yes bored to tears, and would like to say
I wish that I could find the words or even write a play
Where are the words that normally, just pop into my head
and when a verse just pops up from something someone said
I really can't understand where those words can be
one can usually close one's eyes and there's the words to see
Oh, I'll have to give it up, for nothings coming right
I'll go to bed, and then they're there right within my sight
but dam and blast It's typical but it is very true
as soon as you close your eyes the words come right to you
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