The day's been seized
with no ransom demand
It's in a windowless basement
and will never see daylight again

The day's been seized
taken from those it loves
with no hope of reunion

The day's been seized
but so far unharmed

The days been seized
and reduced to tears

tears

We live
in a Universe populated
by billions of
dazzling stars.
Enveloped by the
unfathomable depths
of the night
I wonder,
How can life be just
this
when there's all
that.
So much monotony
in a universe of possibility.

My wishes came true;

now I feel very listless –


I just mess around.

The question is:
“Are people still collecting
memories, these days?”

"This isolation
isn't bothering me much.”
I say, if I'm asked.

But I’m not sure that’s
true. After hundreds of nights
of dull solitude.

I think each night might
carry a value - of dear,
and unmeasured loss.

Loss of memories
- because they never happened.
How have we all changed?

boredom was the only monster underneath the bed at home
it creeps up so fast if you're not careful
it'll set so thick in the air
a knife can cut through it but it will not get rid of it

the **** was something she knew all along

it's the fabric in the boxes that give it an upper cut
the paint on a percaline figure that blinds its site
the recipes in a box that cut away at it slowly
the tomatoes to pick, to eventually throw at it
the colored pencils; the shank of creativity

the boredom will crawl away and bother another family
it preys on other houses
of the mom's that don't know how to get rid of it
and only flinch when they look the assassin in the eyes

My room is a mess - it's an archaeological record of boredom.
Christmas, Christmas, come on Christmas.
It's 4 days 'til Christmas. Why don't I go to my room and do NOTHING??

The clock ticking sounds like a large horse clomping over cobble stones.
Last year there were wall-to-wall parties - so many that you had to carry a change of clothes with you.

In 2020 there's nothing to do - but I don't have to tell YOU (my reader). Except for the whole school thing. Nothing to do but study. I read, on that webber-net thing that 38% of students are failing.

Because of the pandemic - oh, not that virus monster - the boredom pandemic - the London-tower-lonely state of slow-motion distress that’s invisibly gripped us all.

Can we hold on people? The hard-won, delicious truth is that there’s hope. Vaccines - a bunch of 'em. Is it possible to let worries go this season and simply treasure our lives?

Just this month we have or had Hanukah, Kwanza, Festivus.
Hopefully, you made wild, monkey-love on December 14th - that was "International Monkey Day" - I couldn't join you - of course - but I'm just sayin.  =]

Look it up - almost every day is some kind of celebration or invent your own - if Ice Cream Day, Lemon Cupcake Day, Go Caroling Day or Crossword Puzzle Day don't do it for ya.

The important gifts, this year, are fun, attention and love.

I said I loved you and tried to resist marking
inappropriate gestures.
I did love you and I tried to resist.
I said I loved you and said yes when I walked down the aisle with you at your wedding.
I did love you and I said yes again and again in your cheap bed-sit.
I said I loved you and bore you children who would want for nothing.
I did love you and I presumed desire and drive to be an either or.
I said I loved you and I surrendered myself.
I did love you and I surrendered myself.
I said
I did.

Whirling... Keep it solid there. It is still whirling...
"Often" turned into "sometimes", "sometimes" into "seldom".
Never needed a drug or something else
I can even be drunk on my boredom.

All were devastated just in a blink
within my last existential crisis,
left behind the previous insouciant life
carrying along my painful inner screams.

The last thing I felt was a sudden crack
the one you never definitely cared about
and I pierced you back into the waters
like a tiny golden fish slipping out

You are always welcome, dear,
left for you a door ajar
It has been so long since I visited you
and heartily greeted your elegant car...

Put my faith in the wavy waters
believing someday you will fly through,
the Sun will dazzle my misted eyes
and the sky will turn to blue...

Fly sometimes...
Fly somewhere...
Fly in the end...

If you were to ask me what boredom was, I’d tell you were boring and to stop asking stupid questions, but if you really persisted, I would tell you boredom is the tick tock on the white clock on the white wall of your childhood maths classroom.
it’s the thrill of seeing how many dried crackers you can cram into your mouth before your mouth becomes a cracked and dried desert. Boredom is
making up haikus,
Alone but not quite knowing,
How many syllables go on each line
Boredom is haikus.
Boredom is the decapitation of innocent grass blades as you listen to an unenthused sports teacher, the blood of your unwitting enemies splattered on your fingers.
Boredom is this boring poem