Commentary on a recurring phrase in many a post: "I am bored"

I don't understand
why people ever get bored.
What is wrong with them?
To me, it indicates a
lack of imagination.

Savage Parade

The man was skinny and bedraggled. His hair and beard were long and appeared unwashed. He was barefoot. He carried a pair of children’s sneakers that couldn’t possibly fit him. He jaywalked, not looking to see if any cars were coming, moving slowly across the street and into the park, talking loudly, with a slow cadence, unusual pauses, and a lilt to his voice. “This is San Francisco. San (pause) Francisco is a place of assassins. Assassins (pause)come here to kill leaders. Make no mistake about it. San Francisco is also a place of inter (pause) national spies. International spies. They come here to do the devil’s work.”

unintentional haiku by jerry

Well, because of Bob
I hear Captain Beefheart at
least five times a week

looking for work tanka

send in resumes
no one will interview me
economy sucks
it is always who you know
my sister came through again

unintentional haiku by jean

Oh, Marge, stop being
so damned technical when I'm
waxing poetic!

The Antyman's Tanka

the harder it rains
the more ants come in the house
marching to Sousa
when will they realize that
there is a nothing for them here?

Sleepy Head

She woke to a darkened room. He was lying on his side facing away from her, sleeping. She reached over to lightly scratch the back of his head. “I love you,” she said in a low voice, not whispering. She stopped scratching and let her hand cradle the back of his head. He never awoke.

unintentional haiku by james

I have never met
a pair of girls that made me
feel like meat. That's nice.

another tanka

i sometimes wonder
if anyone reads this blog
it matters to me
though it is unimportant
any way you look at it

the shift was subtle--the difference is dramatic tanka

At some point I changed
from feeling the magnitude
of what I don’t know
to feeling the magnitude
of what I have forgotten

I could not stop for death

My soul is weary of my life
I will leave my complaint upon myself
I will speak in the bitterness of my soul
--Job 10:1

I awoke. I was alive. How could this be? I was dead. Dead for sure. Death had been imminent and I was not ready to contemplate life again.

There it was though, just sitting there, neither happy nor sad to see me. Life was like death, equally powerful and equally insignificant. Trying to find meaning in life or death is like trying to find an elephant inside a mouse’s body. It is ridiculous to even try, because it won’t be there.

I hadn’t jumped off the cliff. It didn’t start out as a cliff anyway, it began as a steep slope. The last thing I remember is looking down at my feet, noticing that I was sliding along the loose rocky soil, and looking up at the stunning vista in front of me. I was holding on to my camera. That’s how I got into trouble in the first place. I was crouched down on my feet, trying to get a good angle on the glacier that was running down the side of the mountain. I kept inching forward, not paying attention to the precariousness of my situation. About the same time that I realized I was moving, I lost my balance, fell down and began sliding on my side and front as I desperately tried to grab hold of something, dig my fingers into the ground, stop myself from certain death.

The ground was hard and rocky, a typical glaciated terrain. I had as much control as if I had been sliding on ice, the tiny rocks and pebbles carrying me down, down, until steepness overcame their power and I was gone. Anyone who happened by a second later would not find any evidence of my having occupied that tiny plot of earth.

I never panicked on my way down and beyond the scrabbling and desperation to not fall, I remember nothing. I awoke in a bed somewhere on another tiny plot of earth, baffled, and very thirsty.

unintentional haiku by nic

It's funny what you
can overhear when you wake
up at the wrong time.

I Cannot See

written years ago. now I only drink loose leaf tea. nothing else has changed much, not even the rain...

I sit here alone drinking lemon lift tea
I wonder what is to become of me
Outside rain is pouring from the sky
I am indoors where it’s warm and dry

The church is chiming it’s carillon bells
The father of a child next door yells
I can’t seem to find a thing to say
To make a difference on this day

I sit here alone drinking cold tea
Looking for what I cannot see
I want to leave behind this awful frustration
And be transported to the land of inspiration