OK, first thing, we are not looking for poems mentioning Winnie the Pooh in any way. The fact is we’ve all had a boring day in our lives. (Sometimes more than one!) That’s what we’re going for. We want you to find poetry in the monotony of life. It could be a day that you manufactured yourself to get a break from something. Maybe you had no control and the boredom was thrust upon you. (Think of a pandemic of some kind – yes, use your imaginations). Make boredom interesting enough to read.



I can’t go here.
I won’t go there.
Don’t ask me to go anywhere.

I can’t do that.
Now you just scat.
Quit acting like a niggling gnat.

Quit bugging me!
Just let me be.
I’m better as an absentee.

Now listen, you,
I don’t want to!
Stop giving me these things to do!

Hello?  Hello?
Where did you go?
I’m bored.  (Just thought you’d want to know).

© Marie Elena Good, 2021



Sitting in my back yard

I find it hard to stay focused.

the grass is high of late

and I debate mowing it,

it’s slowing my resolve.

robins swoop down to pluck

red wigglers, lunch for her brood.

I’m in no mood, I’m distracted.

Life has impacted pausing

causing collateral damage.

I nod my head in homage

to Rip Van Winkle, the master

of sleep. I keep my hat low

on my eyes. My disguise.

Living the blahs just because I can.

Wake me when things get interesting


  1. Hah! This will be hard… I worked at a job that was chaos, I learned to entertain myself from a young age… I have had moments of boredom, but never days…thus the reason I was my mother’s most difficult child… getting ready for church read your poems later…


    Another sleepless night isn’t much of a surprise,
    especially since that sleep fairy seems to evade my eyes.

    My thoughts also, seem to have fled their home,
    and I’ve come into a frantic search for cerebration.

    I look to the walls in efforts to escape a dire mental situation,
    but they just shrug a shoulder, as if to say, “don’t ask me.”

    I hear the slow, steady oscillation—of the fan,
    whose faithful motion stirs the air into a favorable whirl.

    Its measured, calculated movements produce
    a powerful kinetic energy; the exact opposite of tortuous

    A distant, remote dungeon without movement,
    the barren land of boredom—full of potential energy.

    I feel the oscillated air vibrations tickle the toes,
    rustle my t-shirt, while my state of mind remains fully inert.

    Tossing and turning upon my bed, wondering why sleep still,
    evades the eyes; why this mental solitude and life in disguise?

    Benjamin Thomas


    Hot days
    birth lassitude
    and oftentimes extrude
    ennui that begins as simple

  4. Daily Requirement of Vitamin B-oredom

    For a bookmark
    I’m using a note I wrote
    last time I talked to my dad.

    I was at a house cleaning job
    somehow we got on the topic of smells
    he had a factoid from a Snapple cap,

    “The average smell weighs 760 nanograms.”
    So scrawled messily on a floral bordered paper from my client’s desk, this lives on

    and it causes me to think
    remember, almost daily
    that conversation.

    Makes me wonder weight of emotion
    how much does that particular memory weigh? Like a cartoon, do the happy ones float

    are sad ones heavy? Do they hold hues?
    What’s the weight of boredom, what’s its color?
    I have a faint distant understanding

    the concept of “being bored,”
    from when I was a kid
    but then it was time for dinner . . .

    I forgot what it means
    so I guess I could associate boredom
    with the smell of chicken, (approx. 3 to 4 oz).

    All I have now is indecision
    the feeling of anxiety
    when I want to do it all

    everything that makes my heart sing
    tugging me in every direction
    heavy and light simultaneously.

    Color of chaos
    technicolor vision till I choose
    gather energy

    pull together threads
    run with latest greatest urge
    the sense of dense dread

    away . . .
    and I’m free.

    Written by Hannah Gosselin © Hanmade ’21

  5. Bored for the Lord

    Meeting with God
    and his people
    should be the last place
    I’d get bored.

    But there are hazards
    of being a writer
    of poetry and
    daily devotions.

    I listen to the sermon
    spotting the wordiness,
    the beginning, middle, end
    another middle and end.

    I think, it took him 45 minutes
    to say what I could have said
    in a fourteen-line poem
    or a 250 word devotion.

    And so I take notes
    I’ll never read
    and doodle
    flowers and faces,

    letting him think
    I’m hanging on every word.

    • I understand this, but I tend to read over the Bible verses that had been given to us, and begin to think where I would go with that passage… I have BA in Religion/ Bible…It actually helps me focus on what he is saying…

    • Connie, this is (unfortunately) totally relatable. Well expressed. Honest. And timely, as my husband and I were just having a very closely related discussion this morning. I read this to him.

      May our Lord draw us ever nearer to Him, using whatever means in reach of us … and certainly in reach of Him. ❤

    • Word for word I can relate. Such a bad habit for those of us that write devotionals. A long sermon is so difficult to stay with when everything being said can be put on one A7 page. But I always have to believe that God is using these long sermons because someone needs to hear the message just as it is being presented. At the same time, I’m sure that there is something in the sermon that I am supposed to hear to better my relationship with God.

    • Word for word I can relate. Such a bad habit for those of us that write devotionals. A long sermon is so difficult to stay with when everything being said can be put on one A7 page. But I always have to believe that God is using these long sermons because someone needs to hear the message just as it is being presented. At the same time, I’m sure that there is something in the sermon that I am supposed to hear to better my relationship with God.

      • IN the book Celtic FIre there is a writing from many centuries back about a monk saying that his mind is like a cat going this way and that during the sermons, and behaving like a bunch bad children failing to follow the sermon… I love that because it describes how fast my mind can get me into trouble…

  6. Nothing Isn’t Boring

    The hummingbird we named Rubio 
        nervously guards his feeder,
    as the tuxedo cat who came to us as Max
        eats his own food way too quickly,
    and, you know, I can’t imagine what I would do
         with a Mega Millions jackpot.
    The current pope, Francis, seems like a nice guy.
         I bet he secretly practices the tango.
    Whatever became of Fran, 
         after Kukla and Ollie passed?
    I enjoy sitting in the dark with strangers,
    watching a foreign film, thinking,
    so much time available to
    enjoy the company of oneself.

  7. My Mother Called Me Her Most Difficult Child….

    Ma would in frustration say,
    “Can’t you stay still?
    Can’t you stop getting into trouble?”

    I twisted my face and answered honestly,
    “I am just playing.”

    “In the trees?”

    “Mary Elizabeth, can’t you sit still
    And be bored for once?”

    “No, I will be thinking:
    What I can do I haven’t done yet.”

    She would throw up her arms,
    And I could tell she wanted to scream,
    But knew she shouldn’t scream.
    All I wanted to know was why
    She was upset…
    Didn’t she like that I bleached
    My pretty dresses from pink to white,
    Or painted myself red from head to toe
    Including my pretty black Sunday shoes.
    She didn’t know I could walk the ledge
    Of the roof of our house…
    My brothers taught me how to do that.

    In frustration…
    “Mary Elizabeth, GO SIT DOWN.”
    I know she was thinking
    That she wanted to clobber me,
    But she didn’t.
    Her face was turning red,
    And she said,
    “JUST DO IT.”
    I did, but there were scissors there.
    They just were too tempting,
    And my bangs were getting too long.
    I cut them. Ma was not too happy.

    She picked me up and plopped
    Me in a chair, handed me a book,
    And that is when I learned to read…
    Not real good, but I got better
    For Ma gave me books
    Just to keep me out trouble.

    Well almost…
    There was the incident with an electric drill,
    And the fork in the electric outlet…
    Both experiments got out of my control…
    And I could list a few more…
    All before I went to first grade…

    I can’t say I have ever been bored…
    Except that summer I was ill,
    And had to stay in bed or sit still…
    I read a lot that summer
    As I watched the children on my street
    Go out to play, and I watched
    From my window or the side porch,
    And learned to tell myself stories…

    Ma seemed happy when she got her
    Most difficult child back…
    But wait… if I was the most difficult
    Who was next in line
    Because I can’t be most
    Unless there is one not quite as difficult…
    I bet it was Gary…
    He did have that incident with
    The hundreds of praying mantis in the house
    And Ma yelling, “Get them out NOW.”
    Yeah, it was Gary.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 6, 2021

    For those who don’t know it, the first time Ma did not recognize me she told me to go find myself because I would cause trouble or create a mess… the trouble I got into was well known in my family… She once said, “I have met all of your principals in school. I never had meeting with principals with your brothers.” Any when I told her I was Mary Elizabeth, Ma said, “I didn’t have you.” I was trying hard not to laugh because I knew it was all true… The next day I became Mary Elizabeth 2 and she fired me…This is only a small portion of messes I got into… I left out the playing on the railroad, asking for quarters from the men who worked with my father. One of them gave me a quarter once, after that I asked… I even told my brother Jimmy he could sit beside his girlfriend for a quarter… He gave me a quarter…He got to sit beside his future wife…My brother Gary told me not to ask him because he wasn’t going to give me a quarter…

    • Nothing beats your true stories, Mary! This had me chuckling all the way through, but also thankful I wasn’t the one responsible for keeping you alive and well. 😉

        • Thanks… I think… But year later when I was working with children … I told an adoption worker about a three year old who climbed a tree, and she said, “She is a little animal.” there was silence on my end, and then I said trying not to laugh, “I did that at 3 years old.” She sputtered and tried to get out of what she said…

          • thanks… every member of my family had stories about me growing up…what I didn’t remember they gave to me…

      • Marie, I ran away from school almost every day for the first six weeks of school the only way it was stopped was I was not allowed out for recess… instead I had to go read to the principal…Oh and I didn’t go home except once or twice.

  8. Out of Sheer Boredom

    Bounded by two lots of chain link
    today would be just like every other
    no exploring nor playing with neighbor kids
    whose voices echoed in summer heat
    north apple tree by south garden,
    west chicken house by east trash burner
    I’d memorized every corner and lunchtimes
    were just as predictable in the tiny kitchen

    Maytag wringer-washer rocking a dirge
    to accompany the menu proscribed to Monday
    (just like the washing; ironing on Tuesday
    and on and on) today’s delight broiled liver
    on blue LuRay with a side of canned spinach
    boiled against botulism, portions generous
    out of bread again and milk warming,
    flies beating against dusty windowscreens

    theirs more interest than mine until
    the phone rang as it always seemed to do
    during lunch leaving me to stare sullenly
    as I stirred spinach into green soup
    while Mother added Uh-huhs to
    one-sided conversations where she stood
    around the corner out of sight, hers long
    silences, equally boring, no gossip

    back at the table were more No’s:
    no ketchup, no piccalilli, no onions
    just this grainy half-burned monotony
    leaking like a sloppy mudpie, the Maytag
    almost lulling me into inaction until
    its sudden pause to drain jolted me
    awake. Moving fast I pulled the napkin
    from my neck and listened again:

    still Uh-huhs and some Oh my’s as I slid
    silently onto the tiled floor and raced
    to the front room closet where winter coats hung
    almost to the floor, my practiced wrist flipping
    the mess into the left rear corner; back
    into my chair in no time, calmly wiping milk
    from my mouth when she reappeared
    and excused me, heart slowing as I read

    for my (proscribed) hour, jelly legs finally
    ceasing their quivering as I wondered if
    today would be the day I’d be betrayed
    by those horrid smells wafting past mothballs
    that rolled like white eyes in the corners
    but as boredom resumed I knew I was safe again.
    Years later, still giggling to remember how
    months later our resident mice got all got the blame.

    • PAT! You’ve done it again, you excellent poet, you! I had to read this again, and then again. Your way with words … oh my! I can feel this entire piece as though I’m living it. I’m sure your descriptions were weighed with words that came and went and came again. Each carefully chosen, until there is a movie reel that takes your reader there. WOW.

  9. The Sunday Prompt

    The Sunday prompt does prompt
    Lines that must be written
    But all too soon it’s over
    The Sunday prompt is smitten

    Yet I set at the ready
    Hoping for something new
    Guess I’ll play some Candy Crush
    And wait for that new clue

    Candy Crush is over
    And still my mind is void
    I thought this would be easy
    But now I’m just annoyed

    I think I’ll get a sammich
    And maybe some iced tea
    I’ll eat it at the computer
    Something will come to me

    A little Animal Crossings
    Will relax my aching brain
    ‘Cause sitting here just waiting
    Is driving me insane

    Oh, look, the sun’s gone down
    And my wife has gone to bed
    I think I’ll do the same
    And rest my weary head

    But now I cannot sleep
    The prompt keeps me awake
    What I thought would be easy
    Is a bear, for goodness sake

    So back at the computer
    I hunt and peck the keyboard
    Trying not to doze off
    Still waiting for the words

    Then out of the dark nightness
    The ideas come rolling through
    Line after line I type away
    Cooking up a poetic stew

    And when I hit the last line
    I close down for the night
    I’ll proof read in the morning
    And hope everything is right

  10. Immovable

    It’s much too hot
    to find a spot

    Ennui sets in
    head does spin
    with list of chores.

    I could write, yeah
    read my book, nah
    or not wash floors.

    But, it’s much too hot
    to care a jot
    I’m simply bored.


    Dear Boredom,

    I wanted to let you know, that I’m a truly inspired person,
    even though you’ve attempted to drain away all the interest in life.

    You are what I would call, a true bloodsucker, like the predatory
    insect assassin bug—delightfully feeding on the interest of your host.
    Well, in that regard, you suck.

    You take great pleasure in the true nature of our suffering;
    the inanity, the poison of tediousness, the mundane, and the piercing
    arrows of indifference.

    I’m here to tell you that you will never prevail, for I am no quitter,
    but rather a hard hitter in this game of life, and I have the blood
    of a poet.

    We bleed with inspiration, and we find inspiration in all things mundane;
    we joyously feed on adversity, on the pain, and are skilled in extracting
    many flavors from the plain.

    Yours truly,

    Benjamin Thomas


    “All boredom depends upon what you see.”

    I see the rainbow in the rain.
    I see the free flowing tears of a peerless sky.
    I see the steady downfall as a liquid train.
    I see the vanilla cotton candy clouds far above.
    I see the blue ocean expanse extending over me.
    I see the winged creatures performing aerial dances.
    I see a plane sailing overhead in the open sea.
    I see the world is enveloped in a baby blue canopy.
    I see the rich sky as wild blueberry tea.
    I see the world for what it is.
    Much bigger than me.

    Benjamin Thomas


    I felt the slow exhale of discarded breath,
    a slow extended mellow sigh.
    Pondered its silent working machinery—
    recycled air flow, and really wondered why?
    This mechanical precision of input/output,
    works not by indecision, or consciously sought.
    For life is caught—breath by breath,
    involuntarily, and thankfully not by thought.

    Benjamin Thomas

  14. The morning I wish I could have been bored….

    It wouldn’t be the first time
    I had been put to sleep,
    But those were for tests.
    The first of those caused fear
    For I had a cousin whom they couldn’t wake
    After he was put to sleep,
    And they fought to revive him,
    In time they did,
    But I carry those same genes,
    Which make me react to medications.
    This was different…

    The evening before I had kissed Ma’s cheek,
    And I felt her chin tremble,
    As both our eyes were red with tears.
    I was dropped off at the hospital,
    For the surgery I was to have.

    I tried to sleep, but it was hard…
    A strange bed, a strange place
    And surgery in the morning.

    They woke me at four
    To take a shower…
    The shower walls covered with mildew…
    That slid off the walls as I showered
    Should have been a warning,
    That I was about to live the worst week
    Of my life, and it was.

    If I had been bored that morning,
    I would have laid at the ceiling complaining…
    Instead, I was alone waiting…
    No one to pray with me;
    No one to talk to me.
    And remind me that I was loved.
    I could hear the ticking of a clock somewhere…
    Minutes are long when you are waiting.
    I looked out the window,
    But it was still dark,
    And because of the walls of the building
    I could not see the stars.

    The fear was like waves on a beach,
    Hitting the shore over and over
    As it came closer to high tide.

    I told myself I had faced my life alone.
    I could do this for I had did it before…
    And I would do it again and again.
    I was a warrior born.
    I looked at my stomach,
    Knowing it would not look the same,
    After it had been invaded by hands
    And instruments to save the life I was living.
    I did not know it would be years before
    I looked at it again.

    They brought an I-V with meds
    To calm me, and I felt my brain fight it.
    I said my last prayer before they came
    To drive me to my future,
    And I knew no one
    Would be there waiting
    To know if I survived or not.
    Do you know how haunting
    Being that alone can be?

    Someone would find out
    For my mother
    Who was facing this morning alone
    Worrying for her child…
    I sent my thoughts to her…
    Saying don’t worry
    For this child will come home.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 7, 2021

  15. Dilemma

    Whenever my brain
    Slows down to the speed
    Of a flitting dragonfly…
    I don’t get bored…
    I go to sleep…
    Otherwise, my brain is
    Always solving problems
    Creating art or a story or a poem…

    Ma said I was like Da…
    He didn’t know how to slow down
    Either and when he did
    He fell asleep…

    Ma said there was an art
    In sitting down
    And doing nothing.
    I wish I had mastered that art…
    When I sit down,
    I am writing, or painting
    Or doing needlework…
    Or reading…

    Ma could sit quietly
    Just taking in things…
    Me- it has taken time
    For me to know
    How to be still in my soul.

    It is never boring
    When I am in that stillness….

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 7, 2021

  16. Lazy Morning…

    I am not bored…
    I have things to do…
    That last spot of floor to wax,
    Zinnia seeds to plant,
    And iris to move, more things
    To decide- do I keep
    Or give them onward…
    But as I drink my morning coffee,
    Binkey, my old cat,
    Came and curled up beside me,
    And patted my hand
    Saying in his sign language
    “Rub my head.”
    My worry wart cat
    Needs reassurance…
    The kitten I raised by bottle
    Needs to know I still love him.
    He is not a talker most of the time,
    But his eyes speak loud
    His love for me.
    I told him he was a good boy
    (Which was a lie for he likes to fight
    With Tillie, my moose cat,
    But she enjoys the fights as much as him.)
    I told him he is beautiful,
    But I know he won’t make people
    Say he is, but he is in my eyes,
    And that is all that matters to him.
    I fussed that he snores so loud
    That he kept me awake the night before.
    He yawned ready for another nap…
    I left him asleep, because I have
    All those things I need to do.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 8, 2021

      • Thank you… Binkey when I am in the house is always close by… He was abandoned by someone at my house when he was three weeks old… I am his mama…He will be twelve in August… and he has arthritis…


    I may never lose interest
    in shooting stars.

    Pondering over their destination,
    deep into the cosmos.

    They bear a host of colors
    as it trails cosmic dust.

    Lofty appreciation of its beauty,
    and magnificence—is a must.

    Benjamin Thomas

    • Love this but I don’t call them shooting stars… I call it when this happens that they are dancing…. I have often got up early to watch their display…I even have the stars dancing in my novel…

        • No it is a historical novel… but I have used that term in poetry since the 80s here is one of my more recent ones…

          The Night We Watched the Stars Dance

          It was six weeks
          After I nearly died
          The first time….
          My nephew came over, and
          Asked me to watch the meteor showers….
          We tiptoed out leaving Ma asleep…
          Up to my hill we went.
          There we sat watching…

          I did not know it but
          I was watching for my life
          To begin anew…
          I had blood from others
          Keeping me going…
          The night was chilly
          For it was November…
          And I felt it…
          A chill to my bones, but
          I waited, listening in the dark…
          To that crystal tingle
          Of stars dancing…

          Then there we saw the first star
          Dancing across the sky
          Leaving a blaze of fire
          As it ended its life…

          I want to dance as that star
          To go out dancing
          Blazing across the night sky…
          I want to live a good life…
          Worthy of rest,
          But still until the end
          A fiery feast of living…

          The moon began to set;
          The sun begun rising…
          Darkness got darker
          As the rose orange hues
          Flamed across the sphere turning.
          Looking at the vastness…
          I knew that night
          My life began again
          More aware of its beauty.

          Mary Elizabeth Todd
          April 27, 2018

  18. Week In, Weak Out

    What a week – not one predicted, but the one that waited upon Monday’s door. The world was to be filled with the mundane—the workaday tasks, the welcome routine. A one hour commute to and from work each day. Grocery shopping for the weekly menu. Walking the dog. Whacking the weeds that grow more evident once the lawn is mown. Washing the loads of laundry that appear out of nowhere…not to mention the dishes that fill the sink wells. However, being ushered in to the new week, a goal was set before my soul…to walk in ascent to the One who created. Now, as Friday winds down, tasks now done…no feelings of weariness from the weight of the world; rather, strength from the Light of Heaven, to do it all again.

    focus can change
    when one changes focus
    to the One

Comments are closed.