Best Busier Poems
I've grown a bit slower, I've grown a bit fatter,
my mission each hour: relieving my bladder.
When I was a youngster, I had no idea
old coots who eat fruits will just get diarrhea.
My eyesight is going - my glasses need glasses,
and don't get me started on myriad gases:
that flatus I thought should have stayed deep inside
escaped from its chamber, despite how I tried.
My hearing was great once, now I spend big money
on aids, just to know why those jokes are so funny.
I never had allergies back in the day -
I sneeze now from looking at pictures of hay.
My barber once covered his floor with brown hair -
that floor now looks gray (and there's not a lot there).
I thought in retirement I'd be a blob -
I'm busier now than when I had a job:
My schedule with doctor's appointments I fill,
the outcome of each is, "here, take this new pill".
Perhaps I once asked what that pain in my joint meant,
so now my skin's greasy from medical ointment.
Once, fully formed sentences from me were heard,
I pause quite a bit now to find the right........ word.
Back then, my vocab was a source of great pride,
now new words or phrases I just cast aside.
I need a warm blanket, my toes all feel frosted,
but walking to get one just leaves me exhausted.
Some good comes from fires becoming an ember -
I'd say it here (if I could only remember…)
Away up north where it’s snowing they say
the elves are preparing for Christmas day.
Big elves little elves, busier than bees
All building toys, for under Christmas trees.
Some work with hammers others building bikes,
some riding through the room on brand new trikes.
Tiny elf voices ringing loud and clear,
everyone’s full of love and Christmas cheer.
Suddenly the chatter stops; all are still,
Santa walked in the room with book and quill.
Looking down at his book, Santa Clause stared,
then lifted his eyebrows as he declared,
Today I looked inside my books
and I found that we are ahead,
and thought because you worked so hard
we shall all go outside instead.
Misses Claus made lots of sweet treats
so let’s all eat and be hearty,
for today here at the North Pole
all elves shall have a snow party.
Quick as a wink the elves they disappeared,
Santa just smiled as he tugged at his beard.
Laughing he watched his little friends scatter
and soon the mountains echoed with laughter.
Snowballs were flying, snowmen taking form,
and hot chocolate kept little elves warm.
They were sledding, skiing, skating all day,
see, elves aren’t simply, all work and no play.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
11.29.2014
Contest: Children’s Christmas or Holiday Tale
1st place
On days of childhood past
and long faded into memory,
sisters played beneath a smiling sun
in shadowed rooms of bending willows.
Dainty handkerchiefs swaddled
our Rose of Sharon infants
to keep the newborns warm;
honeysuckle spread sweet fragrance
scenting the summer playhouse
while birds trilled lullabies of joy.
Clover chains hung as garlands
to decorate our home
and snowball bushes' spread
perfumed blossoms carpeting the floors.
Simple pleasures of a simple life
we seem to have discarded
in favor of a busier, artificial plastic world
where flowers bud stale fabric blooms
on bending wires.
The evensong of the whip-poor-will is no more.
I would go back if I could harvest
the pureness of those happy hours,
distilling a rare elixir,
a medicine for our ailing times.
Copyright, November 25, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
*
Dear Santa,
How you doing,
hope this message finds you well
I know it’s almost Christmas
and you’re busier than hell
I really hate to ask you
but I know I have been nice
Except for just a couple things
and maybe something twice
But if you could be kind enough
and find it in your heart
To put a gift inside your bag
before you do depart
It’s something sort of special
that I’m hoping for this year
To bring a little joy about
and spread some Christmas cheer
Perhaps your elves can do it while
they’re making all those toys
That you will be delivering
to little girls and boys
It’s really very simple
and I’d truly like to say
Just something I am wishing for
this winter holiday
So if you would remember please,
before the evening ends
To bring a happy Christmas smile
to all my Souper friends
They really do deserve it
for they are so very kind
And I would like to see their face
when this gift they do find
So I’ll leave an extra cookie
that I know you will not miss
And wish you Merry Christmas
signed, your thankful poet,
Oops, no names, I’ll sign it after the contest ends. : )
*
12/05/19
For the: What You Want for Christmas Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Gregory Paul
I recall when summer
Was sitting in the shade
Drinking icy glasses
Of Mama’s lemonade.
In the magic summers
When love was fresh and new;
Delight of summer evenings
Exclusively for two.
Later on the summers
Were two weeks at the shore;
Brushing sand from children
Wishing days were more.
Life with all its burdens,
Halts not for summer’s treasure.
There no longer is the time
To taste of summer’s pleasure.
Summers have grown shorter
And busier it seems.
Lazy days of summer
Are only in my dreams.
Written March 8, 2012
Death mixed with morning rain and darkness,
Icy patches hidden on the pavement
Lived comfortably on the outside
As I rode along in my car like the
Planchette of a Ouija board.
Unaware that the power(s) that be
Were battling against each other
To push my car on the board to
Spell out either life or death,
My morning thoughts
Were interrupted
By a 360 spin faster than
The distance between
Two thoughts...
Ending up muffler-first gagged on
A snowbank with nothing,
No one around for miles.
I gazed at the three-lane
Highway where LIFE
Was spelled out this time,
And realized that
DEATH may have been on the
Board thirty minutes later
During a busier time.
Thirty minutes later
Found me talking
To a mechanic
Instead of my family talking
About me in the past tense
And trying to communicate with
Me through the Ouija board.
Death inefficiently cheated
Marked off on My To Do list
For the day.
How many more times will
I be able to mark that off?
Dare I ask the Ouija board
Knowingly sitting in the corner
Of my closet?
The true story of the American west
Is one of killing field slaughters and
waste
The bison killers worked day and night
They were all busier than a kennel full
of dogs in heat
The bison had never seen anything
equaling this
And therefore knew nothing of how to
resist
Their bodies piled up on prairies by the
millions
While human beings continued their
killings
Humans had no thought about an animal's
soul
Mention of such would have laughed them
into a slop bowl
This all points out a basic flaw in the nature
of man
The evidence was there since man's time on
earth began
Animals to Man are just mechanized bodies
of meat and fur
Causing no lapse of conscience for killings
humans incur
But human beings think to improve Mother
Nature's rules
What they forget is this mother suffers no fools
When Man becomes comfortable in his unnatural
habitat
Then mother will send earthquakes and floods to
level Man flat
At the time of my life, when all should done,
when my life should have transformed into just peace and fun.
The clock hasn’t paused
to allow me to sit
for a moment to rest my old bones for a bit.
Busier now than in my hectic life
where I thought that my work had given me strife.
Retirement at last,
the race has now run?
I’m afraid that is not the way it’s become.
For twenty four hours I worked every day
when I went to work to bring home the pay.
But now far more hours
I really do need
to just scratch the surface of my every deed.
They say that I’ve now got nothing to do
so I’ve time to help others to see some things through
Builder and plumber
consultant and friend,
there is no direction that I must not bend.
Taxi and baby sitter, help me move home,
mend my computer or repair my phone.
Just when I thought
that I’d earned a rest
I’m thrown back in the rat race and put to the test.
Although twenty four hours are never enough
and I get real tired with all of this stuff
now in retirement
against time I still race
for the youngsters today can’t keep up with life’s pace.
Look forward to old age, when you can retire
and sit with your slippers in front of the fire.
The time of your life
to relax, so it seems,
a picture so perfect …….it’s all in your dreams!
Ivor G Davies
Day before Thanksgiving I come home from high school
my mom in the kitchen roasting ,baking, cooking
Busier than a cranberry merchant
throw away tin foil pans aligned with gourmet delights
Collard greens, string beans, roasted ham, stuffed turkey, candied yams lay on the kitchen table
and on the counter top sweet potato pie, apple pie, chocolate cake
all made from scratch
In a bowl rest her famous potato salad
ready to be refrigerated overnight
I know better
and stayed out of her way
I am dying to satisfy my hunger but I know better
because she is cooking tomorrow’s dinner
Anyway I asked what’s for dinner
She asked, “how was your day at school”
I lied and said everything is ok
and in the process I steal a few cheese cubes
which are for her baked Macaroni and Cheese
She makes me a small plate of food
And I go up stairs to my room
The aromas coming from my mom’s kitchen
on the day before Thanksgiving holds special memories and comfort in my heart
There have been many songs and sayings associated with time.
Time Passages, Time After Time - can make you feel sublime.
Time In A Bottle is a song of romance and love
Cherish these feelings both below and above.
A watched pot never boils - I have found this to be true.
Time flies when we're having fun - now what are we going to do?
Time goes faster when you get older - it took me quite awhile to understand this.
That's why it is extremely important - quality time not to miss.
Time is a precious commodity - most people multitask.
To achieve all that they can - on their laurels for to bask.
The busier you are the more time you seem to lose.
Also when your body demands to take a snooze.
Remember that through this life you're living.
To make the most of the time that you've been given.
Treat people and animals like you'd like to be.
Enjoy the sights of nature and everything you see.
Time truly is an exceptional treasure.
So be sure to use it wisely - relax and have some pleasure!
We're put here not knowing how much time we've got.
And no matter how rich you are - time cannot be bought!
I could grow roses, and collect their nectar,
For newly wedded pairs’ perfume.
Or lilies, the Persian young lovers would secretly present their bashful beloveds.
Or could process the early-ripening fallen apple,
Foreigners would slowly have
Seeing the fiery sun
Setting into the gloomy sea;
On the sandy strand bask alongside naked
In the blazing summers’ afternoons,
Kissing French, playing with the watery-sand—
Barefoot.
Or could have fed the fowl
In high fenced Open-farms;
Fed them corn fed them wheat,
Allowed them take long flights
And watched them with love, dust bath.
Watched them dozing on trees’ branches
In the summers’ tiresome mid days
And, loved the old-cock’s crowing in the dawn
As his prayer to God.
So, bred to tens of thousands
And sold their big brown eggs, at good price.
And Ah! Cried loud, the old ailing hens would die.
Or reared goats and sheep in the nearby forest’s meads
And in the summers’ full-moon nights
Visit my large flock,
The grasslands across the sandy mount, stony crag.
Oh! The old shepherd’s ancient-Arabian tale,
Sitting by the flaming fire near their tent’s door,
His busty wife’s baking breads,
Watched by the lips-licking dog
Sitting on his legs.
I would though not
See the auction of my grown bucks,
My herders rather would, in my absence.
And like that English nobleman,
Formerly was a poor boy
And reared sheep;
In his palace had a hall,
He visited the crooks and robes
Whenever! Felt by mistake proud.
I could have lived like the tradesmen
Live, the real luxurious life,
Poets, painters and teachers
Can, only imagine of!
But the True Lovers Ah! Ah!
Live an adventurous life, heroic!
Work harder,
Wait long gloomy nights, travel sandy sunny miles
And then, earn a fear-fraught, fleeting, strange moment-of-joy!
So, I chose to be a lover…
And gratefully! I live a busier life;
More demanding
Than the businessmen or tradesmen or any statesman
Shall claim.
We are just specks on a ball in space
Yet we think our actions some how run this place.
Trees, living organisms tower all around
We build things bigger them just to tear them down.
The smallest arachnid can hinder our fragile shell
Yet we send our youth to die amid a warring hell.
Our ideas are out growing our human form
We give ourselves freely to the devils storm.
We are guided by things unmeasured or seen
Like fear, hate, love, and especially greed.
We act surprised or mortified when people are killed
Somehow we forget the things we thought of to build.
Did we not think that evil would learn how to use technology
Or as we create, consequences of them are not wired in our biology.
For as a famous scientist did find, for every act
You better be ready for an equal yet opposite impact.
Yet we keep trying to find ways to make life easier
Is anyone seeing the opposite, for it is just getting busier.
We are just specks on this ball in space
Wondering when something much bigger will smack us in the face.
Spread love at all times—but not in an obnoxious way.
Peddle light, be it a candle—a mirror of its depiction.
Reach into the darkness and lead a soul to the light.
Elixir of life is labor, and the busier one is the happier.
Agape love is majestic and resilient—it's your lifeblood.
Deal with apex bliss—bestow the joy of your choice.
Irreverence is sin; meekness is ethics—it breeds bliss.
Narcissism wilts the bones and oozes heretic despair.
God's grace is the influx of favor within our grasp.
Happiness is driven by exquisite words of hope.
Attitude, not skill, will shepherd your determination.
Positivity is like a rainbow—it never looks down.
Poise and calm define if we're linked to our divine.
Inspiring people to follow God's will bestows delight.
Newness of life and honor is granted to the upright.
Ease of life entails doing duty rather than whims.
Success is not a proviso for happiness; the inverse is.
Smiling is the daunting language of mercy.
Written: March 20, 2023
1st place contest winner
Spreading Happiness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
what's different about my days? not a walk in the park
but a gallop around the block, grand
boys in tow, towing me. picking me
wildflowers. we have a spring
in our steps, though mostly housebound.
what about work? the library's closed
to the public, some of us
at home have homework even as we help
our kids do the same. a book review
for me. i must
read a young adult book. i've picked Dandelion
Wine, drinking it up. Ray Bradbury's the poetic author
of this uplifting childhood treat.
busier, more contemplative snippet of time. renewing
my mind with peace, in unusual circumstances.
3/19/2020
Who am I now this lonely man bent to the point of break, wishing to share his soul yet existing in hallow void of loneliness and dark realization none are found who would receive it.
Set aside for the busier matters of others lives I struggle in my search for that peaceful joy I once knew in the refuge of loving arms and shared dreams of purpose,,,,,,, now I exist in bleak solitude with full understanding my assigned place is on the sidelines of life- serving the needs and desires of others