Best Busy Poems
Certain weeks I’m busy
And I run around a lot
So I’m either in a tizzy
Or I’m wondering why not.
For when plans are sometimes lacking
You might think I’d just relax
But I sent those calm genes packing
And I’m antsy to the max.
Though, with age in the equation,
Staying home at times appeals
And I don’t need much persuasion
If the cold nips at my heels.
Yet it’s balance I am seeking,
Busy interspersed with not.
Too much either way I’m freaking
(Which I tend to do a lot).
Chef 's Winter dishes are simply delicious, not too much oil or cream.
Rich or plain, taste tested to perfection, tiny portions sometimes steamed
He starts the day with freshly squeezed orange juice,coffee and toast.
And embarks on a fitness journey along the seaside in Adelaide.
Today he is going to create a seafood bisque inspired by his walk.
This morning whilst walking along the beach he noticed the outgoing
Tide and outlet left a long groove with definite honeycombe indentations
snaking parallel to the shore for a distance near a giant swirly starfish.
From an aerial perspective it looked like a Christo dragon , hardened ripples
representing the scales and the sometimes swirling patterns here and there
where the giant Sea-dragon moved, slithered or shifted about in the sand .
The Sea-Dragon must have laid there for some time before he disappeared
as his scales were deeply impressed and clearly embossed in the firm sand.
A clear body of water flowed in the center of this outlet echoing the scales
shimmering and gleaming with sunlight smoothly on the groove's surface.
Upon seeing this ,Chef etched it in his memory and began to mentally gather
ingredients for his creation.How could he give his bisque the dragon flavour?
Grilling the whiting, prawns and scallops with butter laced with honey , chilli,
cardamon + crushed nuts , garlic, a dash of brandy.......
then adding chicken stock , lime , thyme ,cracked pepper , rock sea salt and
finally pureeing the lot with a splash of coconut milk.
A REFLECTION OF PASSING TIME
At age 15,
Afternoons could last a week,
Especially if nothing could be found to do,
Or if trying to endure a lecture at school.
At age 45,
Tomorrow would arrive as this afternoon just began.
Feigning illness, it seemed, was the only way
to be excused for an hour from one’s long list of To-do’s; with that
All greatly complicated by Christmas seeming to appear
twice every year.
At age 70, the truth
Is that when I ask if today is finally the Tuesday
we have plans to go out?
The answer will come that today is, in fact, Wednesday
And that that Tuesday actually passed me by last week,
leaving me to wonder, Where had I been then?
Was I to be really sure of where I was in this Now?
Hmmm…
————————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 1/24/23
5:00 a.m., Thanks be to God…
There are many birds that gather
In my yard all through the year.
However, there is one I favor.
I wait for her to reappear.
You'll not find her at the feeder,
Like the others on the dole.
I think her mama taught her
Self sufficiency is the goal.
She and her faithful hubby
(Oh how that guy is trained)
Have come back to their love nest,
On my porch where it remained.
She showed him how to mend it
And he worked hard at his task.
Aything at all she wanted,
All she need to do was ask.
Their nest abuts the ceiling,
I bump my head before I see
If the little ones have hatched yet,
But if not they soon will be.
Once here, their mouths will open
And will never close again
Until they're big as their own parents,
But they're never offered grain.
No, it's bugs and bugs and more bugs.
They keep Mom and Daddy hopping.
She tells him they have mouths to feed.
There is no time for stopping.
While he is gathering the food,
She's shoving it into them
And passes him when he returns
From committing insect mayhem.
Now Daddy gets the job of feeding
While Mama's on the hunt.
In this nest of well fed children
You will never find a runt.
She grabs all of the mosquitos
That her little beak can hold.
Her mate is going out for more,
She doesn't have to scold.
You will not find better parents,
Human ones or otherwise,
Than these precious little swallows,
With a love that's supersize.
You would think they would be happy
When these youngsters leave the nest,
But they start another family
Busy swallows never rest.
Any villainous mosquito
Won't have a chance to do me harm
While these persisting swallows
Have a nest on my old farm
By: Joyce Johnson 6/17/03
There are some that still crave
The smell of an old fashioned page
The look and feel
Of a bygone age
And there are some that prefer
A Nook or Kindle
That awesome feeling of lifting
A whole library
Without hardly thinking!
Pick a side! Pick a side!
They scream at me
But why bother wasting such precious time?
I could be reading!
Scratchy, scratchy, what's that sound,
Atop my home space, high and round?
Could there be one self-served mouse,
Schemed to steal my sweet, dry house?
No, those sounds don't seem that soft,
For some such small rodent, there aloft.
Could be, large birds of prey thus wait,
To bring me sure, their sweet, sad fate.
Or maybe, through some so-bright sky,
Dark clouds have come to weep and cry,
Thus pattered, loud, my walls and roof,
To make this day quite rummage-proof.
Or maybe, perhaps - oh, please let it be -
One bright red squirrel like me, but she?
I'll listen and wait, and quite quietly hide,
As my red squirrel heart beats fast inside.
For all I can see through the door in my keg,
Is paper and a puppy, and a little boy's leg,
But a home is home, and I'll hold mine tight,
Praying for a she-squirrel, wrong ... or write!
Written and submitted on October 18, 2019
For the "Realism Art" Poetry Contest
Eve Roper, Sponsor.
( I chose Norman Rockwell painting/illustration number two. "Write" in the last line is mis-spelled intentionally, as reference to the boy's activities )
Monday ~ it is off to work I must go.
Tuesday ~ the best night for TV watching.
Wednesday ~ tonight eating left overs from the weekend.
Thursday ~ I am almost to the end of the week.
Friday ~ I lived through another week, Hooray!!!
Saturday ~ it is a busy day washing and cleaning.
Sunday ~ a day for my Lord and me to talk.
Where did the time go???
Christmas soon, very busy Elves,
the busy, busy, busy Elves,
all packing presents from the shelves,
all packing, each one tagged.
All checked, addressed then safely bagged,
then safely, safely, safely bagged,
the sleigh now loaded, warmly lagged,
the sleigh, its lagging gay.
Christmas eve, Santa on his way.
Yes! On his, on his, on his way,
Red-nosed Rudolf pulling his sleigh
Red-nosed happy elves done.
Christmas soon, very busy Elves,
Red-nosed, happy Elves, done.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Rhyming Wave is a poetry form created by Katharine L. Sparrow, an American writer and poet. She herself will tell you the form is complicated. Check her out http://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/rhyming-wave/
https://www.poetrysoup.com/syllables/lagged (flawed)
In the stillness of morning
I can truly cherish
Each sacred moment
As I am all too well aware
That it won’t last much longer
The phone will ring
Everyone will soon rise
The musts and wants awaken
Tugging for attention at my skirt
Come midday I’ll crave
Just one tiny second to myself
A place where I can sneak away
But right this minute
Let me bask in this instant of perfection
While it’s in my hand
And hold this breath of silence
That sways in the morning air as
The sun rises in all its glorious splendor
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 10, 2020 for contest STRAND CHOICE C sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
I'm really enjoying being part of Poetrysoup,
I feel like I belong in the community group.
I hope to share my poems when I can,
and this is all thanks to my poetry pal, Jan.
There may be times that you may not hear or see me,
and that's because I'm a busy little bee.
I'm also trying to write a couple of books,
I hope the process doesn't ruin my looks.
if you miss me, feel free to message me,
For I'll be away working on my destiny.
The world is what we make it, so let’s make it grand and gold, and glorious.
The universe smiles upon those who send it love, so let’s do that.
My own sweet soul is whispering stuff, but do I listen?
Not now, I say. I am busy.
Too busy to listen to my own soul?
Too busy to help the world become its best self?
Too busy to stand up and cheer loudly for what is right? Even if there are only two of us?
Too busy to listen to my own children?
The universe is loving me, and do I even feel it?
Or am I so self-involved that I do not even feel myself?
Your heart is here for a reason, to guide you.
To let you know when something is wrong.
Something that needs changed.
Something that is taking away from your soul-dream.
Something that is hurting the universe, or the world or you.
Where are the listeners?
I need one.
I’m so busy with church… I don’t have much time…
But God forgives me…. So is this a crime?
I go each Sunday, and do “the church thing.”
I’m just too busy, to really do anything!
I’m there on time. I try not to be late.
I even give my ten percent
into the offering plate!
I bring my Bible, and wear a suit and tie.
I sing the worship songs, shout and cry.
Do you need any help or prayer?
Please wait in line….
I’m busy right now! And don’t have the time!
I’ll direct you to the pastor to make
an appointment…
Perhaps he’ll pray and give
you an anointment!
This is what I offer! And the best I can do!.
I just don’t have the time for people like you!
Maybe I’ll see you again. Maybe I won’t…
But giving my time for others? I simply don’t…
I’m trying to look good for my
“Sunday appearance.”
Anything less, would be a “new experience.”
I hope you’ll forgive me for saying “excuse me.”
Maybe I’ll find another time
for you to be with me….
By Jim Pemberton
A Busy City Street
Every day I walk along a busy city street.
every day I meet largeness of an elephant
and smallness of an atom
in the busy city street,
though I've never met an elephant
or an atom
in my busy city street.
I sometimes notice greatness of Buddha
and littleness of jealousy,
though I've never noticed Buddha
or Jealousy
in my busy city street.
I often think about the emptiness of my mind
and the fullness of my soul
in the busy city street,
though I don't know anything
about my mind or soul
in the busy city street.
Every day I walk along my busy city street
where somebody sees my direness
and others see my pleasantness,
though nobody has seen me.
Everyone is busy
I am not
I am free
Will you buy me!
The Happy Little Bee
Was Busy In His Tree