Long Busier Poems
Long Busier Poems. Below are the most popular long Busier by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Busier poems by poem length and keyword.
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.
Robert browning and Me (2)
Where was I with that book on Artemisia?
No Internet or Amazon back then,
So I got busy trudging round – then busier.
No joy. “American? We’ll call you when …”
“Import it from the States, you say? (sigh) “Sorry …”
That book to me was life-blood. From dry fact,
I knew I could carve angels. It was packed
with pure potential. It would be my quarry,
I, Michelangelo. But Florence called
(the city, not the girl). My summer break.
I’d soon be very happily installed
in Art’s sweet Heart. That book would have to take
a rain check. There were Browning things to see,
check out the places that the poet knew,
and stand where he stood (absolutely true!)
the day he found the Yellow Book. For me,
this part would be the climax. One fine day
in June of eighteen-sixty, Browning strolled
(the gods of poetry pointing out the way)
the Square of San Lorenzo – and struck gold!
He found a worn old book, and made the sale.
The record of a legal case with pleas,
submissions – this could be his masterpiece!
(A bit like mine, but on a vaster scale.)
So, there I was in San Lorenzo. If
my Artemisia project was on stall,
at least now I could breathe vicarious whiff
of Browning’s triumph. Oh, I was enthralled!
He read the lawyer’s brief as he walked home.
I traced his steps – down Giglio, Panzani, then
across the Arno at the bridge again –
(I caught a glimpse of Brunelleschi’s Dome)
and then it happened. Those poetic gods!
A bookstore on the Tornabuoni. (Time allows.
But what of Browning? Even Homer nods!
What harm, if I just sidle in and browse …?)
The book on Artemisia! Divine!
How many thousand lire? Hey, who cares?
So, I and Browning had our talents (tares?)
He used his well enough. Now I’ll try mine!
No, not anymore, am not as before
To want and need, to be guided by greed
I could sleep on the floor, and just as easily snore
On a king size bed if I was a kid, or a prisoner just freed
The world is just a curve, and it's nearly not enough
To bring me any joy, or return my passions as a boy
It’s not a must I love, this and that, to must have
Everything is a decoy, to make you reach for a higher toy
There is a man at sea with a yacht, for his bank account has too much
He wonders what more in life there is, for he still wrongs for peace
While I only got a bus to catch, and just enough for a little light lunch
And at home a simple woman to kiss, after that there isn’t much else to miss
I have seen what the world does, to men who pursue class
Desires suddenly change, as pleasures turn to rage
Happiness refuses to be traded for cash, no matter how much one has
Even a man with a big wage, may feel trapped in a small cage
It must be quite a bore, to wake up and have it all
Diamonds, mansions and cars, a world where nothing is scarce
You could buy everything in the mall, but what would it all be for?
If it gets no better, it gets worse, if it’s not a blessing, it’s a curse
Everything satisfies for a while, then slowly drains away your smile
First you want to stand out from the crowd, next you want to conquer the world
There is always a new number to dial, there is always a new thing in style
If you’re looking for people to make proud, then with society's chains you're bound
I am just a simple man, struggling but always calm
Not in wealth but in spirit I thrive, happy enough to be alive,
Getting by with whatever I can, always having my low key fun
I will be busier than a bee in a hive, sweetly buzzing through life.
My dear friends, I didn't write “My Time Is Up”
just to see what kind of a response it would create!
I was totally sincere. I have been a member since
2012 but recently noticed my readership was dwindling
and assumed it was just because I was running out
of gas. I've posted over 5,000 poems but the friends
I have made over the years have been more important
and such a great joy to me than any of the kudos or
accolades I could EVER have received! You have all
kept me young at heart and anxious to greet each new day
with a huge smile in my heart! I am seriously considering
changing my decision. As I said at the beginning,
this resolution was based on the feelings that I have
described. I would find it awkward and insincere at
the moment if I was to immediately reverse my
decision! However, I am considering a compromise,
such as posting two or three limericks a day instead
of my usual five. Broken Wings when reading what
I was considering wrote and told me this, “I have poems
with no comments that ended up winning contests!”
This totally blew my mind! She also told me she noticed
the site has recently changed quite dramatically.
People's lives are much busier and have less time for
leisure activities. Others have also commented that they
have noticed a steady lessening in readership. I totally do
understand but being retired with nothing but time on my
hands, the loving interaction and friendships are MOST
important to me!!! I hope this hasn't sounded like a cranky
old man, that's definitely not who I am! Now that I've
exposed my soul, please accept my sincere apologies!
You guys are all amazing poets and loving friends!!!
I apologize! Love to you all, Happy Jack XOX
Snow-drifts
as time
along a fifty mile strip
of cracking tar rubbed raw by the constancy
of speeding cars roaring past this crumbling city,
indifferent to the frost matted fields
or the give and take of December lovers
walking hand in hand up High Street.
Work shifts
along
as long as they've ever been
and we talk less now,
now that she's busier
our weekdays waste by
and I'm awake, always
trying to sleep all the time.
My life is wound tight in a stress-cord
I don't want to unwind,
I live once, burn strong,
and then I die;
Don't lesson the experience.
So indulge.
Swift dips
in her form cut
along, like a razor
my lust has lost control, revel in the nature
of the smooth slips of skin between plaid fabric
tracing her hips and tasting her depravity
it begs as much as beckons to give to the insanity
to indulge in the heat, the passion, the intimacy
of her pressed close to a heaving chest, proud
with the lunacy, of effort and reward,
the consillience of the moment
hinged on the edge of each other
those things will come less and less
in life and that's a fleeting truth
to dwell on,
so everyone always chooses
the lesser path
the one that leads to nothing
time is longer lived together,
time is longer spent always loving every moment
in between the things that wear us thin.
Loneliness is the cold fire
that ignites at the core of my everything
it moves my world, my feet, and my focus
from you to the wrath of the locusts that
plague my every waking moment in this place
I hate that I'm so far away
from everything that matters.
I hate that I'm so far away
from where I want to be.
Form:
You were suppose to be my everything. My air, water and food. And for a while you were.
But from there, things went down hill. Missed calls, not returning calls, and no text
reply. As my heart weaken, i continued to ask why? What happened to us? And you couldn't
even look me in my eyes and give me a straight answer. You turned your back on me. After
all the things i stuck by your side and was there to hold you every night and whisper in
your ear, " Everything is going to be okay."
Our love was dying and i was dying right along with it. Seemed as if you got busier and
busier, or so you say so. Thoughts came out of your mouth that you didn't deserve me and i
would be happier without you. I couldn't believe you said that! I felt as if i was talking
to a person i didn't even know. After that, all we did was argue. My tears didn't matter
anymore and consoling me didn't matter anymore neither. You would let me cry and watch
like it was a movie. Not one of my tears touching your heart or soul. You spit words of
fire and i began to melt. But one night, you want to do anyway with yourself and begging
me to come back and i come back knowing nothing will change but the intensity of the
arguments.
Days later we're back to the same game. Your lying, I'm crying and your yelling. I built
up enough strength to draw the line and walk away. I'm not going back this time.
But to this day, your cruel ways and words still burn me from time to time. And i pose a
dislike you with a fiery passion but i continue to love you deep down in my soul.
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…)
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
Driving along, the road staring back at me
mid afternoon sun warming the windshield
I discover yellow winking in a sea of green
buttercups bobbing in the wind, catching my eye
momentarily taking my mind away to busier days
filled with peanut butter sandwiches and Kool-aide and laughter
the children running through the yard towards me
stairstep offspring, my little imps with
ruler straight bangs reflecting honey gold and bronze
smiling, voices bubbling over, melodies dancing
like water in a brook, constantly flowing
their saucer eyes wide with wonder, twinkling merriment
proffering sweaty hugs and sticky kisses
I reminisce as the miles pass
the years fly through my wandering mind
amazed that they were so quickly gone I realize now
making a turn towards another kindred home coming into view
the scenery moving ever slower
my mind catches up as the car stops and
a blur dashes down the steps, crossing the lawn
mother fast in tow to keep harm away, greeting me
I stoop down and open wide my arms as
boundless energy leaps towards me with exuberance
"Gramma," is hailed, as chubby arms surround my neck
kissy sounds and huggy noises echo as I pray
"Thank you, God"
knowing that He guided me to this very moment
weaving another thread into the rich tapestry of life.
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