Long Busily Poems

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Premium Member What's Up With Santa

Santa felt all out of sorts up there in the pole,
the elves looked at each other and shook their heads.
They had tried their best to jolly Santa along
but the more they tried, the sadder he got.

Finally one asked him why he was so sad
shaking his head Santa said they no longer believe.
No more do they send me letters of what they want
and telling me how good they have been.

As he sat there the tears rolled and mingled in his beard
and his belly shook and rolled over and over in folds.
The North Pole House started to melt and fall away in chunks
what can we do to get belief back into people's hearts? one asked.

We could write letters and send them to him said one
that will not work said another he knows all their names.
WE have to find a Believer and bring them here to him
for if there is no belief the North Pole house will die.

The elves searched around the world looking for just one
any one would do as long as they still believed in Santa.
Try as they might none could they find. Until one elf heard
a child crying out his heart. Why do you cry? little man,

Santa never answers my letters he said I have sent him so many
The other children laugh at me and say he no longer exists,
that he for many years has never replied to their requests. 
The elf shook his head in disbelief as he listened to the child.

He threw some Christmas dust over the child and whisked him
away to the North Pole house. The child's eyes were popping 
right out of his head as he watched the elves busily working.
He does still exist he screamed in excitement. He does, he does.

As for Santa, he soon cheered up and busily got to work
loading up his sled with many brightly wrapped presents.
Why did you not answer my letters Santa the child asked?
What letters? I have had no letters for what seems like years.

This mystery puzzled the elves, where on earth could they be,
It was Mrs Santa that had the answer. That old fool she said
he tucks them away in his pocket and then forgets about them
see there are hundreds it is no wonder no one  still believes.

Dear oh dear said Santa my mind is so forgetful lets get them read
that Christmas children world wide received so many presents
Once again belief returned and the North Pole house was saved
As faith in Christmas was reborn and happy faces smiled and smiled

written 11/27/2014
Form: Imagism


Premium Member Panic At the Station

Sophomore year’s clocked-up my free time. Last summer I made some core promises (to my mom) to go harder on the pre-med track. Perfect grades are ok, I’m told, but they’re underdog, alone. So, this year, my “spare” time is split between hospital volunteering and a (nominally) paid research project. The goal of all this hustle is to pad my resume up, as proffer, for a 2025 med school slot. I’ve never felt so observed, judged and weekend-less, but playas gotta play.

Last week, Peter (let’s call him my BF) was invited to some random alumni event. He wasn’t excited about it, but he thought, “Ooo, free meal.” Actors and doctoral students are all about free food. Then, after he signed onto it, they told him the group was going, by train to Washington DC, on an overnight trip (all expenses paid) where they’d visit the White House and meet the President.

They took the train through New York and down to DC arriving late at night and then they had to meet in the lobby, the following morning, at 7am to get COVID tested for the White House. He said the White House experience, and the meet-and-greet seemed surreal. While he didn’t get to meet Joe, he shook Jill Biden’s hand, and in a parting, fog-headed moment, suggested she “have a good one.” (Hopefully, she did.)

As an extra, on the way back, at union station in DC, they heard gunshots and there were a few tense moments where they saw people in the station (outside the train) running about in panic. Eventually, security pronounced everything safe. A man WAS shot in the foot but that passes for a calm night in DC. All-in-all the event and train travel made for an exhausting trip for poor Peter.

Bizz, BIZZ-BIZZ-BIZZ At first, the alarm sound seemed unreal and unimportant. I opened my eyes and through my three, open dorm windows, I could see stars still flickering busily, like light off of so much broken glass. “What?” I mumbled.
“I have to go,” Peter said drowsily, as he kissed my forehead, “it’s getting early.”
It seemed I blinked, and he was gone. After he left, I woke up several times. The silence seemed heavy, almost solid and it easily pressed me back into sleep.

.

slang:
clocked-up = busied-out
core promises = inescapable swears
underdog = expected to lose
Proffer: “present (something) for acceptance.”
weekends = a mythical time to catch up*

Death of a Dream

Death of a Dream
      by Amy Swanson


Time
   existence
       goes by
          *long drawn out sigh*

gray transforming

overbearing
    the happy
         once joyful
            exuberant bright cheerful eclectic

becoming shadows
misty vapor
                  rising to the sky
                  fleeting...
                              gone.

Days gone by
     weeks
        and
          months
            and
               years

                          motions of life
                          crowd out
                          emotions of life  


                                         This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...

                                                    This is where dreams are born.
                                                    This is where dreams die.

Spark of light
    soft golden
struggles against 
    darkened mire

hope's ashes
      faith's grief
           love's despondence

Marigold hue
        charred
              sphere of night envelopes

Streaks and smudges
          of pride
              vanity
              selfishness
              cruelty
                      deface life's canvas
                         once glowing brilliant
                             -- now torn and tainted.


                                          This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...

                                                    This is where dreams are born.
                                                    This is where dreams die.
Silence...
    utter chaos...
         sheer madness
              consuming life -

they don't know.

They don't care.

They go about
     *busily*
          trading dreams
              spiritual riches
                for material fantasies
                     built with air.

Colorless
    consumes the bright

one small spark
        daring dream
              chasing burgeoning shadows

until exhausted
           extinguished...
                       no more.


                                            This unrecognized yet all too familiar place...

                                                    This is where dreams are born.
                                                    This is where dreams die.

Badman

BADMAN:
This is ANDERSON. WALKINGSHOES... 
VERSE 1:
Chastise me not,
I'm just like you, we all do wrong,
So why act as if you're ever good?
Hey,Nobody is righteous,dude.
You have no reason to condemn me.
Pressure on life, we all can see.
I wish you could forget about mine,
And focus on your life.
That could be fine.
If you should stop speaking lies,
It will even be the ultimate cure,
To make your dignity becomes secured.
I'm feeling good, and you're feeling contrite,
Since you're refusing to take off the log in your own eyes.
This is a theory of real fact,
Perturbed to be wisdomic and right.
If you could accept to do this act,
Truth and peace would raise you to a greater height.

Chorus :
I'm right here thinking wide,
As the drum is being beaten by passing time.
The weather don't seems so nice,
Yet, we're expected to dance before time dies.
Chorus :
I'm right here thinking wide,
As the drum is being beaten by passing time.
The weather don't seems so nice, 


VERSE 2:
I'm apart in your flesh,
So why do your thoughts keep me with  negativity? 
But I'm still living well and fresh;
Grounded firmly in positivity.
All you wish for me is death,
I'm kicking in victory as you drown in dread;
Reaping the outcomes of your planted seeds,
Such transparency revealing your bad deeds.
Therefore, why should you backbite me,
When I'm busily fighting to be who I need to be?
I wish you also wrestle to break free,
From the world of greed.
Yesterday you lost at burying me, indeed.
Today too you're here again fighting me,
I know you'll be here tomorrow for the same thing.
I'm not minding you but I will forever win.

Chorus :
I'm right here thinking wide,
As the drum is being beaten by passing time.
The weather don't seems so nice, 
Chorus :
I'm right here thinking wide,
As the drum is being beaten by passing time.
The weather don't seems so nice, 
Chorus :
I'm right here thinking wide,
As the drum is being beaten by passing time.
The weather don't seems so nice, 

VERSE 3:
Whenever I move in, your heart starts to beat.
Although my concentration is not on you,
Still my intellect is able to read.
And your own instinct testifies that you're a fool. 
Outro:
You'll suffer forever.
Form: Lyric

Premium Member I Am a Freelance Internet Writer

OH! I am a free lance internet writer, who works for no employer.
And whenever I write on line, on several websites! I don't get paid!
Of course I write for pleasure instead of for profit because ifen I make
too much money I get into a jam with everybody's favorite Uncle Sam!
Quiet simply its all because I get my SSI check from the Social Security Office!

Somehow I managed to save over $2,000 dollars per month per a thirty month period in time.  In order to pay fully for my financial mistakes, they have deducted the princely sum of about $86.85 dollars per month! But PRAISE BE UNTO MY LORD!

 At least they did not take away my source of income! PRAISE BE MY LORD GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW!....PRAISE FATHER, SON AND HOLY GHOST!

OH! hey I am a free lance internet writer, who writes for pleasure, instead of a paycheck.  I write for a hobby and therapy but sometimes primarily~I write solely to further the good news of the life-saving power of my beloved Lord and my beloved Savior, Jesus Christ! "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto to my path." Psalm 119:105.

I am a free lance internet writer who is very busy typing my life away!
All through praying for much better days for you and for me! And hey I am typing my life away searching for much better words to say. Can you only believe in me! As I honestly do believe in all of you! Do you believe in Jesus? Do you believe in your Lord Jesus Christ?

Hey I am busily typing my life away, praying to Jesus Christ! For "He is the way the truth and the life! No man comes unto the Father but through Him. He is the Lord of enteral life!" "Through it all Through it all I've learned to trust in Jesus and I've learned to trust in God Through it all Through it all I've learned to depend upon His word."

Only Jesus Christ is the love of my life! Only through Him am I truly forgiven!
Only through His redeeming blood I am on my way to heaven some bright and glorious day Because Jesus Christ washed all of my sins away. He has washed all of my sins away! I pray to Him and I write for Him almost every day for the rest of my earthbound life!
 
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
April 17, 2021


Recluse By Dint of Circumstance First Cell

He/him (ratty, scrawny, 
and tetchy ugly villain)   
scurried into dark recesses of hermitage
averse to cavort, frolic, inure himself
into the duplicitous schemes
capitalized, glorified, popularized

courtesy vanity of *****sapiens
lest imp of the pervert 
already sacrificed as renegade
hashtagged heretic condemned 
without merciful intervention
after being duped into capture 
subsequently broadcast viz TikTok,
when turncoat quasi nincompoop 

kook Harmet Harms 
kickstarted, ejaculated, and blurted
out hideaway of sought after perpetrator
to burn (no small potatoes) at stake,
but fortunately falsely accused
unbound against immolation 
and reprieve jumpstarted, issued, and hissed
eleventh hour granted clemency

commuted death penalty
criminal sentenced solitary isolation
rat infested dungeon 
housing convicted prisoner
ultimate crime and punishment
(decreed as non establishmentarian)
doled out after protracted proceedings
courtesy amazing graceful puffed dragon
unwittingly delivered merciful respite.

After being shackled hand and foot
then dragged into vermin infested cell
cowled ascetic (an exceptional escape artist) 
busied himself disentangling restraints
and suppressed giddiness
when successfully free. 

Off behind fake facade 
walled in imponderable bedrock
dark passageways tunneled off
into unsuspecting chamber of secrets,
whereby amateur (he) brewed 
exotic gaseous/ liquified potions
tumbled, gurgled, bubbled...
lethal skull and crossbones
labeled mixtures especially intriguing
adept alchemist expert
possessed sixth sense

intuitively discerning deadly
scorpion stinging poisons
abracadabra wizardry
magic spell cast
rendered, kindled, eased
tormentors severity relaxed 
spellbound granted salvation.

Hence busily engrossed at makeshift laboratory,
our mutual (of Omaha) friend
did potchke with vials; every now and again 
referencing ancient looking tome  
vaporous emissions served as smoke screen. 

Hands of father time
painstakingly elapsed amidst
flickr ring torchlight
grotesquely accentuating
exaggerating ferociously
pantomiming silhouettes courtesy
hungry skittering varmints
hurriedly scurrying to and fro.

Inferiority Complex

Although yours truly modest,
     the only personal issue
     I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
     than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines

loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
     quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head

who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
     of confidence, esteem,
     somehow worthlessness,
     insignificance,
     emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap

(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
     and cranny comprising
     aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken

for minuscule Uriah Heap,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
     character, or maybe

     even a commercial
     for nano bot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin

     jammed numb skull,
     (essentially barren aged
     teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,

obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
     and sloppily drafting
     error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight

punctuated by
     attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches),
     nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
     as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
     for Charlie Brown right

down to the tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
     disparaged his might
and attests to
     20/20 hind sight!
Form: Bio

Inferiority Complex Viz Mine Mien

Inferiority complex viz mine (mien)

Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering

self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines

loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head

who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,

somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap

(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising

aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken

for minuscule Uriah Heep,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities

between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe

even a commercial
for nanobot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged

teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments

deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches,
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might

as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hindsight
analogous to Snoop doggy dog.
Form: Rhyme

Lyric Micro Essay Masquerades As Odd Poetic Story

Mild dystopian cracks open 
cobwebbed laden figurative door 
to my super charged 
subconscious shrouded self - 
portal carelessly left ajar
steeped in dark shadows, 

wherein spooky monsters creep 
along edge of night, 
outer limits of twilight zone 
serve as makeshift restraining: bar
21st century alchemist busily massages 
a fictional holographic projection 
to contemplate car

re: ying the terrestrial firmament 
into spasms of expiration, which whim far
fetched since the following conjecture 
contrived within overactive imagination 
of yours truly - such peculiar notions par
for the course sans striving 

to become adroit 
teasing out ethereal material 
analogous to embrace 
plasma up holding star
reed cosmic funereal invocation 
loosing prognostication silencing war.

So without further ado
I offer to continue 
embellishing literary above 
iterated missive anew
for ye to ponder and brew
from a mister wordsmith 
comprising wife as counterpart 
complimenting beastie boy 
aptly named duo motley crue,

whereat dwells within complex edifice 
housing he who begat 
offspring numbered uno and deux,
whereby this husbandly spouse i.e me 
resembles a cross eyed 
cryptogram solver
geeky long haired pencil necked geek
artificially inseminated yik yak 
with fertilized egg of emu

unbeknownst to many edified readers 
might consider myself brain cells few
explainable from being 
chomped on by a carnivorous oldish gnu, 
nevertheless unaffecting ability 
to sire female progeny 
re: guarding biological process
concerning human reproduction 
viz ova linkedin with seminal glue

swimming swiftly via viscous hue
biological processes extant 
from equator far north 
to Inuit housed in igloo
nonetheless, genetic heritage 
comprised predominantly of Jew
genealogy heritage indeed 
Ask Jeeves, cuz he knew
with one very late Uncle Lou

who suffered mad cow disease, 
and considered hims
a milch cow and frequently did moo
calf full when bovine brand new
which found me to rue
what comprises reality to be true
that all humans originated 
from the primate zoo.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Animal limericks and non-limericks

This morning, my yard was hopping
with squirrels and rabbits busily shopping
for pine needles, berries, and cones,
perfumes, oils, and sweet colognes,
to entice partners for this evening's bebopping.
The fox said to the wolf in a huff.
"We're making this problem way too tough.
You take that goat, Sandie,
and I'll take that lamb, Randy.
And we'll split Porks, if that ain't enough."

There was some tumultuous to do
in the pouch of mommy kangaroo.
The twins were jumping and springing,
doing summersaults and singing,
making mommy kangaroo ~ so blue.
Tiny birds scooting across the street,
hopping on their three-toed, little feet.
A car misses them by inches ~
they'd be dead if they were finches!
Tiny birds! Get off the street! Tout sweet!

I chanced on a cat as big as a bear
who was all covered in grizzly, brown hair.
He was cornered by a mouse
as big as a house!
And guess who there was trembling in fear.
"You look like a million bucks
in your elegant white tux,"
said the ravenous wolf to a lamb.
"But though you look pretty in it,
don't think for a minute
I'm not gonna eat you, cuz I am."

Two smart crows peck at a road-kill cat,
plucking bits of liver, lungs, and fat.
Crow one inquires of crow two:
"How's this feline tasting to you?"
"Much finer than last week's sewer rat."
A third of the ducklings is three,
waddling behind Mama Shérie.
If a duck is a bird,
and three is a third,
how many birds do you see?

Life in this big old fishbowl
was never quite completely whole,
till Wally the walrus
came to dwell among us,
and gave this fishbowl some soul.
Oh, kiddies, please be alert!
Here live dangerous dragons that squirt
all manner of green ire
and orangy hell fire,
and if you get hit, you’ll be hurt.

Bella had the ass of the ages,
two hemispheres where thunder rages.
And each time the thunder began,
all of the baby elephants ran
to shelter in their rocky cages.
© Rio Jansen  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Limerick

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