Who is more busy than he who hath least to do?
John Clarke in Paroemiologia Anglo-Latina (1639)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Busy
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the old woman needs help
to find her way home.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the dove is too slow
to fly out of the way.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the children crossing the street
are too many.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy....
I am busy
you are busy
we are...
busy.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Mothers Day2007
She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.
poem by Soul Child
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The Barreness Of A Busy Life
Beware the barrenness of a busy life.
(Socrates)
bored as barren
a body that is bone-dry,
a walk in the desert,
dry as dust,
moistureless existence
lips parched,
a thirsty soul,
a life waterless
busy, busy, busy,
that is what you are.
beware, for soon
in seeking life
busy, busy, busy,
you lose it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Busy Bodies
So you think that you have seen her
When youre lying in between her
And you tell me that you dont care
Busy bodies getting nowhere
Evrybodys getting meaner
Busy bodies
Caught in the concertina
You check her outline
Break her regulations
You watch her legs through several
Service stations
Busy bodies
Very busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere
Now youre ready for the merger
With the company youre part of
And you do the dirty business
With your latest sleeping partner
Youre becoming
Automatic
Busy bodies
Out playing with the traffic
You want attention
You try my patience
With the best intentions you are nothing but a nuisance
Busy bodies
Busy busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere
Now youve given your performance
Though the matinee was idle
And you find that a wave of her right hand
Could seem so tidal
Just a second
Satisfaction
Busy bodies
Temporarily out of action
You wash and brush up
You want to dress up
You want to kiss her
But shes busy with her makeup
Busy bodies
Very busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere (x6)
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Busy
Too busy rushing to get to the next 'high'.
Kept addicted and detached.
To busy too disconnect,
From anything associated with accountability.
Too busy entertaining delusions kept met,
With no regrets of dismissing a seriousness.
Too busy they are protesting,
A reality of life just met and upsets.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who Hath The Courage?
Who hath courage? Not the hero
Leading in the strife,
To receive a nation's plaudits,
For his waste of life.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He alone who dares
Act up to his own convictions,
And the right declares.
Who hath courage? Not the tyrant
Boasting of his skill,
To enslave and bind his fellow
At his simple will.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that doth proclaim,
Unto all their right to freedom,
Every man the same.
Who hath courage? Not the sober,
Or untempted one,
Who hath never had his stomach
Eaten out by rum.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He who though he may
Have been using poison freely,
Throws the cup away.
Who hath courage? Not the daring,
Reckless pugilist,
Who for wager smites a brother,
With uplifted fist.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that won't resent
Every little insult given
With a base intent.
poem by Benjamin Cutler Clark
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The Soote Season
The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings,
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale;
The nightingale with feathers new she sings,
The turtle to her make hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs,
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale,
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings,
The fishes float with new repaired scale,
The adder all her slough away she slings,
The swift swallow pursueth the flyës smale,
The busy bee her honey now she mings--
Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale.
And thus I see, among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.
poem by Henry Howard
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He who knows not how to employ his leisure hath more cares on his mind than the most busy of busily-engaged men.
Elisha Cook was a darling, and full of the devil. A wired - up little fellow who was always busy, busy, busy.
quote by Marie Windsor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Diction Addiction
Busy wizzy likes to move it
Busy wizzy likes to prove it
‘I want to make a figure to hail
I want to make a mast to sail
To sail and sing a hymn or chant
I’ll evenly rhyme or slightly slant
Cause I’m busy wizzy I like to move it
I’m busy wizzy I like to prove it’
Busy wizzy likes to paint it
Pedant precise with a masking tape
You think it’s cool, so cool ain’t it
To sit on a die with an ode to an ape?
‘I’ll rape some locks Alexander style
Fairy full cushions for a dame or two
Just sit on a die and wait a while
With verses and cations sitting too.
Cause I’m busy wizzy I like to move it
I’m busy wizzy I like to prove it’
Busy wizzy likes to make it
To look so nice anyone can get it
But it’s not cool not cool to fake it
So please if busy don’t be at it.
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Phillis I
My Phillis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,
Alas that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
poem by Thomas Lodge
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Phillis 01
MY Phillis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,
Alas that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
poem by Thomas Lodge
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Anomalous
What hath a mind
If it hath not a choice
What hath a man
If he hath not a voice
What is a man
If the voice the man hath
Is that of another
On a surrogate path
Rather I say
Inimitably give
Make each moment yours
Expectations, outlive
Bring no shame upon
How you sound or appear
Speak loud, proud,
Conscious, and clear
You're not born with a voice
It forms over time
Just speak for yourself
You'll turn out sublime
poem by Brandon McConnell
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Busy
hectic ecclectic that's a busy week
a little bit of this and a little bit of that
but the ends made never really met
busy people busy lines
coping day by day
a fee to add to membership fines
life's not ok...not ok
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Dragonflies
Dragonflies
why so busy,
why so many?
Is there anyone of you
who can tell your stories?
Dragonflies
why so busy,
why so many?
are you working,
or just playing?
Dragonflies
why so busy,
why so many?
why don't you come
and rest beside me.
Dragonflies
why so busy,
why so many?
Is there anyone of you
who wants to hear my story?
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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The funeral
My death would be a piece of news,
Or utmost a surprise or a relief
And in no way a pain or a grief.
Inmates would be busy for my dispatch,
Some would weep and some would be gloomy
As they are there supposed to.
Heirs would be busy in sorting my things.
To see me off, all are busy;
Thank God, I am not there to see.
08.02.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Meeting Of The Stars
The stars of the world have joined to-day.
‘Mid the host on high none are found like these.
The Pleiads desire such unity,
For no breath can come between them.
The star of the east hath come to the west;
He hath found the sun among the daughters thereof.
He hath set up a bower of thick branches;
He hath made of them a tent for the sun.
Translated by Nina Salaman
poem by Yehudah HaLevi
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The Hidden Room
I marvel if my heart,
Hath any room apart,
Built secretly its mystic walls within;
With subtly warded key.
Ne'er yielded unto me--
Where even I have surely never been.
Ah, surely I know all
The bright and cheerful hall
With the fire ever red upon its hearth;
My friends dwell with me there,
Nor comes the step of Care
To sadden down its music and its mirth.
Full well I know as mine,
The little cloister'd shrine
No foot but mine alone hath ever trod;
There come the shining wings--
The face of one who brings
The pray'rs of men before the throne of God.
And many know full well,
The busy, busy cell,
Where I toil at the work I have to do,
Nor is the portal fast,
Where stand phantoms of the past,
Or grow the bitter plants of darksome rue.
I know the dainty spot
(Ah, who doth know it not?)
Where pure young Love his lily-cradle made;
And nestled some sweet springs
With lily-spangled wings--
Forget-me-nots upon his bier I laid.
Yet marvel I, my soul,
Know I thy very whole,
Or dost thou hide a chamber still from me?
Is it built upon the wall?
Is it spacious? is it small?
Is it God, or man, or I who holds the key?
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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He who hath gold hath fear, and he who hath none has sorrow.
Man hath still either toys or care: But hath no root, nor to one place is tied, but ever restless and irregular, about this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where; He says it is so far, that he has quite forgot how to go there.
quote by Henry Vaughan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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