Sometimes We Are Too Busy Despite The Free Time
along the white sands
on a sunny morning by the sea
i collect shells and
pebbles
there are too many of them
but only few are chosen
the only standard is that
'i like this' and there is no other more
and then you put all those few ones
in my pocket
and when i arrive at the cottage
i view them all atop the table
it is the viewing that keeps the mind busy
and so busy that it cannot listen
to each story that the pebble wants to tell
that the mouth of the shell wants
to say beautifully in a song
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ambition
what i hold inside my pocket is just a pebble.
it is all that i have now.
i take it again put it on the table and look at its face closely
you know that it has no eyes
or hands or feet, i let it stay there as though there is only one pebble
in this universe of sands, i listen.
i let time stop for a while.
i look at the sky tonight and there are so many stars.
they are so distant you know that and you feel that
i take the pebble back in my pocket,
there will be no exchange, it is enough for my anchor
it is now my own rock.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pebble Justice
he picks up a pebble
and throws it into the sea
from a cliff
he asks: this is not a place
for pebbles
so this is not a pebble
i will return it to the sea
and be with the sands
and shells and
waves and winds
and seaweeds
and crabs
does he not wonder at all
if he has the power to decide where a pebble must be?
sometimes people assume so much
behaving like a god
must he think a little deeper and realize
that what is proper for the people is not proper for a pebble
that pebbles too have minds of their own
and who know if the same pebble to thinks
that the cliff is not the place of man
assuming to be its own god?
must he be considerate enough that pebbles too have
their own invisible feet
and well developed brains
and that when the man throws it into the sea
on the ground only of
impropriety
that the pebble may have objected it vehemently and could have
used its own hidden powers
but only that it did not show it
by reason of pity that this man
is so dumb
and so limited
in the flesh of its
own selfish
understanding?
does he not know that a pebble too demands respect
have privacy
and soon shall take its
inevitable revenge?
'bury mankind! they have thrown us away
without our consent' that is their clamor now
in their own
Pebble Court using their Pebble law
to be judged later
by their Pebble Magistrates.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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I am always busy
Why can't you collect your thoughts?
It's not so easy, I am always busy.
When I want to collect them
They tell me they are busy.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Pebbles And Marbles
She started a blaze from one tiny spark
I didn't even detect
She loved the light, was dismayed by the dark
The stars, though, she seemed to respect
The faint light that flutters at night to the Earth
Would land in her eyes and collect
Luminous creatures she'd find in the surf
I never thought to inspect
Pebbles and marbles, like things on my mind
Seem to get lost and harder to find
When I am alone, I am inclined
If I find a pebble in the sand
To think that it fell from my hand
She gave me ideas, planted the seed
But she never stopped to reflect
The course that she's on, wherever it leads
I never would redirect
Pebbles and marbles, like words from a friend
Make us hold tight, but are lost in the end
When we're alone, we all seem to tend
If we find a marble in the dust
To wish someone left it for us
Pebbles and marbles, like things on my mind
Seem to get lost and harder to find
When I am alone, I am inclined
If I find a pebble in the sand
To wish that it fell from my hand
Pebbles and marbles, like things on my mind...
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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My Friend You Must....
we always want to spend
Christmas on the beach
what is it that we want to be reminded of?
the sands?
yes what about the sand?
when we arrive there
the kids run to meet the sea with laughter
the sea breeze is salty yet cool
the trees are tall and big and shady
the silent sands are peopled now
we will be too busy with fun
feeling saved and going public with
all that happiness gives us
the silent sands look at us with a gaze
it has a record of the past
it has absorbed the memories of the sea
it looks at us with pity
what is it about the sands?
and their silence?
i think i know it
but my friend you must find it yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Self-searching
we always want to spend
Independence Day on the beach
what is it that we want to be reminded of?
the sands? yes what about the sand?
the grains?
when we arrive there
the kids run to meet the sea with laughter
the sea breeze is salty yet cool
the trees are tall and big and shady
the silent sands are peopled now
we will be too busy with fun
feeling saved and going public with
all that happiness gives us
the silent sands look at us with a gaze
it has a record of the past
it has absorbed the memories of the sea
it looks at us with pity
what is it about the sands and their silence?
i think i know it but my friend you must find it yourself.
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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Winter and Hope
First snow atop the hill
sends a chill to the spine
it melts down all hopes
for the morning sunshine
men, women, pets and cattle
bit dismayed, amidst lull and calm
iced winds, blades cutting through
yet into a storm it has not brewed
hordes of men hurry and store
piles of extra wood and grass
time for them to hibernate
talking and singing to hour-glass
each one must tell a story
sitting by fire, under lock n bolt
happy women, busy with stove
lots of tea, meat and broiled poult
father and sons, one by one
climb the roof of their muddy abode
with shovels, spades and iron blades
they brush aside the unwanted load
every winter passes thus
with such fervour and desire
for a sunny and brighter morning
so as to smother the burning fire
(It is about how my hometown/village was until a few decades ago, where there was no electricity, and therefore, no television, computers or other gadgets to keep the family members unnecessarily busy and occupied) .
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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Busy
Everyone I called today
only a few words to say
'I am so busy'
Are you so busy that when your friend needs you
you turn them away.
How many times must I call you until I never do again?
No one will listen and everyone is so busy.
Stop and listen to a friend even if its a minute of your day.
It may be all they need so let go of your selfish ways.
Take a minute to hear there needs.......
Take a minute to be sincere....
It may be you next time? Be a true friend....
poem by Sita Cabrera
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Finding A New Pebble
Meeting you is like
Finding a new pebble
Out at sea. I don’t
see
Any similarity
with
The rest
i say
you're unique
And
no one
Believes this pebble
in my hand is
Something significant
In fact
Everyone does
Not really mind
At all
Saying it is
Nothing but a
A very ordinary
pebble
But in my heart
It isn’t
It is something
That
Amazes me
with its texture
of solidity
and
metallic color
it has
Changed the way
i look
At all the pebbles
on the
shore
you lied.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Jekyll And Hyde
JEKYL AND HYDE
He is my friend! An old friend!
With a different kind of mind
For dinner, I invited him
He laughed, “Only Sunday for a chum”
“You know? I’m a busy man”
Yeah! He is busy! Very busy! !
Always in a bureaucratic frenzy
Throwing files and
Scowling at menials
Wielding power and
Shielding misdemeanor
Making rulings and
Raking under the table dealings
Drooling and squealing
Like a swine in sewer stinking
For him it is the Elysium
A corrupted mind’s addictive opium
Honesty’s grand mausoleum
I said with concern, “Yes Mr. Hyde
I wait for Jekyll, till week end”
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Back Seat Of My Car
Speed along the highway, honey I want it my way
But listen to her daddys song, dont stay out to long
Were just busy hidin, sitting the back seat of my car
The lazy lights are pretty, we end up in mexico city
But listen to her daddys song, makin love is wrong
Were just busy ridin, sitting the back seat of my car
Oh we was only busy hidin, sitting the back seat of my car
And when weve finshed drivin we can say we were late in arriving
And listen to her daddys song, we believe that we cant be wrong
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
We can make it to mexico city, sittin in the backseat of my car
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
No no no no
Ohhh we believe that we cant be wrong
song performed by by Paul McCartney
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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Impromptu to Miss Utrecia Smith
Whilst round in wild rotations hurl'd,
These glittering forms I view,
Methinks the busy restless world
Is pictured in a few.
So may the busy world advance,
Since thus the Fates decree
It still may have its busy dance,
Whilst I retire with thee.
poem by William Shenstone
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Cart, Carter and a Carte Blanche!
He collects pebbles into his dilapidated cart
The plastic red bucket perhaps from a junk yard it seems
And luckily no license needs for the unending road?
I asked him; 'Papa! Why all these pebbles? '
'Yes I understand and everybody asks the same question,
Certainly I pass this clue and do not bother please!
I make my own tomb with the help of these round stones
And this white blank paper which I have signed below
That's for my humble epitaph and I hope you finish it? '
Yes I do Papa! ; 'Some collect bare lands for future prospects
And some collect money for pleasure but very few
Those who collect friends and that's why I scribbled few lines hereto! '
(To Mr. Patrick Gabriel)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Observations Of The Man With A Broken Heart Spending Summer In A Getaway Beach
mother finally decided
to transfer his son to another
school in the busy city
there was something that she saw
and she did not like it
the son knows it
but like her says nothing about it
all the people saw it
but no one dares to mention it
taboos are silent pebbles
gritting to the coldness of the waves
not hurting to the eyes
but the ears are intolerant
it is during summer
that the pebbles begin to wear their angry eyes
the sands borrow the glitter of diamonds
the air is humid like a frigid woman
the trees shed off leaves
and grasses begin to wilt
the sea in its silence
has told more stories than the babbling kid
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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