Always Busy, Busy, Busy Doing Nothing....
...of having to rush
and keep on rushing
running and running
and telling
others that 'i am busy'
very much like the
busy waves of the sea
always rushing to
the shore
and then finally
having done
nothing
having brought nothing
having owned
nothing
nothing, nothing
nothing
(the only reality
we now have
this nothing
pretended by a rush
a busy life
a hardworking life
like
a cow, a bull,
a buffalo
accurately more
like a dog...
a rat, a worm
an aphid...)
poem by Sebastian Soberania
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Related quotes
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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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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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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A Ponderous Moment At Pizza Hut, Cagayan De Oro City
i am sitting in one of those commercial benches
of Pizza Hut
the glass walls divide me from the rest of this world
the sidewalk is filled with people rushing in different directions
the main road of this dusty city is filled with cars and trucks and
buses
if only i can hear their rush of horns and screeches of their rubberized wheels
i should have know better how noisy will it be
across the road is another set of people walking, rushing, running
they are all busy, and the dusts on their shoes have become too visible
like clouds of brown and gray on the surface of the pavements
and roads
inside is this peace of comfortable living
i have a plate of hot vegetable pizza, ice cold red tea,
vanilla sundae
as it is too early for the mall to open
there is only myself and the waitress who has well kept hair
a red apron as uniform and a very smiling face as mandated by the
rules of the establishment
inside the kitchen the chef is busy with his recipe and dough
i am pondering, why should people be too busy to forget about
how is it to be at peace with themselves
like having to do nothing with roads and dusts and work
i am at peace with myself, arrogating upon myself the much needed
vacation
this is my time, when i am not a part of the busy world
attached to no one, with no vested interest, no itinerary
i do not know yet what to do do really with my own spare time
how to make it productive as the Establishment would want me to do
i am at peace, and this is what i want, and this is what i mean,
Others are none of my business,
as i am too, am none to them...
sometimes i ask, why should i be busy? why should i be a part of
all these useless crowds?
i have only one life to live, and it is not that long enough for some
long range projects,
i must learn to enjoy it, to the full and so tomorrow i shall be shutting
myself off from everyone,
i am set to go in a far away island, swim on its blue sea,
rest upon its sand, bathe on the rays of the gentle sun.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Running On Empty
Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields
In sixty-five I was seventeen and running up one-o-one
I dont know where Im running now, Im just running on
Running on - running on empty
Running on - running blind
Running on - running into the sun
But Im running behind
Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive
Trying not to confuse it with what you do to survive
In sixty-nine I was twenty-one and I called the road my own
I dont know when that road turned onto the road Im on
Running on - running on empty
Running on - running blind
Running on - running into the sun
But Im running behind
Everyone I know, everywhere I go
People need some reason to believe
I dont know about anyone but me
If it takes all night, thatll be all right
If I can get you to smile before I leave
Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
I dont know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through
Looking into their eyes I see them running too
Running on - running on empty
Running on - running blind
Running on - running into the sun
But Im running behind
Honey you really tempt me
You know the way you look so kind
Id love to stick around but Im running behind
You know I dont even know what Im hoping to find
Running into the sun but Im running behind
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Along The Busy Streets Of The 6th Avenue
Along the busy streets of the 6th avenue, the gardens are empty of tulips and violets
Lamp posts flicker and phone booths are filled with faceless strangers
Children are running, one after the other, jumping, skipping, smiling as they go
In the distance the cars move slowly, their honks resemble an elegy I wrote for you
I tried to look for you but all I saw were stop lights, smokey air, noisy mouths, and busy sidewalks
The hands of time are rushing, hastily passing me by
Pushing away the colors and hues and shades of clouds and sky
They all sing the song of my soul's longing for you
They all tell me that I can never again have you...
poem by Franciel John Doe
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I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
Never bother who created man
I enjoy life as I can
People tell me, Get up early
I sleep late,
So go to hell
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
Somewhere I read,
pray to god
I don’t have any time for that
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
Mother says take care of health
I say most important is wealth
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
Preachers preach,
Never be phony, Live honestly
I say fool as many
Being honest is being lousy
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
My goal is money
Even if have to kill somebody
Life without money
Is bee without honey
I’m a busy man, I earn as I can
I met with an accident
Nobody lent a helping hand
I realized, I was disliked
I thought with all the might
To make life happy
One has to live rightly
Greed is worst for life
With it one can never rise
I’m a changed man
Contentment is my ambition
Now, I never earn as I can
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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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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In Quest Of A Foe
I was traveling by the sea-shore
in quest of my foe
i did not find and i m fully tired
to take rest
i find every one to be busy with one's job
every one is running behind bread
even dry bread, some running behind
bread - butter with luxury life
but some are running behind salvation
but i could not find even a single foe
some one is suffering from some complexities
race, religion, caste, creed, society or
due to his money and status of life
I find all these the mean mindedness
So, i forgo and leave it
I do not treat as the reason for being foe
I am tired, I do not find any foe
Please let me find my foe
poem by Ramesh Rai
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Restaurant fragments
That day we were in Burgundy’s
and somebody played the notes
of “Ballade pour Adeline”
on the piano
and it was peaceful in that restaurant
while a waiter brought the menu
and I ordered a bottle of white wine for you
and drank a glass of golden Hunters.
You were busy with your notebook
and were searching for a shopping list
as if suddenly it had disappeared
but everything was inter-textual
and our life played out in small happenings.
Much too quickly the time between us
was running out
so as if you already
had other greener pastures
and you were busy with the list
of things that we have to buy
and the quietness of the restaurant
came to lie in my heart.
poem by Gert Strydom
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At Least
Oh, hmm oh yeah, hmm, hmm, hmm
I'm on way back to Atlanta
About to start a new life
Cause I can't take it here
It seems the more we fight
The more the pressure
I'm in this lonely house
Sitting high up on a hill
Pressin' the buttons on the control
Flipping through channels on TV
Wondering when you're coming home
And take care of family
At least you can call and say I'm busy
At least you can say I'm running late
At least you can give some kind of notice
Let somebody know that you're okay
At least you can take some time to phone
At least you can just one day stay home
At least you can take me out to me
If you love me, you would've done those things
You won't miss me till I'm gone
Impossible to drink from a well that's gone dry, yeah
And every night you come in singing the same old song
How could you do me wrong?
When you know it ain't right
Pressin' the buttons on the control
Flipping through channels on TV
Wondering when you're coming home
And take care of family
At least you can call and say I'm busy
At least you can say I'm running late
At least you can give some kind of notice
Let somebody know that you're okay
At least you can take some time to phone
At least you can just one day stay home
At least you can take me out to me
If you love me, you would've done those things
Take in a movie show, a carnival
A place to go, we can be alone
But instead I'm staring at these matching walls
The weekends spent, a compliment
Flowers sent would've kept me at home
But now instead I'm packing my bags and I'm gone
At least you can call and say I'm busy
At least you can say I'm running late
At least you can give some kind of notice
Let somebody know that you're okay
At least you can take some time to phone
At least you can just one day stay home
At least you can take me out to me
If you love me, you would've done those things
At least you can call and say I'm busy
At least you can say I'm running late
At least you can give some kind of notice
Let somebody know that you're okay
At least you can take some time to phone
At least you can just one day stay home
At least you can take me out to me
If you love me, you would've done those things
All I wanted was a smile
For you to stay a little while
It's too late for it
Cause you forgot the little things, whoa, oh
At least you can call and say I'm busy
At least you can say I'm running late
At least you can give some kind of notice
Let somebody know that you're okay
At least you can take some time to phone
At least you can just one day stay home
At least you can take me out to me
If you love me, you would've done those things
song performed by by Kelly Price
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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To Gather Moss And More Of Moss
to gather moss
be a stone
to gather more moss
be a very still stone
be a stone still till the end
of time
you stand still and think
you want to be the moss
rather than a stone
to be all moss
you must betray the stillness
of stone
you must even forget
the importance of
what a moss can be
then you think some more
to be completely this moss
you need to be friendly
to the water and to the river
then you decide to be the water
instead of the moss
to be more than the water
you wish instead to become the river
and so you flow and learn the rush
and become the running river
until what you want really
is just to flow
to rush and run and then
you become nothing
but the motion itself
until you are lost
and then
you become what you are now
lost but real
always flowing, rushing, running
where nobody owns you
not even the river
or the stones or the moss
you have become
this running, this flowing, this being
so real so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Hairdresser On Fire
Here is london, giddy of london
Is it home of the free -
Or what ?
Can you squeeze me
Into an empty page of your diary
And psychologically save me
Ive got faith in you
I sense the power
Within the fingers
Within an hour the power
Could totally destroy me
(or, it could save my life)
Oh, here is london
Home of the brash, outrageous and free
You are repressed
But youre remarkably dressed
Is it real ?
And youre always busy
Really busy
Busy, busy
Oh, hairdresser on fire
All around sloane square
And youre just so busy
Busy, busy
Busy scissors
Oh, hairdresser on fire
(only the other day)
Was a client, over-cautious
He made you nervous
And when he said
Im gonna sue you
Oh, I really felt for you ...mmm...
So can you squeeze me
Into an empty page of your diary;
And supernaturally change me ?
Change me, change
Oh, here in london
Home of the brash, outrageous and free
You are repressed
But youre remarkably dressed
Is it real ?
And youre always busy
Really busy
Busy clippers
Oh, hairdresser on fire
All around sloane square
And youre just too busy
To see me
Busy clippers
Oh, hairdresser on fire
(only the other day)
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Running...
Running4Christ.
Running to race.
Running to live.
Running to stay fit.
Running to find myself.
Running to save lives.
Running to heaven.
Running for Christ.
Running for faith.
Running for Love.
Running for God.
Running for Life.
Running for Records
Running for Russia.
Running Till The End..
poem by Joseph Fuller
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Unprodigal Daughter
I had disengaged to avoid being totaled
I would run away and say good riddance, soon enough
I had grown disgusted by your small-minded ceiling
Imagine myself bolting had not been difficult
Soon be my life
Soon be my pace
Soon be my choice of which youll have no part of
Unprodigal daughter and Im heading for the west
Disenchanted daughter and this plane cannot fly fast enough
Unencumbered daughter hit the ground running at last
Id invite you but Im busy being unoppressed
I hit the ground running, although I know not what toward
I hit the town feeling, forgetting all that came before
I felt primed and ready, once surrounded by the pawns
I felt culture shocked, but dissuaded, I was not
This is my town
This is my voice
This is my taste of which youve have no part of
Unprodigal daughter and Im heading for the west
Disenchanted daughter and this plane cannot fly fast enough
Unencumbered daughter hit the ground running at last
Id invite you but Im busy being unoppressed
One day Ill saddle back and speak of foreign adventures
One day Ill double back and tell you about these unfettered years
One day Ill look back and feel something other than relieved
Glad that I left when I did before, I know you, you cant get the best of me
When Id speak of artistry you would roll your eyes skyward
When Id speak of spirituality you would label it absurd
When I spoke of possibility you would frown and shake your head
If I had stayed much longer, Id have surely imploded
These are my words
This is my house
These are my friends of which youve had no part
Unprodigal daughter and Im heading for the west
Disenchanted daughter and this plane cannot fly fast enough
Unencumbered daughter hit the ground running at last
Id invite you but Im busy being unoppressed
Unprodigal daughter and Im heading for the west
Disenchanted daughter and this plane cannot fly fast enough
Unencumbered daughter hit the ground running at last
Id invite you but Im busy being unoppressed
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost In Rural Suburbia
Streetlights flicker on at the end of day,
the day is gone,
I am on my way far too suddenly
with headlights on,
all around me many tall buildings rise
solid like stone
there are some busy people everywhere,
are always rushing, going here and there.
Coming is darkness of the early night,
some neon lights flash,
the large city does never really sleep,
some people dash
to be in time for dinner appointments,
heaps of old trash
line some of the long backward narrow streets
where whores and slimy characters meet.
No tranquillity is in this city,
I drive away
to somewhere in a old rural suburb,
the headlights play
over a very old graveyard with trees;
on no new day
all the kinsmen that sleep there will awake,
from the high palisade some old paint flake.
I stop across at a small grocery shop,
life I ponder,
were the lives of all those people fairer?
Here and yonder
they daily worked their farms and cornfields
and I wonder
about changing times, about rural bliss,
about how full of crime daily life now is.
This suburb has a own kind of gentleness
with big old trees,
teenagers in love not knowing about
flowers and bees;
I have got to rush to still shop in time,
some employees
are busy leaving, are on their way home
and I get a smile as the owner's welcome.
poem by Gert Strydom
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