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Isaac Aug 2018
when you look beyond busyness
what is it that you see?
a world endlessly searching
for what it was meant to be?
a mankind desperately looking
for the answer to its ache,
striving to achieve
some sort of break
from its broken heart
of pain and agony,
hoping to fix this
crippled reality?
when I look beyond busyness
I know what I see
a world waiting for God's return
when he destroys the enemy
a world waiting for the story to turn
to the part where Earth is set free
Written 18 August 2018
Kagey Sage Aug 2014
In person body language for the quickest returns
and obvious signs of disinterest and distress
Telephones for voices; plain, animated, or faking it
Letters for gesture, or a classic long slow catch up
And texting...
I know you got it
I may even know you read it
What's your excuse for delay?



Perhaps a brain lapse, perhaps some monotonous busyness
Perhaps I'm now an ignored fad, maybe you got better plans
Yet, could it be, our collective muscle memory pines for saying things by other means?
Andie Lately  Nov 2011
Busyness
Andie Lately Nov 2011
Busyness is rampant every day
Running our lives
No time to play
No time to love
No time to relax
What is the point of going on
When you cannot even dance?
Enjoy yourself
Derek DM  Apr 2017
Busyness
Derek DM Apr 2017
When did we call become so

Infuriated by the rain
and the sunshine

Impatient to run
and wait in line

Insecure of space
and empty time

In days where the end
was made by the farmer's hand
pinching the flame out

There were only rows
the sun and rain made
over a season grow
abcdefg Dec 2011
In my backyard, the deep sauce
of sun-gold air swivels lazily,
stirred by the occasional bumblebee.
I’m entertained by the idea of anything beyond this.
No continents, no glitter-splashed ocean.
The softened world settles into itself,
transforming from its usual busyness.
Squash lounges in the garden and
preschool train operators maneuver Thomas
through his wooden kingdom.
They move trees and buildings around their set and we,
still fascinated with the cucumber in the garden,
don’t look up from skimming our fingers through grass,
changing our own soil kingdoms with the sweep of a hand.
Thando Masekela May 2017
So busy so busy.

Getting mine getting yours
What's the sine of  this?
Add 9 to that!
Wait. I'm too busy!!!

Busy busy busy.
There's a species said to be associated with this.
They'll bee forever remembered
For their to and fro and their
Back and forth.
But I'm too busy! Too busy to notice.

Bees. Bees. Bees.
Mind our own bees wax!
You're busy alright, busy being an anteater that's what! Hm.
Get your nose out my busyness!!
I'm just an ant. An ant. An ant.
Not a worker. Just an ant.

Busybodies.
Everywhere.
Multiplying.
Duplicating.
Keeping ****** busy.

I'm done. Being. Busy. With the. Business. Of. Busyness.

I can't take it. This Human Nature.
Scrambling Thoughts. I caught a few here.
Francie Lynch Dec 2018
They warned us not to worry,
Just do our best in school;
Those worldly professionals,
Taught us work-to-rule.

They did a few case studies
On twins from day of birth;
There's a fifty-fifty chance,
A will be born first

They are urban fighters,
Of fire, crime and blame;
They live in high rise condos,
They return from foreign lands.

They  wait over subway vents,
Their hearts and heads are bent;
They show-up in walk-ons,
They go without for Lent.

They fly in and out of space,
They don't identify with race;
They're picked up for vagrancy,
They dance cautiously in the street.

They volley warning shots
Across our private dreams;
They sign and seal a peace accord
They're sincere to a degree.

They contribute to the run-off,
And spiked our holy water;
They enlisted Moms and Dads,
Then slaughtered sons and daughters.

They made rings from ivory,
And pale lamp shades from skin;
They list dissipation
As a personal sin.

Then they did unholy things
With wood and nails, then atoms;
They tore at our goodly earth,
Wreaked havoc with their mapping.

They distilled our alcohol,
Made smoking so appealing;
Then they rang the tower bells,
And preached we had no feelings.

They dug deep for wishing wells,
Grew stuff to **** our germs;
They bestowed us rods and reels,
And spades to dig our worms.

They connected us
Through wireless touch;
They counseled us on loneliness,
And the traps of busyness.

They pronounce death is art
When they hang it on a wall;
Then blame it on our women,
In a scene based on our fall.

They're newsy opaque,
In love or hate;
They are the ambiguous,
The they, them and all of us.
In fashion with non-gender pronouns.
Mike Essig  Nov 2015
My Hometown
Mike Essig Nov 2015
Thanks for the title, Boss.*

When I was a kid
my hometown
basked in that
(uncertain) period
of peace and
prosperity between
Korea and Vietnam.

It bustled
with busyness
and it seemed like
everyone knew
everyone and there
was always more.

Even the poor
felt included.

Half a century later,
peace has fled
for good and
prosperity too,
leaving only
vacant storefronts
and neighbors
who do not know
each other.

Perhaps this
was inevitable;
perhaps it is
progress.

But there are
moments when
it feels like
a lifetime is
just too much
to witness,
just too long
to live.

Nobody loves
a corpse.

~mce
Brandon Jul 2013
The man opposite the table of us ordered a dry sack rather ****** and loudly. Derek leaned back in his chair so that he was balancing on the back two wooden legs and shouted over to the man “I’ve got you’re dry sack right here" while grabbing at his crotch with his one free hand. His other of course being occupied with his seventh whiskey sour. By this point he had been ordering more whiskey than sour and his thirst was still far from quenched.

Next to him, Julie Ann laughed in her quiet way at the disgusted look on the mans face that Derek had insulted. She enjoyed Derek’s lack of restraint when he was drinking and the comments he would haphazardly say. Especially if it were directed towards the upper class. A class at one time she longed to be a part of but had since changed her mind. She flirted with the stem of her martini conjuring up boyish childhood fantasies to any man that was aware enough in his drunken haze to focus his eyes upon the stemware. Her seduction grew all the wilder the more her intoxication spread thruout the room. Julie Ann used her charm and looks as much as possible. She knew she would not always be the way she was and decided to live as hard as possible before her time; whether death, disease, or age; happened.

Her most recent fling, Franklin, sat beside her enamored as the rest of the men (and admittingly some women.) He nursed his death in the afternoon drink, one he felt the need to strictly remind that the mixologist behind the bar used absinthe and not Pernod, and watched Julie Ann’s animated movements. He made no illusions about his courtship with Julie Ann and was often quite boastful about it. Franklin was a hard person to like for moments longer than a few minutes and even less likable when the alcohol ran out. He would talk about his future with Julie Ann while she quietly rolled her eyes and never approached the subject of a future.

Nothing ever lasted long with Julie Ann except for cocktail hour.

I ordered my usual gin and tonic and watched the crowded restaurant in its busyness. Waiters were scurrying from table to table replacing drinks and bringing out large orders of food from the kitchen for the tables that could afford luxuries like eating. They swerved and dodged each other like an artful ballet or a war without casualties.

The man that ordered the dry sack quickly drank his aperitif and, upon further heckling from Derek, decided to skip dinner and leave. He paid his bill at the table and left a fifty cent tip for the waiter. He grabbed his jacket and wife by the arm and made his way towards the exit via a route that included our table. As he approached one could see the nerve swell inside him and as he neared even closer his mouth began to open before Derek opened his and said that if he dared to even utter a sound Derek would have him lying flat out on his back with his eyes rolled in the back of his head and his wife would be around back learning what a real man felt like.

The man stopped for a minute in his tracks and thought about his options. His wife eyed Derek with lust and was secretly hoping that her husband would open his mouth and say something but he never did. He squeezed her arm even harder, shook his head towards Derek, and walked out of the restaurant. A loud, raucous laugh exploded from our table.

Julie Ann was smiling a devilish grin and we all inquired as to what mischievous deed she was thinking. She took her left hand out from beneath the table and produced a wallet and opened it up to reveal the license of Mr dry sack. His name was Richard which we all agreed fitting.

While he was preoccupied with Derek, Julie Ann had reached around and pick pocketed him, stealing his wallet and the eight 100 dollar bills that he kept inside.

I asked for one of the bills and she handed it to me. I folded it into a paper airplane and set it into flight, landing on Richards table as the waiter had returned to clean it off. He unfolded the bill and looked around before stuffing it into the inside pocket of his uniform.

Julie Ann ordered another round of drinks and we drank and laughed and talked and danced and drank until 400$ of our newfound cash was spent.

After paying our tab we stumbled out into the cool night air and each went out into our own directions with promises to meet up again the following night and drink away the other 300$.
Unedited.
Austin Bauer  May 2016
Routine
Austin Bauer May 2016
Why is it that every night
I change into my pajamas
Only to remove them
Ten minutes later
As I climb into bed
In my undergarments?

I reckon it is the routine
That calms me from my day,
Shedding the skin of
One day to embrace another.
It is the preparation
For my seven hour 

Sabbath where I rest 
From my seventeen hours
Of work, play, and relationships -  
Responsibilities that keep me
Too busy to take a moment
And enjoy the skin I live in. 

So each night,
I must shed that skin
In reflection of the day
That is now gone,
And rest as I prepare
Myself for another day.

Another day of busyness,
Another day of striving,
Another day of trying my best
To be the man you have
Created me to be...
To embrace who I am
In every waking moment.
Àŧùl  May 2014
Working Mothers
Àŧùl May 2014
All the mothers are working all the time right from their birth.
They are always learning and teaching for the sake of humanity.
They stay in our memories even after they have completed their life.
Whether they realize this or not but yes, they are always busy working.
In childhood they are busy learning basic skills required by human beings.
In teenage they are busy learning how to differentiate between right & wrong.
They then learn cooking and get married only to get more busy altogether.
They get extremely busy indeed if they started working at a service job.
Adding to their busyness are children and their bringing up as kids.
We must take care that they don't get depressed due in their lives.
That's the least thing we might do for our respective first love.
Dedicated to my mother and all the past, present & future mothers on this Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day

My HP Poem #627
©Atul Kaushal

— The End —