There are buckets made of plastic
There are buckets made of wood
The former are fantastic
The latter not so good.

There are buckets made of metal
And canvas buckets too
But metal for durability
I'd choose if I were you.

There's a bucket on a digger
And buckets made of leather
The former are the bigger
And the latter not so clever.

There are buckets made of tin
And with a little ***** in hand
Kids can build sand castles
When playing on the sand.

There are buckets made of rubber
Or with a wringer for a mop
And some in white enamel
With a blue ring round the top.

There are so many buckets
And some I may have missed
But if anyone should ask me
That's my bucket list.

An intelligence quotient is a
total score derived from
a set of standardized tests
or subtests designed to
assess human
intelligence.

Ignorance is this:

What a luxury it is
To write poems like this

Head rested
Against pillow
Whilst **** in the world persists

Kids shot on their streets
Men and women bleed
Defeated, unshielded
Beaten and beat

Is this a way for humans
to be
Treated or treat?

Though I make no claim
Or just complain
The idea to change
Lies with in our brains

Not in our hearts
Where compassion starts

Our minds are the true philosophy
To conquer our stupidity

Do untoward others
Or don’t do at all

And what a luxury it is
To right poems like this...

Desire to oppose desire
For that is your wish

Let life desire death
And so death desires to live

Hear sound before it is here
And lay present before it is heard

For that is where I have lived
And forever may I live

Once known, not known
Becomes unknown

State of bliss
Half rising
Sleepy eyes
And mind half wiser

Things I never knew
But I thought I could do
finding
A secret state
Behind the blinds of lighting

Philosophical hesitation
In preparation of love
To feel, receive and give without trust

No one knew that we could be like this
See like this, or even grieve like this

But the things we come across,
We can’t fight,
Give it our all
Moving towards the light

One day, you’ll see...it will be alright.

And so the foolish jeweller played
With rocks, minerals
Dirt that made
Precious gems
Time forged:

For ears to listen
For fingers to feel
For necks to hang above our hearts

For engaging a promise
For a gift
Or memory

Cut, processed
And boxed for a fee

True gems
Come from within
A soul mined deeply
A journey begins

If you're reading this
I've finally found you
If you understand
We are fated
For poetry is the language of lovers

Desolate lands are our souls
Filled with cracks and crumbling
The drought has hit us all

Replenish our lands
With life and love
Making us whole, once more

I'd woken up over 10,000 times
And had never been truly awake
The same thoughts and motives
Now shifted my focus,
To differences that I could make.

Now grateful for this gift of life
And what it is to see
Mindfulness
And further thus,
Making us all we can be.

In this sensible, fragile moment
Where things could even fade.
Life starts
But does not begin
Enjoy what life brings
Or even what can be made

A choice for better, or the worst
Some solem in their choice
A voice heard, from within
A higher being,
Consciousness  
Or some thing.

To be the one, Who's not afraid

Some day I shall be there
Some day I'll degrade
Though I'll still be present
But the body will cease

To find peace
In what
We believe is true