We possess a hidden bucket And we thrive when it is full We hurt when others reach inside Our bucket to dip and pull
We soar with loving energy When our bucket’s overflowing It just takes a little kindness To keep our spirit growing
We possess a hidden dipper Which we use to fill or take From the buckets of each other It’s a choice we daily make
And it’s how we use our dipper That defines our path in life So let’s choose to fill each other And spread joy instead of strife
Notice when your bucket’s full You feel prosperous and strong But if your bucket’s low or drained Despair comes speeding along
You’ll find that when you fill a friend Your bucket gets filled up too So keep your bucket ever full Filling others always fill you
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Each of us has an invisible bucket. It is constantly emptied or filled, depending on what others say or do to us. When our bucket is full, we feel great. When it's empty, we feel awful.
Each of us also has an invisible dipper. When we use that dipper to fill other people's buckets -- by saying or doing things to increase their positive emotions -- we also fill our own bucket. But when we use that dipper to dip from others' buckets -- by saying or doing things that decrease their positive emotions -- we diminish ourselves.
Like the cup that runneth over, a full bucket gives us a positive outlook and renewed energy. Every drop in that bucket makes us stronger and more optimistic.
But an empty bucket poisons our outlook, saps our energy, and undermines our will. That's why every time someone dips from our bucket, it hurts us.
So we face a choice every moment of every day: We can fill one another's buckets, or we can dip from them. It's an important choice -- one that profoundly influences our relationships, productivity, health, and happiness.
Tuck your head inside a bucket if you feel like gettin lucky there’s a million ways to die but only one to say Kentucky
Put your money where your snout is lay your dogwoods on the grave there’s about to be a doggarn shootup at the bank
Sheriff took a ***** break and caught a case of fever aids gave it to his deputy and shared it with his eager maids- While Billy’s on the move in his new boots shootin from his hip with a fistful of attitude ridin on a pony bad enough to beat a moose dead stealin all the money saddle up’n cuttin lose men
Honey weighs a bucket more than hammers if your aim’s right close your eyes and pray this cowboy town gets loud at midnight.
Oh no jobs The difficult is surrounded me I suppose I will fail
Down down at the deep of the well The helper will not save me His rope was so old and jagged His bucket was there But it was so damaged
The land which I was on Will be fallen over my will
My will is vanished As the light of candle Try to resist the wind The dark united with the wind To hide all things at mind And the light could hide So the difficult succeeded The wall of failure covered High ,there is no light
the save of jobs needs only minds and great vexperts
Poetry is for thinkers, I think Those who’d spend their days dreaming away Or those who, in a moment of passion Scrawl down their thoughts On little post it note poems No matter the medium Though, one can not deny Poetry is for thinkers
Now, this past week I’ve been a doer Typically, my lazy temperament Would prevent this But things happened And more things needed doing Without a doer to do them
And now my mind has switched And all I can think to do is do Rather than think to think, reflect My mind has transformed From a dreamland To a bucket list
Rope There's no point in splitting hairs No point in pointing a finger It's done The pages are all torn Trashed and scattered And dragged through the gutter Like yesterdays garbage And all that rope I supposedly gave A phantom There never was a rope, A leash, nor a chain Those things are not for sale At the well No there never was a rope Except perhaps For the one attached To the water bucket From which We still Quietly sip Through The miles Of sea And storm And time As long as we stay This way This well Will never dry up
2016-2017 for the attempt to make unconditional, the conditional.
From my collection Bits And Pieces/Slamming on the Hollywood Freeway 2017 amazonbooks
Let’s go, you and I. And sweat beneath the African sky Watch the lions lazing And the wild dogs playing. We can sip Amarula And listen to the hyenas laugh and cry As the mythical sunset Silhouettes giraffes and Acacia trees.
Let’s go, you and I And walk the streets of old town Barcelona. Find old timey cafe and luxuriate In sangria and itty bitty tapas Stroll by Sagrada and gawp At Gaudi’s home. Maybe we’ll stop for some ice cream Maybe we’ll just go back to the hotel
Let’s go, you and I And swim the blue blue seas of the Bahamas Nervously Play with the nurse sharks Hoping they’re not the other sharks Take those long walks on those beaches That everyone likes. We’ll sit on Jankanoo and drink sky juice Until we can truly reach the heavens
Let’s go, you and I And ski the Slopes of the Swiss alps We can stop at small cabins and drink heartwarming schnapps Take trains that slink around mountains And sprint through white capped forests We can put snow down the backs Of each others jackets and Squeal in furious delight.
Let’s go, you and I. And squish our way through the streets of New York Relieved when we can pop into a shop To escape the crowds. Necks sore from looking up Small town people in the Big Apple City Central Park for pretzels and Snapple Times Square later, neon addiction sated. And a boat ride to see lady liberty
Let’s go, you and I And bare our feet in Balinese temples Speak to the monks in broken English And then retire to our curtained gazebo To indulge in the sins they can’t We’ll get massages and champagne Then ride our bikes along pothole Ridden dirt roads.
Let’s go, you and I And get Nuevo Chic in London’s west end We can catch a show in tux and evening gown Then head to the pub and catch a pint We can walk the trail, hunt Jack the Ripper And visit The Tower. Cross the Thames and maybe No definitely Another pint in some quaint little place.
Let’s go, you and I And lie in bed late on lazy Sunday mornings I’ll poach the eggs and make the hollandaise You can put some upbeat daytime jazz on Then we can go sit in the garden Under the oak tree and read Each other poetry Until it’s much much later ...