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Man May 20
i've laid out a pail
maybe you'll fill
my bucket

from your high-rise
in ivory
do i look like an ant?

i wish i was porcelain
fairer skinned
and richer

i wish had a strength
to stir the world awake
from it's slumber

all those times
we spent shouting
they faded to echoes
Leone Lamp Apr 14
The tree sitter of Nantucket
Lived in a tree and he dug it
He never went down
To visit the ground
So he would **** in a bucket
I hope this is profane enough to represent the genre.
~2012/2013
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.
FloydBrandon Dec 2019
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
gabrielle Jan 2019
watch me see,
watch me feel,
watch me do everything
of my list of dreams.

except for one thing,
and that is to be loved by you,


even for a moon

who gleams.
at this very young age of mine
i already knew that of this
long list of my wishes, i still
wouldn't achieve the last one.
Anya Dec 2018
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
There once was a man from Nantucket,
Whose origins were complicated                          
so people wrote
an idiom
about
him.
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
Cana Mar 2018
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
...
I want this
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