"bucket" poems
Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.
74.7k
***** ***** I **** *****
***** get ****** when I **** *****
No ifs, ands, and/or buts!
I **** ***** I **** *****
Nice girls are nice, but no good for nut-sucking.
They'll need a serene night to green-light a butt-fucking,
but that'll be easy with ****** ol' slut-fucking!
Boo to the nice girls! Praise be to slut-fucking!
I have a list. A list? Yes, a list of all the ***** I've missed.
I've never ****** or ****** these ***** and thus my nuts are ******* ******
So when I **** the lucky **** my nut removes her from the list---
another dumb cumbucket struck from my nut-sucking,
**** it, **** slut-fucking bucket list.
***** can be white, brown, pink, or almond.
They can be skinny with big **** or skinny with small ones.
***** can be perky, preppy, or posh,
with their brains and their clothes all shrunk from the wash.
But other ***** are pretty and funny and smart.
They can lift your thoughts from your **** to your heart.
They can talk about science, music, or art.
They can put you together or pull you apart.
But don't trust these ***** Don't! Don't you dare!
They'll force you to trust them and love them and care.
And then they'll be gone and then you'll be aware
of that hole in your heart that that dumb **** left there.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die. Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.
Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them.
Here then is what I might call
My Reverse Bucket List
Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere
Barcelona, Spain
Venice, Italy
Oxford, England
Jerusalem, Israel
Luxor, Egypt
Varanasi, India
Hiroshima, Japan
Pompeii, Italy
Other locations
Galápagos islands, Ecuador
Great Barrier Reef, Australia
North Woolwich, London
Churches
St Paul's Cathedral, London
Sagrada Familia, Barcelona
Coventry Cathedral
Córdoba Cathedral, Spain
Blue Mosque, Istanbul
Other structures
Taj Mahal, Agra
Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland
Royal Festival Hall, London
London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time). Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.
Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)
Bayeux Tapestry
"Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England
"Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil
Events
Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife
St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)
Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997
Oberammergau passion play, 2010
Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all of his cash in a bucket.
But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man
And as for the bucket, Nan took it
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
Could of filled a thousand times
Up I went, opened that loose pink hole
Must have felt like air between thighs.
-
But you were always wanting more in-kind
Up it went did you feel anything inside
Could say I was small I was 9 inches 2 wide
Keep it coming fill you up, my sacks gave too much
Empty shrivelled bags seeds sewn now only dust
Till the next time my **** *** Bucket love.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.
in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.
she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.
the demon version is grisly and cruel.
the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.
to conjure some
thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
I remember they once told me that
music is the best time capsule
It's where people keep their secrets and feelings;
of their insecurities, their mistakes, their sadness, their first cut,
and even the wounds and bruises that invisible to the eye
It's where people let their wildest dreams alive;
of the one they can never reach, the one that will never come back, the one that got away without proper farewell
It's where people store their most sacred memories;
of their first kisses, their first love, their first dance, their first bucket of roses, their first heartbreak
So they were right after all,
Music is dangerous, yet addicting; it can either tear you apart or put the pieces back altogether, it depends on what kind of ghosts living inside the interlude
Thus, be careful who you listen the music with
some melody is louder than the others
**
Today I played the music box you gave me on my seventeenth birthday
How odd it is to realize that music sometimes can be a time machine, how every strings and clinks bring me back to you—towards you
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
From where I lingered in a lull in march
outside the sugar-house one night for choice,
I called the fireman with a careful voice
And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch:
‘O fireman, give the fire another stoke,
And send more sparks up chimney with the smoke.’
I thought a few might tangle, as they did,
Among bare maple boughs, and in the rare
Hill atmosphere not cease to glow,
And so be added to the moon up there.
The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show
On every tree a bucket with a lid,
And on black ground a bear-skin rug of snow.
The sparks made no attempt to be the moon.
They were content to figure in the trees
As Leo, Orion, and the Pleiades.
And that was what the boughs were full of soon.
21.6k
Went to my ancestor's home on a Spring season that year..
On a Holi day in the land of Chanchadari
A peaceful morning in Hoshiarpur, the doors to Himalaya
Happy Holli day!! The kids shout with cheer
Holi Hai! Holi Hai! Lets play Holi!!!
He woke up early morning that day..
With a bucket of colored water waiting for me
I stepped outside my grandpa's door
In a split second I was soaked in a coloured water…
From head to toes… red, orange, yellow, purple… the colors of Holi…
Ohh It's a Hoi Hai day alright…
Lets play Holi … Lets play Holi..
Hails spring with ecstasy and joy!
The trees smile with their sprout
of tender leaves and blooming flowers,
The land of beauty and greatness,
India, witnessing color of happiness and peace.
Nation come alive to enjoy the spirit
A celebration of color- Holi!
An experience of content, harmony and delight.
Holi colors of red, green, yellow and countless.
A day's canvas - a riot of colors.
Lively crowd running, dancing, playing
Rainbow of colors, Lets play Holi and splish and splash!!
Lets play with the frenzy colors .. play on Holi Hai day….
I am dreaming of playing with colors with you
It is the Holi celebration after all.
I can't play inside my home, the carpets will get tainted,
I cant' play it in the yard, the grass and outer walls will get painted.
I thought I would go to the secret garden of ours,
and play with you Holi hai day …
It's a colourful day just you and me..
In love on Holi Hai day…. Lets play Holi..
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
I was such a beautiful child,
With my shoulder lengths of
Sun bleached barley.
Smiled little pearl soldiers in
Line. Old glassesless ladies
Took me for
Girlchild.
But I grew twisted like an
Appletree around a
Graveyard path
Lightpost.
Teeth came out crooked.
Hair fell out at thirteen.
I was big for my age;
Grew other hair in places
I never knew I would.
My voice broke as if in
Sorrow over the child
Inside that had
Died. After that I spoke as if
Into a bucket.
Sometimes I catch my father
Gazing at me through a slight veil
Of grievance for that same
Child.
I would never dream
To blame him.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
What's up is the sky
and I'm up for the stars
and down for a cave expedition.
I'm game for a used copy
since time is literally killing me
while I got pizza in one hand
and an energy drink in the other
so the tree that is my life goes
chop chop chop.
The only chip on my shoulder
is a potato chip
because I got a dozen for every dime I spent,
which is a drop in the bucket of change
I'm saving for Coinstar.
My son Jack has made many trades,
from CDs to movies to videogames to trading cards
and he just so happens to be a Pokemon master, thank you very much.
Resisting a piece of cake
is no piece of cake,
even when the recipe
--complete with a photogenic picture--
is comprised of over a thousand words.
Don't cheat on your diet,
the spinach is always watching
and that Rolex will feel so tight
you'll be praying for thousands
of slaps on both wrists.
When things get hot
you can bang against a clock
to see how long you last.
Just don't crack 'em up too much,
clocks are fragile devices.
My motor's a Cobia
yours is an Evinrude
but otherwise we're in the same boat.
Whenever I fail I don't go to the drawing board,
I get out my scrap book.
I prefer its texture and it is,
truly,
the first square.
When my frustration becomes too much
I might have to beat the bush instead,
after all
it can't be a sightseer forever.
Don't throw me a bone,
I'm not dog,
merely a curious cat
still on his seventh life.
I'd rather be close
than be stuck with a cigar--
smoking's bad and I hate the smells.
If I'm left with nothing, I'll cry like a wolf.
Wolves are hunters, wolves are survivors.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
This is the Last Straw –
and Something About Sacred Buckets of Holistic Ice Water
****** predators, human smugglers
Starvation in the Sudan, civil war
in Syria, mass executions in China
Journalists murdered almost everywhere
Fashionable infanticide, homelessness
Unemployment, urban terrorism
Mass ****** school shootings, wildfires, racism
An unstable national government
Anti-Semitism, border desperation
Riots, arson, ecclesiastical corruption
**** alcoholism, historical cleansing
Skinheads, abuse, Khardassianistas
Volcanos, the death penalty, free verse
Affluenza, Jerry Springer, The View
Herbal tea, antifa, anti-antifa
And the soul-sucking existential despair
Of inspirational singer-songwriters:
Nah, not a bit worried about plastic straws
But I must go now; The Voices are telling me
To pour a bucket of ice water over my head
(As long as it’s not a plastic bucket)
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
This is a poem about love
and sticking your ***** in a dove.
Getting married in a church
of Satan.
I went to dunkin donuts
to get some ******* donuts.
A black man yelled at me
so loud that it made me ***
So I unzipped my pants
and put my ding-dong on a table
then said "beat that ******
and he started beating himself while smoking a black and mild with a KFC bucket in his arms full of cow turds.
(I HATE ******* POETRY)
Poetry is the language of love.
No wonder it's full of ********
Lust is where it's at
when I finger bang your uncle's grandpa's cat.
Randomness is fun
especially when you do crack.
I still ******* hate poetry.
You can **** my 20 foot purple headed yogurt slinger full of tar.
I am Bill Clinton and I approve this message.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
I'm sorry
It's all my fault
I didn't mean to hurt anyone
But what's done is done
Not everyday
That you lose TWO people you love
Trust is fragile
It's like a rare glass vase
One tap too hard and it shatters
And it might never be fixed
Or it may take forever to replace
Trust is like a bucket of water
Balancing on the tip of a needle
One little blow
And it can be gone
Just like that
Trust is like a rare treasure
One only few people ever find
But I fear I've lost mine
But I swear I'll search
To the ends of the Earth
Till all that treasure is regained
Because, my dear friend
I'll do anything for you
You mean everything
You are my everything
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
Drop of red,
Large orb in the sky of orange,
Sour yellow,
Soft lushes green,
Body's of wavy blue,
Romantic flowers of fake purple,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
Sweet red stripe,
Juicy orange fruit in my hand,
Bright Yellow petals,
Long green branches,
Silky blue scarf,
Deep purple bucket of hope,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
Red lace on a white dress,
Orange skinny swirls on a white dress,
Yellow collar on a white dress,
Green bow on the red lace,
Blue stripes on the green bow,
Purple string keep the whole outfit as one,
My Rainbow has bloomed.
My Rainbow is natural.
My Rainbow is the things I hold.
My Rainbow is my dress.
My Rainbow is me, is you, is everyone,
A Rainbow has bloomed over you.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Cleanliness and ******
The ship was old once it had been a big ship now it was small
it had been overtaking by time, its shower system had sea water
which was nice enough to cool off when it was hot.
After having a shower, you needed a bucket of fresh water to rinse
the salt away if not you would scratch all night have irritated skin
For month we did not have a proper wash when our ship docked in
Bremerhaven for repairs and we got fresh water found I had
an extra pair of socks I didn’t know about
it was wonderful having a hot shower I stayed under it til someone
complained I was using all the warm water, even today the sense
of cleanliness makes me shudder with delight.
Whatever I had done in my youth the night before it helped
to have a shower and wash the sin away the smell of “life buoy.”
the only soap we knew about, made the difference the ******
loved it they knew you were clean ******
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC
"I'm in trouble aren't I?"
"You have no idea..."
"Wanna know something?"
"Are you going to say the same thing,
Like you do every time?
You know.. if you hadn't done this...
Sort of thing?
"Save your breath mate,
I've heard it all before
Why don't you say something new,
Instead of parroting the same **** every time?"
"Like seriously,
Why are you even talking to me?
You wanna gloat don't you?
"Haha, you've been caught and I win".
"Well **** you *******
I'm not hearing it
Why don't you leave me alone
And go choke on a bucket of ****
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
kicked the bucket down the hill
what should I do next?
I have no clue... maybe
I should find Jack for your Jill
or Jill can find Jack for me
....I'm feeling a bit lonely...
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
While you cover your profile pictures with transparent flags
ranting how terrorism should stop
retweeting and reposting those gory pictures of the victims
keeping up with the latest news
and trying to flow with the trend
like if this was the new ice bucket challenge
but with blood water.
In all honesty,
Do you really pity the victims?
Do you really feel the sorrow?
Were your families even part?
Were your friends even part?
Were you a part?
Or are you doing it for the sake of Likes?
Only truly
if you hate terrorism,
act like as you really do
because you look stupid,
hating what social media tells you to hate.
And only truly
if you hate terrorism,
You would do something more than a click from social media.
If terrorists terrorize to change the world into their own,
what are we doing to change ours?
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
Id love a big fat ****
Or a wrinkled up old bag
An ugly looking hag
Who wants a ******* ****
If I had a big fat ***** with a big fat bucket
I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it
My thrusting **** inside her **** is where I'd like to tuck it
Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it
When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack
Stuffed up fishy **** ***** or **** ******* round the back
A nice piece of chunky **** with a big long sweaty crack
Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack
I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed
Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed
Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread
When both holes are full of *** she can **** my **** instead
And after I have finished, with all of those fat *******
Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches
All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches
Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches
A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place
Disrobed willing grannies ***** stuffed right in my face
At least eight bits of gristle ****** a display of my disgrace
With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace
As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff
I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff
The smell of old used granny **** is probably just a myth
But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff
I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses
As long as I could **** and *** inside there wrinkled arses
I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes
Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses.
It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind
As long as you are willing, and your pussy's wet and kind
And if you like it up the **** then I'm that way inclined
******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******** from behind
So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility
Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity
I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability
Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:44 AM UTC
The first time I fell in love with a woman:
it was on a Saturday afternoon
a sunny day with blissful winds
I saw her walking down the street
talking to a friend, tending to a child
and carrying a water bucket on her head
she looked so fragile at that moment
but yet so strong ,
she moved like a lion, she had the weight of the whole world on her shoulders but still maintained her balance,
a goddess in every kind and form
she left me In awe not just by her beauty
but her strength, her pose and confidence
the way she moved put models to shame
her voice as serene as the oceans breeze
she had something in her that just made my deadly frown turn into a perfect smile
she made me happy, I fell deeply
As she moved closer, I could see the sweat dripping from her gracefully curved face
I noticed how each drop fell off her with a harmonious movement, she was a queen with a crown not made of the jewels of this world but those which are rare and not known to superficials
She looked deeply hurt and tormented by either her past,present or the future that is still so scared
She hides her scars with everything she got
her smile on her face to keep away the reflection of pain in her eyes
she was so badass but so soft inside
She walked past me with her head held high
she cared about no judgment but for one's peace of mind
She looked at me and we shared a smile
she spoke the silent language of admiration and pure love
and at that fateful moment I deeply fell in love with a woman
©m_e_reidow
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
can I grow tomorrow?
place a bucket over my head
to block the sun; protect my innocence
for a while. I'll grow tomorrow.
but, today. . .
I just wanna see the darkness
with my eyes open, in hopes
of understanding. I can be aware
of my surroundings, though I
do not see, distinctly, I can
tell that I'm surrounded.
something bigger than myself.
protecting me from what is good. . .
so that it won't become the bad. . .
protecting my naiveté.
just leave the bucket;
walk away.
I'll grow tomorrow.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket -
And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming - mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath -
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.
7.9k
Where do I start and where should I end,
Its about the wife and her in-between bits,
If she knows this is wrote it will be my end.
She was tight down their is what I could
Say, like ******* a ****** each time, but
No blood unless its that time of the month
If you know what I'm saying.
Then came the kids one, two, three, four,
And what was once tight is now sorely lacking
Even echoes as I sneezed up their before.
I'm not small, seven inches of love meat
If know what I'm saying (WINK).
But when I go to finger her bits, my hand
to my wrist sinks in, she moans with pleasure
Saying put more fingers in, doesn't she know
That my fist up to my wrist is in.
Then its time she is as wet as could be, she
sits on my lap and I feel water dripping off
My **** hair, she's like a tap dripping on me.
I moan, and she like's it, but I'm moaning
because I don't know if its in. I *** I am
Released, but what once stayed up, now
Doesn't even hit the walls, gravity takes
Over and it falls back on to me, no longer
Warm lands on my ***** and on me freezing
Soggy and cold.
What was once was pretty now looks like
Mashed meat. I love her but how can I tell
Her she now has a bucket, and I feel like a
Pebble in the grand canyon I love her but I
Will soon have to use my foot to **** it
Cutting my nails will she even feel it within....
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
The rooster sings to the sun,
answering the call is the light that embraces all.
All at once the birds sing their own song.
Awaken by mother's sweet voice.
"It's time to go" she says.
She hands me a green cubeta con maiz.
The corn's color is purple and white instantly
I fall in love with its kind
The cold blue morning gives me chills.
I carry the bucket to my grandmother's house.
With her mandil and her braided hair,
she sits by the comal making tortillas.
"Good morning abueltia" with a smile on my face.
"Good morning m'ija" she replies.
I keep walking carrying the heavy bucket.
A small room next to a store crowded with senoras.
Their rebozos around their heads and arms and buckets in hand.
I feel so small so young but inside I'm proud.
I wait in line as I greet and make small talk.
These ladies have the nicest smiles.
My turn, I grab my cubeta and proceed to the molino.
My arms are too little.
A lady approaches and helps me load the molino.
I watch in awe as the grains turn in masa.
I bend down and collect it.
"En una bolita" the lady tells me to shape it.
I nod and continue to make it.
Gray like the color of my grandma's hair.
soft like my mother's hand.
I fill the bucket with the masa.
I thank las senoras and head back to mi casa.
I hand the bucket to my mom who was milking la vaca.
She starts the comal and gets the cal.
Her hands slapping the masa like she was clapping.
Perfect big round warm tortillas.
I was a little girl that helped her make them.
A little girl that still remembers.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC