Long Bucket Poems
Long Bucket Poems. Below are the most popular long Bucket by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bucket poems by poem length and keyword.
waterfall from skies compete with my thoughts
must be doing something else,
yet here I am,
Here. I am.
Again.
Why do I keep coming back here?!?
A mental shake,
as I chastise myself
I shouldn't be here, don't belong here anymore.
Most likely, I never did, just pushed myself in this place.
But I feel like a homing pigeon,
where this is the only place I know
that I can be and not be.
Where I can hide and expose myself at the same time.
With repercussions? Maybe.
I sit in my own corner and immerse myself
in the chatter, the laughter, and other matters
Nobody really notices me,
but that's ok.
I'm getting used to it.
I guess I keep coming back here
for that sense of familiarity, of a somewhat home,
for the memories.
Of myself in happier times,
of a chapter in my life that I have written
yet somehow botched up. Badly, so badly
that the words are all swimming in their own tears
Oozing ink, drowning.
But it shouldn't surprise me anymore?
This is me?
Of course I will always somehow manage to mess things up.
Some ways more than the others,
'my-esque' askewness
For some, that chapter in my life
is of course negligible. An erasable footnote perhaps?
It hurts, but we all have our own worlds,
where you may not be as important to others
as you thought, as you wanted to be.
There I went, pushing myself again,
only to be pushed away with a
thousand mile barrier of silence.
All along, being dust in that corner.
I gulp a bucket of tears,
because I will not deny it--
how much it hurts. Still.
But like what I say,
have to get used to it.
My hands are cold,
and I wipe snot from my nose,
a dainty trickle of snot, but snot nonetheless,
have had my snot-in-sheets phase,
so this is progress, that trickle.
1234, my clock says,
12345678910, I count to myself
collecting, breathing slowly
needles in my feet and shivering
Gosh, can I get any more pathetic?!
Yes, I have and I bet I will still be so.
No, this is not a pity-me thing,
more like a slap-myself thing
So I can look back, read this
and say to myself:
Others have it harder than you,
yet they stand,
I'm here sitting,
yet others stand.
...
the sky is still drumming the earth with water
and my eyes are threatening to do a duet. Again.
I chide myself, Enough now.
For my bags under my eyes are already so smooth, too deep
Too weathered and soaked for a year.
----> 'slap-myself thing', remember??
Remember.
Placed 1st in Contest
rain shine so divine
sprinkle blessings kissings wet ~
feet in leather boots
~~~~~~
Rain-shine sound patter
mad hatter
Alice lost in whimper drops
coatless with Rabbi Rabbit
ruling
\|||||||
////||||||||,,,,,
///////.////////||||||||||||~~the r
Ain in
sPain f
Alls mostly
on the //////~~_____?•
plain rain is my gain drip
to refrain D
from disdain r
O
Keep p dripping
Ing
everyone
SANE planting \\// \\// grain …..
::::::::::
torrential rain potential
Puddle H
Ubble Oo00orainnoshame
huddle close
s
H
O * * *
wers for blue flowers | | |
so they cower
in ROYAL tower /////|||||||::::::://///\\\\\\
///\\\\ a shimmering sleet
of rain glimmering
on street
rainbow sheet covering
a fleet of SHIPs
2 dip so neat
sweet
RAIN AGAIN bleat bleat
SODDEN EARTH
joyful mirth
|||||\/\/::::::::||||||•••girth birth water
w a t e r FILTER b
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OK
en
G. R. A. T. E. F. U. L 4. RAINDROPS
buckets of rain
there’s a hole in my bucket
rain s
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e
P
s
sneaking
holy r A i N
Rain S. h. I. N. e. ••xx
ON ••
_______\\\\________
A fairyland fable is a magic table floating around but nit with a rallying cry. That is purely reserved for several synchronised cruise ships whose sunbathing missions thwart many a delivery driver. It is with great interest that an interest is neither a monetary aim at a bank or an inked out financial score singing a palate of possibilities. So go call the cat then. Go on. Meow meow. Dinner time. There you go. Fresh tuna is very scared now. Oh dear. And all the little flakes hard at work minced flesh in factories never really has a rest does it? Dilapidated dog during digging. And a great big wish from a ten thousand kilo cake is a celebrated glow in an outer solar sphere. Clap them all. Many cakes many spheres. Loud claps. And shouting at the mail is equivalent to eating beans on toast at several hundred miles an hour upside down in a bucket. It is in many weathers that a tall lanky snail circles a circuit in a rally car. Very very fast. Well done. There is a crown and a bursting champagne bottle whose antics on the plane were quite rude and non productive. However showering the podium with released bubble is quite a feat of engineering and requires precision mathematics too. So never ever become intoxicated if holding a compass, a text book, six lined sheets of paper, ten pencils and an organic cheeseburger with salad. Marketing making money moguls merry. And the swimming curry is out for the day in the lake occasionally resting on a Papadopoulos papadum boat who whips a papaya to create a cocktail. How rather quaint that is isn't it? How many radiuses are there in a pear? And how many tents can be made from a single pair of tights? These are highly significant questions to ask at a time when the antipepiscides are at the protest. Rioting. And tootling along the lane came a little green car whose plan was ever only to drink copious amounts of tea at the inn of then. Saviour not a sanctified secretion of a sweet set of stagnant striped silk. And enter no password of hi dee hi on a billboard for frames are allowing much to pass by over the cliffs. So watch out if carrying ten cars, a wobbly bus, and a twelfth century castle for it is the marksman who are marking a book from a diocese, a school and a university of agha banks. Couple that then. Great. Hahaha fantasy fig floating around hahaha banana bandana bringing bee balancing. Xxxxx metropolitans z
Form:
Do not be self-conscious or anything, but I have got my big ,rotatorof an eye on you.
I know your mama and yourdad, and I’m willing to let them know if you are not being true.
I cannot tell you that it is never odd or even, but I can tell you that it’s midway, and blue.
Eve, Bob, Otto and Anna are ready to jump right in that kayak and stack cats if they have to.
Don’t pop your eyes at me, young lady. I do not care if we are at the civic center; I feel free
To do whatever I have to, to keep Evil Olive in check, and you also, my little bumble bee.
Who is looking for a nut for a jar of tuna? There is no lemon, no melon, and it’s 9:03.
The radar gun is in the van with Hannah, anyway it was at noon, so I thought that it still might be.
Someone is outside the civic center is yelling, “No garden, one dragon!” What does that mean anyway?
I brought this 6th grade level field trip with me to have an interesting, fun-filled, learning challenged day.
I don’t need some nut-bucket ruining it for me, on every level, this is totally wrong, and I don’t play!
The mirror rimis brushing against the tailgate of the bus we brought, but that is for the driver to say.
Now where in the Sam hill crazy town, is that blue nylon solokayak that was attached to the top of our bus?
I thought we could have one blasted solo-inspired field trip to the civic center without a bunch of fuss.
I realize it is noon, and people are hungry and crabby, and the blue kayak is a big fat muss.
But you have to realize that Eve, Bob, Otto, and Anna were the ones assigned to straighten this big tuss.
I always get the blame when things go wrong, as everyone blames the poor old mama.
The dad is just as much to blame, but there he goes, taking off on a fat llama.
I’m ready to pop my cork, and pitch a fit that would shock the Dad, so much.
Aha! Here he is, back to chow down his fabulous, hand-stacked pepperoni lunch.
Since childhood,
as alexithymia struck my soul.
I kept all my hopes a secret,
hidden in a bucket of unshared dreams.
I kept my soul sweet like marshmallows,
but life has finally caught up with me,
Like a fast car overtaking recklessly,
leaving me behind in the slow lane -
and I'm running out of fuel.
I'm a vehicle of flashbacks from flashlights,
fatigued from embracing the old,
preparing for freshly brewed emotions.
Yet they deprive me at every dawn,
as new beginnings are always challenging.
Suffocating in this silent selcouth slumber,
life tries to call my bluff, when it knows,
I am the master of my masquerade.
My soul pleads with fate to usher me with belief,
but I can see death at my doorstep,
creating intrusive insecurities like termites,
eating away at branches of my sanity,
feeding upon my ordained Orphic glory.
Emotions are an interior mechanism,
so many remain fooled by my exterior,
but I'm tired of searching for salvation.
You who claim to love me,
gift me a scented candle made with your hands,
so its sentimental scent can bring me peace.
Take me to a place without a name,
without a label,
without judgment -
without suffering.
Unchain me from jeapordising January jitters.
Free me from meandering in misty meadows,
which have misplaced me in foggy morning sunshine -
bring me clarity.
These are not random thoughts, random poems,
because my ink is tired from trying to find new metaphors,
to supplement an abundance of alliterations,
portraying humble happy horizons.
Love can be a false emotion,
when we yearn for reciprocal ravishing redamancy,
but when was love ever equal or even fair?
I have no resolutions, just to breathe with ease.
Sometimes love's presence made me feel aesthetic,
but sometimes a badly drawn self portrait.
You can stay or leave, but do come back,
hold on, but not too tight that it chains my wings.
When I ascend, please, miss me,
so my spirit flies back to you.
Can you not see the irony?
We accumulate many reasons to die,
but search for only one reason to live.
Ask yourself which oxymoron are you?
Dying to live or living to die?
*Alexithymia
A person's inability to recognise or describe ones own emotions
* Redamancy
a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return
This journey started many years ago,
A Woodland path, I walked it slow,
From the beginning I had a plan,
To venture off into this land,
The road looked endless from where I stood,
I knew it was time to do the best I could,
My eyes were fixed on what was all around,
What I experienced was quite profound,
The treetops high they could barely be seen,
The air was fresh, crisp and clean,
The sky was vast, with melting shades of greens and blues,
Each step I took, I experienced something new,
The first time I stopped was because I heard a call,
A hurt exstrodanary bird named Afabulouscoo had a hard fall,
Her colors reflected the morning sky,
Pink, yellow and blues, with a song that sounded like a cry,
She let me pick her up off the ground; I tried not to make a single sound,
I gently put her in the trunk of a tree, till she healed and could fly free,
Then I continued on my way,
It was still the early part of the day,
Purple Chipmunks scurried across my trail,
Shaking their bushy little tails,
Miles down there was an abandoned home,
Windows shattered, so I decided to roam,
Looked in the first room and found a pink crown,
Took a quick glance, to make sure no one was around,
I placed it on my head for a moment of glory,
This was just the begining of my strange little story,
Then I walked out and continued on my way,
When suddenly I heard two monkeys play,
Swinging from the branches above me,
They tried to take the crown from on top of the trees,
They were not very nice, evil I would say,
Screaming "come back here, we just want to play"
I ran real fast, and suddenly tripped and fell,
Looked up and realized I was next to a well,
There was a red bucket, It had a note inside,
"Get in and take a wild ride"
I climbed in and could barly fit,
I realized I was falling into a dark pit,
I Jumped out real quick, before I could not reach,
Then, saw a tree that had a giant peach,
I was feeling hungry so I took a bite,
Instantly the day turned into night,
The weather changed it started to rain,
The woods screamed out as if in agonizing pain,
“what did you do”” What did you do”
“Wake up now, or are forest is through!”
I rubbed my eyes really hard,
realized I had fallen asleep in my backyard,
My mother was standing over me,
Saying,“I just went to the store, here is a peach, eat it, it’s healthy”
By:Sabina
Go ask Sabina (Alice) contest
Oh wow. Oh look. Over there. A fish tank is jumping through a hoop. Now that is a sight. How rather remarkable and just how agile. Wish I was young said the ancient log. But all I do is sit here in the forest. Roots exposed to every breeze. Little creatures rely on you for shelter though. Shouted the shrew. Who was scuttling through the leaves after a busy day marketing moss. The tree sighed. It missed being upright. Nose to the winds. And rooted. Not one to dwell on such sadness he turned his attention to the commotion further down his gnarled trunk. It was a party of two legged. Giggling and shouting. Must they be so noisy. To make matters worse they ate from large packets. Took photographs. Then upon leaving left all their packets behind. Why? It would not have been this way in the days of old. Fed up now he began to devise a plan to rise from the woods. He notices a large flock of birds close by. Oi he shouted help. The birds came over immediately. This tree was most revered. And highly respected. They enquired as to how to assist him. To wish he replied that he wished with all his heart to leave this woodland home and float downstream via the lake. The birds squawked noisily discussing how to move such a weight. Then they noticed some rope and picked and pecked till the tree was secure. Then with heavy powerful swoops in synchronized fashion up they went and so did the tree. Nearby the cool waters of the lake greeted the tree with a gentle caress and the flock untied the knots with occasional fish caught. Good for their tea. The tree thanked them with all his might. Then began his journey to where he hoped there would be two legged ones who cared, new friends, and a chance to be upright again. The waterfall in the distance roared. Down went the tree landing upright in a rock pool. And there he remained. Smiling. Occasionally brightly coloured folk pass but no packets though. Just jackets. And little animals made their nests and homes in his sturdy frame. Divined driving dripping drops drink dramatically delivering delicacy. And a little purple frog laughs in a bucket home on a lawn. Haha beads becoming breaded beaches. Hahah organised orangutans officially ordered overtures. Hahaha wastepaper baskets jumping over a finishing line beating the dustpan and brush and the rakes too. Xxxxxx exemplified z z z z z.
Form:
When we were younger
Our hearts and hands had melded
And brightened up a world
Then in winter, came snowstorms
And lightning, to burn up our shelter
A dragon roaring proud
So we were dashed, were broken
A nasty scar formed upon the exit
And bleeds unto this day
Long after it was funny
Here I am still singing like we're together
It's nearly been three years
Now when we were younger
I felt just as strongly as I do now
That my love was the right choice
So you lash out, you slander
You're winning, or showing me the best
Do you feel like we do?
A cold bucket of water
Snaps me from my reverie
A long and pleasant dream comes to an end
My heart repeats its pounding
From nasty anxiety
It's like you never left this room at all
And through it all
Our rise and fall
We both think that we're correct
Or maybe we're just both projecting bright
To say you're wrong
Or say I'm wrong
Our love's curdled to anger
These effigies to what went wrong
It's all gone wrong
To you, I'm dead and gone and
To me, it's filled with longing
I can't really remember
What it was like long ago
This pounding in my chest feels like a dream
A living nightmare I once
Called my reality
A true return to form from years ago
It takes me back
And paints it black
And turns these fields to swamp
And any love I had has gone to rot
It's all gone wrong
The world is wrong
Such purity and lifelight
Has curdled into something wrong
This all feels wrong
It's been so very long and
Anxiety is strong and
You're showing the world the best
That you possibly can
Such is the way all of our old haunts work
So does it bother me when
I can only see that lie?
And fail to see foundations I once saw?
You're just presenting anger
Aimed to kill or maim
I don't think you really care which happens
You've only ever compared
Those you ever loved to those
Villains that you said tried to do you wrong
So what's the deal?
What do you feel?
Was anything for real?
Will you wreak this havoc upon the new guy?
What did it mean?
Was it a dream?
All those things we left behind
In order to witness another dawn?
To carry on
We'll carry on
Under penalty of perjury
I swear to you I'll carry on
I'll carry on
Even if these dreams haunt me forever
I swear to all, I'll carry on.
“Do you like yabbies?” Barry asked. I replied “Are you sick!
I’d just like to ask you; now is the Pope a Catholic?” …
So we headed off across the ranges, where Barry’s cousin Ray,
had a dam that’s full of them on a property near Yea.
There’s no sophisticated fishing gear that we needed to get.
Just a stocking, string, piece of meat; plus a wobbly old scoop net.
The dam was quite a big one with tussocks growing ‘round the rim.
Within an hour I had scooped a bucket filled up to the brim.
We knocked off to have some lunch and to have a beer or two.
but in that hour we sat down we knocked down quite a few.
When I resumed my ‘yabbying’, my head’s spinning like a top,
and then I saw a frightening sight that made me quickly stop.
A big brown snake was sunning, between me and the dam.
The beer had made me brave enough to give this bloke a slam.
I picked up an old dry limb and gave it one tremendous whack;
it squirmed and twisted in death thro’s; then lay dead upon its back.
Barry claimed I was a hero when he’d seen what I had done,
not many tackle brown snakes; they slide faster than we run.
“Is that so” I said to him, and was sobering ‘quick smart’,
watching Barry in his stupor pick up the snake and play his part.
He opened up the mouth and then he got out his pocket knife.
Put the blade behind a needle fang, “Here’s what takes your life”.
Then said “I ought to skin him; it’s prob’ly worth a ‘pretty pound”.
Then just for fun he grabbed the tail and swung it ‘round and ‘round.
“Be careful mate!” I turned and ran; making sure, I’m out of the way.
“What’s the matter?” Barry laughed. “This mongrel’s had its day.
I‘ll show you something else” and held the snake behind the neck,
then put its head into his mouth; then he gave it’s nose a ‘peck’.
Barry seen that I was nervous; that he held me in his palm.
He watched me flinch and shiver when he wrapped it ‘round his arm.
“Ah that’s enough” he grinned, but I reckon he’d been rash,
then he swung it high into the air. We watched it fall and splash.
Barry laughed, “That’s ‘gunna’ give the yabbies quite a feed”.
Then something happened in the water that Barry didn’t need.
We turned to walk back to our strings - Barry’s face turned ashen grey.
It took a while reviving him when the brown snake swam away.
36.
The Rose
The garden rose by Nature's brush
Seems the perfect flower.
It sleeps before the autumn moon...
Is reborn of April showers.
I feel an empathy and compassion
For other flowers as they grow...
With their aesthetics somewhat muted
Compared to the glory of the rose.
The End
37.
The Daffodil
The daffodil in spring will rise
And in the garden grow.
It will slyly peak its head above
The last sprinkling of the snow.
Its appearance is a comfort
As a tired wintry corpse expires...
Giving way to a vernal transformation
Only Nature could inspire.
The End
38.
April's Blessing
April's sly peculiarities are a blessing
As the dregs of March are born away.
Cleansing a tired Nature's tribulations
Before the warmth of gentle May.
It gives source to seed and germ with
Unfathomable colors to flaunt the eye.
It plays mischievously upon my senses
To humble an enthusiast such as I.
Nothing contrasts to Nature's bounty
As she releases now her gentle showers...
Where orchids give rise to expectation
While still meadows bare their flowers.
Children... no strangers to April's booty
Find joyousness in all her grand oblations.
Splashing and sloshing in hooded dress
In puddles that stoke their imagination.
But April fills me with blissful consternation
As she makes bold her diverse complexion.
Because I... being me, have done nothing
To deserve such encompassing affection.
The End
39.
Half a Ton
Hate must weigh a thousand pounds
While love will weigh but one.
There are those who find it amenable
Ferrying the weight that's half a ton.
They seem devoid of sense and reason
As to why they persevere... soon
Learning the manifestation in the mirror
Is all they truly fear.
The End
40.
Bucket Full of Stupid
There is a bucket full of stupid
Giving voice to maddening crowds
With no obvious rhyme or reason
Why they wear a Reaper's shroud.
Such times seem justly merited
With common sense in short supply
Considering the state of education
And the inane hebetude it provides.
The End